KYBER-PUNK 22BBY [Inspired Inventor+]

— Jackie Welles —

Jackie Welles was having a night out. His input Misty was with him, and their mutual choom Vik. Getting Vik out of that clinic of his had taken some doing. That brother was cut from a simple cloth. These days, at least. He'd put his past in the ring behind him, and now, Jackie was lucky to tear Vik away from watching his fights or tinkering with his cyberware.

But Jackie had managed it tonight. He could be damn persuasive when he put his mind to it! How else would he have gotten a chica like Misty to give him a shot?

Honestly, Jackie shook his head, his girl could be a strange one. Always all on about her crystals and 'the Force' and whatnot. He'd had his fortune read more times than he could count. The damnedest thing was that she was usually right…

Then, there was that odd 'kyber-spice' that had turned up a few weeks back. Jackie was glad that line of spice seemed to have dried up. Misty was a bit too enthusiastic about it for his liking. Jackie had tried it with her, of course. He just… didn't see the point of it. Not like Misty did.

She said it made her feel more at home with something that's always been inside her. It seemed mostly harmless for her, but Jackie still didn't want his input hooked on some new spice. And he'd heard the rumors of bad trips on kyber-spice. It didn't give him the best vibes. Thankfully, with the supply drying up, that shit had only gotten pricier. Neither he nor Misty had the scratch to get hooked on it anymore.

Still, for all her oddities and flaws, Jackie wouldn't trade Misty for the world. They'd come from the bottom together, even if they only got together after they'd both made it out. Mama Welles didn't like their relationship all that much, but he was confident she'd get over it and see what Jackie saw in Misty. He knew damn well his dumb ass wouldn't do any better than the odd, 'Force and Sorcery' obsessed goth chica.

The three of them sat at the counter of a good-sized bar named Vampira. It wasn't a dive, but it certainly wasn't the Afterlife, either. Jackie had been there. It was a rare thing, but he'd gotten past the door check once or twice. Nowhere compared to the Afterlife, drinking with Legends from Night City and beyond. Vampira was simply a decent, consistent substitute.

These were still his people. All of Night City was, in Jackie's mind, but in Vampira, that was more true than usual. The bar sat deep in Valentino turf. And while Jackie had left the gang, he still had close ties to many of its members.

Jackie knew he could kick back here, knew he could simply relax with his choom and input. It was a good place for a casual night out. And with places like this, like Afterlife, information flowed as freely as the drinks. Some tidbits were paydata. Some were about this job or that. And some… some spoke of opportunity and history in the present.

"Word on the street… is that a Legend in the Making is back in town…"

The speaker — a man simply called Dez — was a Valentino who Jackie was acquainted with. Not closely, but he knew the choom well enough. Good dude. Old compared to most of his Valentio peers. But that had always told Jackie good things about Dez. He was the type to seem unbothered by everything while keeping his eyes and ears always open.

Jackie chuckled, "You certainly know how to get my attention, choom. Got the detes?"

"Oh, joy," Misty rolled her eyes. "Pique his interest, why don't you?"

On the outside, her tone sounded cutting. Jackie knew her well enough to hear the good humor and fondness, though. Returning the fondness, he reached over and squeezed her hand. He flashed her a smile — Mama Welles always said it was a killer… — as well. Misty glanced away, but Jackie still saw the blush she was hiding.

"Remember the crew that took down Maelstrom?" Dez continued. "They didn't stop making waves there. Kept right on moving up in the world. All this Hutt shit lately? They're at the center of it."

Others at the bar joined their conversation, "I heard they kicked a Hutt off his throne!"

"I heard they ate that Hutt, too, choom."

"Nah, I heard it was the Ganks they keep like pets."

Dez nodded along with the others, "And we've all seen that broadcast, right?"

"Gonk challenged the Hutts like it was nothin'! I didn't know he was from Night City, though," A kid on Dez's other side said.

"Ah, shit," Vik sighed. "I knew I recognized blondie and that rimbo chick from somewhere… I did some chrome for that crew. Best cyberware I've ever seen. No idea where they got it, but that it should've been in a museum."

