22.9

January 18, 2070, 2017

Watson, Konpeki Plaza, Employee Parking Lot #4

Leaping off her chrome-streaked Yaiba Kusanagi CT-3X, Crystal shot a cocky smirk towards the neon-tinged horizon of Noir City. "Who needs those scripted Delamain rides or Combat Cabs when you can taste the raw asphalt under your own wheels?" She said with an edge, letting her fingers dance over the freshly downloaded maintenance manual for her beastly bike.

With that signature rogue smile, she reached for the crimson pouch, a clandestine bargain from her enigmatic Patron, Eve. The Robes of Useful Items had their perks, but she’d opted for this crimson cache in a high-stakes trade. A small bag bigger on the inside than the outside. As she unveiled a hulking jug from within, the unmistakable sound of CHOOH2 sloshing echoed in the night.

“Alchemy at its finest, one magic jug – endless rides. Priceless value packaged small.”

Her giggle hung in the air as she fed her bike its liquid feast. Once done, she let the jug vanish into her pouch putting it away once more. Flexing her will, the Many Faces and Disguise Self eldritch invocations whirred to life, masking her rebellious allure, morphing her into just another faceless corpo supervisory work drone.

Striding into the glitzy underbelly of Konpeki Plaza Hotel via the service entrance, she mused, “Corpo luxury havens. Posh as hell, but just golden cages. At least they got some decent sushi, it only costs an arm instead of a leg, too.”

The small supervisor suite she stepped into was a polished prison, but Crystal had tricks up her sleeve. Her eyes, now illuminated with a predatory crimson, began their hunt, seeking out any lurking surveillance. A few pinpointed gadgets later, she dispatched them with a mere snap of her fingers. A sly moment later, and she chuckled, “Looks like the grid's having a bad day. Enjoy the mysterious blackout.”

Now with surveillance eliminated, she slid into her sleek Militech bodysuit - a piece she had 'redefined' after "Sgt. Fluffyfeathers" had done a deep dive into its codebase, and she had meticulously removed any pesky trackers. It was the civilian version purchased back when she was in a shopping frenzy.

As she got ready, a dark thought crossed her mind - the risk of her arcane talents being sensed. But she brushed it off, thinking, “Noir City’s elite probably trade these secrets like rare SynthGin. Gonna need a bit more than that to catch me off-guard. I haven’t left any traces to work off of, so they’ll be stumped.”

A burst of her enhanced vampiric agility and she was at the elevator to head upward in a nanosecond. As she ascended the towering heights of Konpeki Plaza, the neon-lit horizon of Noir City unfolded. Whispers from the Net’s shadier sectors spoke of a nefarious device on the forty-seventh floor – tech designed to ensnare cyber-enhanced minds stifling their ability to operate. At its helm? Pyotr Osipov, a corpo puppet entangled with the Scavenger syndicate.

This was more than just a job for eddies. This was about keeping monstrous tech away from even more monstrous hands. “Time to rock,” she whispered, letting the rhythms of "Smooth Criminal" back her up as she effortlessly played her disguised part. Her Many Faces and Disguise Self invocations concealed her attire, blending her seamlessly with the corporates, her log entry simply reading 'Complaint Resolution'.

The guest list was a breeze, especially when Pyotr's name gleamed on it. The upper echelons of Konpeki valued opulence over visible security. A tweak to her retina ID, and she was granted entry to the forty-seventh's expanse of luxury. The suite doors glistened, each an ode to cutting-edge tech. But suite thirteen was her prize, Osipov’s sanctuary. With F.F.'s interface, she infiltrated the suite's camera system, while a mock keycard swipe courtesy of her disguise combined with the On/Off cantrip granted her easy entry.

Inside, a hedonistic scene unfolded – women, drugs, braindance, and booze. Osipov was deep in the throes of exhaustion, two Exotic companions by his side. With calibrated vampiric senses, she confirmed he wasn’t just playing dead.

Quietly, she maneuvered, administering her vampire venom concoction. These innocents wouldn’t become collateral on her watch. With everyone taken care of, her gaze fixed on the prize – a neural override gadget, displayed brazenly. Clearly, Osipov had been showing off. She knew it was only a matter of time before the Arasaka giants got wind of it. Without hesitation, she invoked her Blood Alchemy, crafting a mirror image of the device, swapping it with the genuine article. It was a temporary decoy, but it was all she needed for her escape.

With the original object secured, it was time to leave a calling card. Misty’s Esoterica had been the perfect place to acquire a few copies of Tarot cards. With a gentle use of Clean she tucked The Phantom beneath the suitcase.

Just another puzzle piece to screw investigators over.

Navigating the cold, electric veins of Noir City, Crystal, with her vampiric magic, was the antithesis of the cyber-enhanced chooms around her. Fresh from the first successful gig, she already had another big score locked in her sights: a high-end data broker dealing in the city's digital underbelly, ensconced in the luxury of Konpeki Plaza, trading in precious 1s and 0s that would fetch her a load of eddies.

Chewing over the city's exclusive guest lists once more, she located the suite labeled '666', a peculiar deviation as she ventured closer to the penthouse sanctums. She exhaled, feeling the weight of the Netrunner's realm she was about to dive into. Not guns, not blades, but ones and zeroes, the true ammunition of this battle. Her trusted companion, F.F., made a swift connection, giving her the virtual lowdown of the suite's layout.

