[Demons of NC] Chapter 87

INTERLUDE: Kiwi

“…More horrifying details are emerging about last night’s tragedy at Konpeki Plaza,” droned Arif Iqbal, his well-groomed face twisted into a mask of concern. “The fires have been extinguished, but the search for bodies continues. So far, the confirmed casualties include one hundred and forty-eight Arasaka hotel and security personnel, along with thirty-five guests. Netwatch agents report that the cyberattack on Konpeki was likely executed using a rogue AI, which was directly connected to the hotel’s subnet. Yorinobu Arasaka held another press conference just an hour ago and…”

Kiwi listened to the report in a daze. The words barely registered, slipping past her mind like buzzing flies. She sat at a small cafe near the bus depot, staring blankly at the smoldering cigarette in the rusted ashtray before her. Outside, the city sagged into a restless Friday evening.

A message snapped her out of her trance. Lucy.

"Can’t make it. Problems."

So much for talking before the long road ahead. Reading the message, Kiwi felt a brief flicker of disappointment. Not because she wouldn’t get to say goodbye to her friend. She just hated wasted time—missed two buses already waiting for this meet-up. All she wanted was to get the hell out of this city, where no one was waiting for her anymore.

But in Mexico? Someone was.

Anthony Satoshi. Not exactly legal, but supposedly a damn good ripper. A man who liked to experiment with biotech. Kiwi had already been to three others like him. Each visit was like a round of Russian Roulette. Three times now, she’d walked away with a neutral result—alive, but still no solution. Her body kept falling apart.

She had nearly thirty minutes before the next bus. Figured she’d try her luck, firing off a reply to Lucy:

"Problems? If you need help, I still need money."

The response came fast.

"No. Not an option."

‘Worth a shot,’ Kiwi thought.

Not that she expected Lucy to want to work with her again after everything, but Kiwi’s sense of shame had been dead longer than her immune system. Guilt and regret were luxuries people like her couldn’t afford.

Besides, she had warned her protege, hadn’t she? Told Lucy ages ago not to trust anyone in Night City. Including her.

She hadn’t lied.

Kiwi clung to that thought as an excuse for her betrayal.

And yet, Lucy still trusted her. Still fell for it. But in the end? Walked away clean.

Faraday was the one who drowned in that filthy, murky water. Lucy? She was doing better than before. New crew, new job—probably Arasaka money rolling in. Even the Brazilian agents got picked off, and they were damn good.

For a moment, Kiwi had thought they were the same. Two stray cats surviving in the big, ugly city. And sure, that was technically true. But between them lay an uncrossable gap. Youth. Strength. Beauty. Potential.

Two strays.

But one was a purebred kitten, and the other was a mangy old alley cat, coughing up blood, wasting away from disease.

The kind no decent owner would ever take in.

“Looking a little down, sweetheart.”

The voice yanked Kiwi from her thoughts. Some young prick had slid into the seat across from her.

And prick was the perfect word for him.

A smug, smarmy face with sharp gray eyes, a slicked-back haircut, and a grin that made her want to punch him on instinct.

“I don’t buy drugs or sex,” she said flatly, shifting her shoulders.

Pain flared up her spine. Her discs were shot, but swapping them out wasn’t an option. Too much rejection risk. Too much inflammation.

“I’m not selling,” the guy said, flashing a row of perfect white teeth. “But I do give out freebies sometimes.”

The way he talked, the way he carried himself—Kiwi had seen guys like him before. Reminded her of the young prostitutes she used to work with, the ones who were always trouble. Either they’d rob a drunk client, blow someone else’s cash on drugs, or bite a john’s dick off while high as fuck.

“What do you want?” she asked, unimpressed. “And don’t say to get to know me.”

“Wrong again.” He smirked. “We already know each other. Sort of. I know you, at least. You just don’t know me yet.”

Her gut told her this wasn’t just some junkie looking to sell her something.

A courier? Maybe. But he didn’t look like much. More street meat than gangster. Smooth skin, soft lips, slightly glazed-over eyes—high on something chemical.

“But don’t worry,” he grinned, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. “You’ll know me real well soon enough.”

“Then let’s cut to the chase.” Kiwi pulled a cigarette from her pack, subtly glancing around the cafe.

A couple cops had been here earlier, but they’d already fucked off.

‘Great,’ she thought. Not that she was really worried.

The kid put her on edge, but she’d seen worse.

“So, business then?” The guy chuckled. “See, I like to take my time. Draw it out. Anticipation is half the fun, you know? For people with imagination, anyway. And I’ve got plenty of that. But sometimes… other people don’t like waiting.” He giggled, a sharp, nasty sound.

The vibes went from ‘off’ to ‘fuck no’.

Kiwi could smell the malice on him. People like her learned that scent early—had to, if they wanted to survive.

And sometimes, it didn’t matter. Sometimes, there wasn’t a choice.

The last time she’d felt this way was with a client—the one who broke her face and shattered her jaw.