"That's them? Him?" Jackie perked up curiously at that.

"Nah, but the kid in the holovid was with the kid I operated on," Vik explained. "Grim, serious motherfucker. Nothing against him, 'course. Just didn't expect to see him making war on the Hutt masters of Nar Shaddaa."

Jackie nodded, "That was some preem violence. And balls of fucking chrome, too! Misty must've watched that holovid a dozen times over by now."

The woman behind the bar, listening in on the convo while she cleaned a glass, chuckled, "Same. Can't blame ya, girl. Balls of fucking chrome, indeed… Not literally, though. I think that thing swingin' was pure 'ganic."

"Not for that," Misty shook her head in denial, a blush dusting her cheeks. "I don't care that he's naked. It's the Force powers he showed that are so interesting to me."

"That's what that shit was?" Dez asked, leaning in over the bar to stare piercingly at Misty. "The way he threw those droids around and fucked up the Hutt?"

"It has to be," Misty firmly confirmed. "He's… not Jedi, though. Can't be, I'm pretty sure. Which is just… well, it's fascinating."

"Weird world we live in," Vik commented.

"And that's just the part everyone knows," Dez nodded. "The kid — he can't be more than 20 — followed through. He really went to war with the Hutt Clans. Got himself an army of Gank Killers and the cartel of the first Hutt he killed behind him, and they've been wreaking havoc across the rest of the moon."

"Gotta respect that shit," Jackie said. "As far as I'm concerned, it's always been 'fuck a Hutt'."

A general rumble of agreement came from the rest of the bar, and Dez continued, "Seems he was doing real damage, too. Got another Hutt under his killing belt. That was probably the last straw. Everyone felt that earthquake a couple of days ago? That was the Hutts sending their reply."

"Shit!" Someone reacted explosively. "That was them gettin' nuked from orbit?!"

That set off grumbles and rumbles of discontent. Jackie knew no one was happy about that 'eventful' day. It was all anyone could talk about, but concrete information was scarce. The only thing known for sure was that the numbers and names of the dead were still coming in.

An orbital strike in the middle of the city… It was a step way over the line, even for the Hutts. And reality had been laid bare because of it. The Hutts could potentially go for an encore at any time, anywhere. No one across the whole moon liked the idea of that, especially not in Night City where the culture and people were… unique.

Night City natives knew a thing or two about nukes — orbital or otherwise — from the Corpo Wars. The idea of going through a second Time of the RED was… well, the Hutts were less popular than ever in Night City. No, that was woefully understating it, Jackie thought. The Clans were public enemy number one now, and it wasn't even close.

"Thing is…?" Dez said, capturing the whole room's attention. "They lived. Made it out. Made it back to Night City. And now, they're rebuilding. Ain't no way the Hutts are gonna slide free of this one."

"I've… heard some things, too…" Misty said hesitantly. "They didn't just live. They somehow got actual Jedi on their side. Real, no-banthashit Jedi on Nar Shaddaa… I thought it was impossible. Jedi don't come here, ya know? But it seems that even with their Towerfall, they keep moving up in the world."

"Nah, Jedi are big leagues for sure," Jackie teased. "I'd say they're moving up in the galaxy, not just the world."

Misty rolled her eyes and smacked him harmlessly on the arm, "Gonk…"

"That's another thing," Dez chuckled. "Everything they're rebuilding… They're calling it the Gonk Cartel."

Honest, genuine laughs and cheers went up at that information, "Corellian Hells, yeah!"

"Nooo~vaaaa~!"

"They're reppin' Night City, chooms! Didn't forget their roots!"

"Soooo…" Jackie leaned in, getting the type of grin he knew Misty hated on his face. "Rebuilding, neh?"

"Jackie…" Misty's tone was a warning in itself.

"Recruiting, too," Dez nodded. "But that's to be expected. Good pay, better purpose… Yeah, I'm already talkin' to Padre about it."

"And being part of a Legend in the Making," Jackie said, his grin only growing. "That's the kind of gig I can rock with."