With a soft hum of her On/Off cantrip, she seamlessly infiltrated the room. Both the data broker and his high-tech Doll companion soon found themselves lulled under her arcane venom's touch. F.F. whirred into action, feathered fingertips aglow as Rune Eyes carved effortlessly through the digital maze of firewalls and encryptions. As neon data threads entwined and danced around her, Crystal plundered the digital treasure - a ledger packed with dark secrets of Noir City's underworld.

Usually, for a Netrunner, such audacity would have unleashed a fury of digital backlash. But Crystal was no mere scrub anymore; she was Warlock, an apex magical predator in a digital jungle. Having secured her prize, she disconnected, leaving not even electronic echoes in her wake.

Elevator lights blinked in descending sequence as she made her way back to the bowels of the Konpeki Plaza, her thoughts already racing ahead. The city's whispers had hinted at an ancient artifact, a relic predating the cyber era, secretly ensconced in Konpeki's depths. Her recent data heist confirmed its existence, making it impossible for her to resist. It wasn't just about the eddies – it was about power.

Precious hours were spent navigating the intricate layout of Konpeki's basement. With her limited Blood Alchemy, she summoned shadowy spider bots, dispatching them into the labyrinthine vents that snaked their way to the fabled vault. Inside, they discovered an artifact resembling a cyberpunk golem core, pulsating behind a high-tech glass casing.

Yet, as the bots began attempting their extraction, Arasaka's beastly security protocols roared to life. Laser arrays, electronic countermeasures, and kinetic defenses obliterated her spider minions one by one. The corporation had over-engineered this vault's defenses, but Crystal always had a wildcard. With a swift invocation of her Misty Step spell, she blinked inside the vault, circumventing the complex defenses. Moments later, she emerged, the relic in her grasp.

Chaos erupted within Konpeki Plaza. But the vampiric mage didn't flinch. She metamorphosed, blending into the night, racing towards her bike. False dawn's first twilight kissed Noir City's skyline as she fired up her ride, utilizing her Shroud to cloak the escape. The looming towers of Noir City faded in her rearview, replaced by the vastness of the Badlands.

Riding hard, Crystal smirked, her sights set on a secluded farmhouse to decode her latest acquisition. The vast, open wastelands beckoned, a stark contrast to the neon chaos she had always known. Noir City's urban jungle was her playground, but the Badlands? That was uncharted territory.

Outside the confines of Night City's neon glow, the Badlands stretched out vast and unpredictable. Crystal's gaze darted, scanning for Nomads and Wraiths. These nomadic tribes were the polar opposites of Night City's denizens; where the Nomads respected ancestral traditions, the Wraiths were ruthless scavengers who'd prey on any unwary traveler. The roads here were more for the corpo transport rigs than any kind of safety for solo riders like her.

Her bike roared past the Sunset Motel before she veered left to Rocky Ridge, consciously avoiding the territory of Dakota, the formidable nomad fixer. The thought of running into her, especially with a fat bounty shadowing her, was too risky a gamble.

Rocky Ridge stood as a lone beacon of agriculture in the midst of the barren Badlands. Recognized as the meat suppliers for the massive corpo brand All Foods, they existed in a tense equilibrium. Any who dared disrupt the Ridge's operations would be met with relentless corpo drones and an armed response. But, by the same token, All Foods rarely raised a finger unless their supply chain was threatened.

Navigating these roads required more than just speed and guile. Surveillance tech littered the path. In the city, her Shroud spell was formidable but not infallible. Out here, though? She was nearly ethereal. “The advanced sensors and delicate monitoring systems can't handle the Badlands' heat,” she whispered, her tone dripping with arrogance, as a gang of Wraiths kicked their rides into high gear behind her.

But with her heightened senses, the traditional traps of the road - spikes, tripwires, claymores - seemed almost laughably easy to evade. The silhouette of Edgewood Farms emerged in the distance, marking the end of her journey down Edgewood Lane. The secluded homestead would serve as her sanctuary, at least for now.

Amidst the constellation of occupied homesteads, one outlier stood silent and seemingly uninhabited. Crystal throttled toward it, the engine's rumble breaking the silence. But as she neared, something caught her heightened senses and she abruptly braked, the rear of her bike kicking up dust.

"Fluffyfeathers, you getting a read on this?" Crystal inquired, casting a glance at her avian companion. With a hiss and a shimmer of magic, Fluffyfeathers morphed into a miniaturized Quetzalcoatl, its serpentine body wrapped in iridescent feathers. "Lotta mines," it replied, its voice a sibilant whisper.

Crystal surveyed the homestead, her brows furrowing. The place was fortified like a fortress. Turrets discreetly tucked into shadowed corners, mines barely detectable beneath the sandy terrain, cameras with probably heat and movement sensors—this was overkill. “Who the hell is this Anthony Harris?” she murmured, more to herself than to Fluffyfeathers. She had expected security, sure, but not a personal armory for a cattle rancher. The meat game was lucrative, but this level of defense was usually reserved for high-tier corpos or kingpins.

Probing the estate’s digital network, she found a surprising lack of resistance. Without a vigilant Netrunner on guard, her intrusion went unnoticed. Delving deeper, her eyes glowed a predatory crimson as the secrets of the farm unfurled before her. "This choom's gone off the deep end," she whispered, shocked at the depths of paranoia and the hidden dangers that the farm concealed.

“Finder’s keepers.” F.F. said with a serpentine grin.