Her hand drifted under her coat, resting lightly on her pistol.

Not that she was fast anymore. But it made her feel better.

“Who sent you?”

“You don’t know him,” the guy waved a hand. “Hardly anyone does. And that’s exactly how it should be.”

A quick scan showed he wasn’t packing serious chrome. But that didn’t mean he was alone.

Kiwi kept scanning.

Fat Chinese guy behind the counter. Three sleepy workers slumped over a few tables. A drunk ex-corp in a ragged suit, probably weeks away from joining Night City’s homeless population.

Nothing jumped out at her.

But outside?

A red van sat parked near the cafe.

Dark tinted windows.

That, she didn’t like.

“What do you want?”

“Information. Impressions. Feelings.” He dragged the word out, savoring it. “You know a girl. Lucyna. And she got real cozy with an old friend of ours. He usually looks like this…”

A file dropped into Kiwi’s inbox. Not a photo—something closer to a synthesized image.

Damn good, too.

She didn’t recognize the guy. But she knew who it was supposed to be.

Lucy’s new pet.

“I saw him once,” she admitted, but something twisted in her gut.

A bad feeling.

What if this was a test?

A trap from the psycho who once threatened to shove her into a microwave?

Kiwi’s instincts screamed at her to back off.

“I know you don’t know him well,” the guy said smoothly. “That’s why you’ll be talking about Lucy. I’ll pay.”

Kiwi flinched.

Her drug-fucked brain kicked into overdrive.

Should she take the deal? The extra eddies would help.

But what if this was a setup? A trick?

“No.”

She finally spoke, voice firm. “I’m done with this shit. Done with this city. My bus leaves in twenty minutes.”

“I don’t take no for an answer,” the prick grinned, teeth flashing like a predator’s. “You’ll talk, old hag.”

Kiwi tried to stand up fast, but the bastard grabbed her by the shoulder. She never put much faith in her physical strength. Didn’t expect help from anyone, either. The only thing she could rely on was her scripts.

Short circuit. Optic reboot.

The guy twitched, his sleazy grin still plastered on his face, but his grip loosened. Kiwi tore herself free. Ignoring the uninterested cafe patrons, she bolted for the exit, firing off a message to her ex-protege as she ran.

"Some asshole's asking about you. Trying to delta."

The reply came quick. Kiwi had already put about forty meters between her and the cafe, slipping out the back exit to stay clear of the van.

"What does he look like? You okay?"

Kiwi ducked through an alley, emerging onto the next street.

"Looks like a tweaked-out rentboy. Blond. Creepy as fuck, but no combat chrome. Says he’s interested in your new friend."

"Got it. Are you safe?"

Kiwi glanced around. No one in sight. But something felt off. Too quiet for this part of Night City.

"Not sure," she typed back. "I just wanna get the fuck outta here, Lucy. Can you help?"

This time, the response took ten full seconds.

Tall, heavy buildings loomed over her from both sides, like they were closing in. Kiwi squeezed her eyes shut. Sometimes, she got minor hallucinations. Glitches. Bugs from old chrome.

When she opened them again, Lucy’s message was waiting:

"Sorry. There’s nothing I can do for you."

Kiwi let out a hoarse laugh, muttering under her breath.

"Guess you did learn, you little idiot."

Not that she felt particularly optimistic about Lucy’s newfound wisdom.

Fine. She’d get out of this herself.

Kiwi picked up her pace, already feeling the tightness in her chest.

A turn.

Then past some rusted-out, abandoned cars and—

She should’ve stepped out onto a wide, crowded street.

Instead, a wall of nothing loomed ahead.

Pitch-black. No sky, no road. Just pure void stretching from the cracked asphalt up into infinity.

"Just another hallucination," Kiwi told herself, blinking hard.

But the abyss didn’t budge.

"Sorry, hag. Nothing anyone can do for you now," came the bastard’s voice from behind her.

Kiwi spun, gun raised.

No one there.

"People like you always have the same look in their eyes," his voice drifted from nowhere and everywhere at once. "Dull. Lifeless. Like they’ve seen the worst this city has to offer and stopped caring. That’s a challenge to me, Kiwi. See, I wanna light those eyes up again. Make you feel something. Make you believe…"

Now his voice was right behind her.

"…that the worst is yet to come."

Kiwi whirled around, pulling the trigger.

The bullet vanished into the void. The shot’s echo was swallowed whole.

Then—

The blackness burst into color, shifting into a massive screen.

On that screen, she saw herself.

Sitting at the cafe.

Eyes half-lidded.

Rapid blinks.

And across from her? That same fucking guy.

"What the hell…?" She forced the words out, swallowing back the fear rising in her throat.

"Reality," his voice purred. The man on the screen winked at her. "You’re still sitting right there. Never ran any scripts. Never ran at all. Never warned Lucy. Everything you just experienced? A lie. A little braindance of my own design, made just for you."

"But… how…?"