"I'm going to regret this…" Misty sighed. "But same. Might even get to meet an actual Jedi…"

"I bet they'll need a few good ripperdocs, too," Jackie goaded.

Vik shook his head, "They'll have all of Night City beating down their doors to join this Gonk Cartel. Hell, they likely do already. They don't need washed-up old me."

"Vik, your steady hands are the best of the best," Jackie argued. "And you've already done work for the crew at the top in the past. I wouldn't wanna do this without you. Join the wave, choom, and let's ride."

"You might get another chance to see that chrome you haven't stopped gushing about~," Misty teased.

Vik looked about ready to refuse again before she said that. He paused and sighed, "… Fine. For the chrome…"

Grinning, Jackie threw his arms around Vik's shoulders and Misty's, "I think this is the start of something beautiful, my friends! Just beautiful! The Gonk Cartel has nowhere to go but up! And we shall rise with them! Perhaps even become Legends in our own right, eh?"

Dez couldn't help but match his grin, "Well, Welles, looks like you'll be working side by side with the Valentinos once more. And if the word on the street is to be trusted, quite a few other gangs as well…"

"Shit… The kid's rallying all of Night City, isn't he…?" Vik muttered to himself.

It was low and below his breath, but Jackie still caught it. And really? The idea only made him more excited. This shit right here… This shit was hard. History in the making. The kind of preem sitch that never came around on the street. This was what Jackie Welles lived for. And if this Gonk Cartel would give him a shot, he'd take it.

IIIII

— Panam —

The Limits were alive and roaring with energy like Panam had rarely ever seen. Panam would say her clan was in high spirits but that would be understating things. They were incited. Inspired. And for Nomads, that meant everything had turned into a party.

Aldecados came from every corner of the Limits, gathering around her little sect. Word went out. Convoys, individuals, and whole camps came back. Panam's own camp had grown. It'd spilled over and over until she hardly recognized it all. Panam didn't know if she'd ever seen so many vics in one place at once, all of them with that signature Nomad flair.

Drink and stories flowed freely around raging campfires. Reunions came and went. Old beefs were reignited and settled. The siren's call was too much for too many to refuse. And as the first ones to hear the call, Panam's clan was at the center of it all.

Saul had been in extensive talks with the other clan leaders who were arriving. And while Panam had been disaffected with his leadership of late — what with him looking to go corpo — the latest development had derailed Saul's plans rather well. Now, there was another option open to the Nomads, to Night City as a whole.

Swoopbikes roared and raced past Panam as she watched. As she thought, more accurately. She was deep in it, her mind going like the swoopbikes. Below her, people whooped and cheered. Bets were exchanged and fights broke out amongst the crowd. It wouldn't be a Nomad party without a few of those and a whole lot of lethally fast repulsor sports.

Panam, meanwhile, simply leaned on a balcony railing above it all. Part of her enjoyed the swoopbike race like any Nomad would. The rest was… preoccupied. Damn it all, Panam was plotting! She wasn't cut out for this shit…

Absently, she noticed Mitch and Scorpion join her on either side. Mitch… Mitch knew her, knew she had something on her mind. He, thankfully, just let himself be there, waiting for her to talk to him when she was ready. Scorpion, however…

"Eddy for your thoughts? C'mon, spare 'em for your prettiest choom," Scorpion grinned.

"Oh, fuck off," Panam shoved him goodnaturedly. "Mitch is prettier than you."

Mitch scoffed his amusement, "That's patently untrue and we all know it. This gonk is too pretty for his own good."

"It's a curse," Scorpion sighed playfully. "One I carry well. Now, what's on your mind, Panam?"

She sighed as well, much less playfully, "Ideas… Opportunities… You hear the word from the stars?"

"Oh, yeah," Mitch nodded. "A few captains who witnessed the Hutts' orbital strike for themselves. And absolutely no one's happy about that shit. Not even the Hutts if some rumors are to be believed. And then there are the whispers of unrest already spreading to other Hutt planets off the back of that one broadcast. You know the one…"

"Everyone knows it. The stupid slugs fucked up by putting it out everywhere they could and having the whole situation backfire," Scorpion agreed. "The balance everywhere is… shifting."