"You wanna know the details?" he chuckled. "How I pulled it off? The technical side of things? I’d be happy to explain. Hell, I’ll show you what my art can do."

The blonde on-screen flicked his wrist.

Two figures emerged behind him.

Maelstromers.

Low-level initiates, judging by the lack of chrome.

"Take her," he ordered. "Disarm her. Cut her deck. She’ll be out cold for a few hours. Strip her, change her clothes, and dump her in Room Six. Should be empty."

The Maelstromers moved in, not giving a single shit about the cafe’s other patrons.

They yanked Kiwi from her seat.

"Get ready, sweetheart," the voice purred inside her head. "You’re about to take a trip down the rabbit hole."

Three minutes later—real minutes, not virtual—Kevin Upton stormed into the cafe, shotgun raised.

The exhausted workers barely reacted.

The drunk ex-corp scrambled under a table.

The chubby Chinese cafe owner just sighed.

"Kevin, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Me?!" Kevin barked, scanning the room like a madman. "I was working in my damn shop, and I see through the window—two cyberfreaks bagging a lady in here! Thought you were getting robbed again!"

Everyone just stared at him.

"You drunk, Kevin?" the owner asked.

"Fuck yeah, I’m drunk!" Kevin shouted. "It’s Friday fucking night! But when’s that ever stopped me?! Check the cameras! Red coat, woman sitting right there!"

"Yeah, yeah," the owner muttered, pulling up the feed. "Just put the fucking gun down. Here, look… Yeah. That lady was here. But she left on her own."

Kevin peered at the tablet.

Sure enough, the recording showed a woman in a dark red coat.

Sitting alone.

Then getting up.

And walking out.

No abduction.

No cyberfreaks.

Nothing.

"Well, fuck me," Kevin muttered.

"Go see a doc, choom," the owner sighed. "Seriously."

The darkness around me was almost calming, though that disgusting, hollow feeling still clung to me. It had faded a little, but I’d need a hormone shot later. Maybe the meds would stabilize my fucked-up psyche again. Too much on my plate right now, though.

I lay on the bed, most of the lights off. Lucy sat at the table, scanning data on the shards from the gear she’d used to dive into Konpeki. We’d both been to Vik. Physically, we were fine.

"Remember what we agreed on when we first started working together?" I asked. Didn’t wait for her to answer. "I handle the planning."

"We did follow your plan," she replied, still focused on the shards. "Then everything went to shit."

"When I told you to bail, you should’ve bailed."

"I was trying to get you out. I almost did."

"Almost," I nodded, pushing myself up from the bed. "And because of that, I almost died getting you out instead."

"You could’ve left, and I—"

"—would be dead," I cut in, voice cold. "Don’t argue. We both know that’s true. You were cut off in the subnet, no combat programs, with a shitload of enemies on your tail. You’re good. That’s why you got away—unlike T-Bug. But how long would you have lasted? An hour? Half?"

"I tried…" Lucy started, setting down the shards, but her voice wavered. "You were pinned down too. Without me—"

"We would’ve handled it!" I snapped, standing up. "We had the bot with camo. I was gonna load it with grenades and send it straight to the guards at the parking post. I could’ve reprogrammed the turrets, too. I had it all mapped out. I had a plan.

"You helped—sure. But if you’d just listened and left, there wouldn’t have been so much risk in the first place."

A few seconds of silence. Not just awkward—heavy.

"I couldn’t leave you behind," Lucy finally said. "I love you."

Ah. So she was going straight for the trump card.

Fine. I had something to say too.

"You wouldn’t have been leaving me behind!" I threw my hands up, pacing. "It’s called role distribution! The most rational move! You wanted to play hero? Congrats! That meant I had to play hero too! And now we both got our asses kicked for nothing! That’s a shit trend, Lucy. Don’t do that again!"

Silence again.

I paced back and forth, feeling my pulse hammering in my skull.

This time, Lucy didn’t argue.

She just sat at the table, staring at her own reflection in the dead screen of her laptop.

"You owe me," I said finally. "Not for saving you—I’d have done that anyway. But because this whole mess was your mistake."

"What do you want?" she asked dully. "Want me to pay a fine?"

"In a way."

I crossed my arms.

"Start by telling me everything. Your past. Why they were after you in Europe for so long. Why you had to run all the way here. And why the fuck you’re planning to run even farther now."

"That’s…"

"And don’t you fucking say it’s none of my business!" I snapped. "If your past catches up to you, it catches up to me too. I need to know what we’re dealing with.

"Then I can make a plan.

"Yeah, I get it—old wounds, trauma, all that shit. I sympathize. But this isn’t about feelings. This is about our survival. If you pull another stunt trying to take all the heat yourself, it’s gonna end badly for both of us.

"So sit down and tell me everything—now."

Lucy hesitated. Then, quietly:

"Alright… I’ll try."

"Try," I smirked. "And if you can’t? Try again. And again. And again."