"I'm just thinking…" Panam continued. "Ya know, maybe this is a chance… A chance to bring ourselves together for real. A chance for the Nomads to be part of something bigger than any of us."

As long as their culture had existed, Nomads had been defined by movement. They were smugglers. Blockade runners. And of course, one of the two parts of Night City that maintained connections with the stars. The Limits would always be home. But it was also home to the only spaceports Night City could boast other than the 'official' corpo-controlled one to the west of City Center.

The Nomads had long been the real entrance to Night City, both from the ground and from the stars. For everyone who wasn't anyone, Nomad ports were their only option. Every permanent Nomad camp was built around a spaceport. And on a shadowport like Nar Shaddaa, they saw plenty of traffic. Smugglers, traders, and spacers — all with that personal touch that the corpos lacked — did business with Night City through the Limits and Nomads. As dismissed as they often were, the Nomads controlled Night City's borders.

More than a few Nomads eventually graduated to join the stars. Starships, while still relatively rare (read: expensive), were far from impossible to come by. And Nomads loved their vics of any make and model — from the smallest swoopbike to the damn-near holy YT series. No one in Night City had a fleet like the Nomads… The corpos didn't count. And even then, if all of the Nomad Nations put their fleets together, they might give the corpos a run for their precious scratch.

That wasn't likely to happen, though. At least… not before. Now…? Panam wasn't even sure… The Nomads were a diverse culture, one that hated to be tied down. The Aldecados weren't the only nation in the Limits. Seven big ones, and who knew how many little ones. Like the many gangs within Night City proper, they fought between themselves frequently. There was shared, cultural understanding there, but often little love.

Now, Panam had seen reps from the other nations come to the growing camp. Bloods, Folks, Snakes, and even Thelas — the Nomad nation with a foot in the stars more than the Limits. They smelled blood and came swarming like damned Trandoshans.

"You mean throwing our wrench in the ring with that Atom fella and his Gonk Cartel," Mitch stated more than asked.

"And why not?" Panam asked. "We've got plenty to offer them. Able hands, vics, and connections. A fleet, something he desperately needs. It'd bring the Nations together. And it's a way to keep on living without the Hutts always hanging over our heads."

"I think we already have," Scorpion said, uncharacteristically observant. "Some of the patrols have already had to scare off Hutt mercs and whatnot. They're probing the Limits. They want into Night City, and if they manage, they'll burn everything down."

"So…" Mitch began. "Just by being here, being from here, and with the Hutts being the other option… the Gonk Cartel has cornered the city's support."

"No Nomad will ever back a Hutt, I know that much," Scorpion snorted. "Not even Saul. Corpo? Sure, he was leaning that way. But Hutt? No shot. Looks to me that we've already thrown our support behind the Gonk Cartel. That all of Night City already has, even if it hasn't been outright stated."

"Oh…" Panam muttered to herself. "Dammit, I'm terrible at this leading and plotting junk… I was thinking I'd have to go behind Saul's back to throw in with Atom."

"Probably not," Scorpion shrugged. "But we might be able to get some brownie points for going ahead with it while the clan heads talk themselves in circles."

"Fuck it, all of that crap's for later," Mitch said, pushing himself off the rail. "There's a perfectly good race going on down there. Let's go win some money and sit on all of this talk for tomorrow."

Panam chuckled, "Can't leave it for too long, choom. I have a feeling that Atom is the type to move quickly."

"That's for damn sure," Scorpion smirked. "You hear about how he's taken over Watson where the Tyger Claws and Maelstrom were before they were wiped out? And how he somehow managed to buy every single weapon vendor over half the city completely out of stock in the process?"

Panam's chuckle graduated to an outright laugh, "Weapon vendors in Night City? Out of stock? What is the galaxy coming to~?!"

IIIII

— V —

"-Kriff! This whole situation — no, this whole karking galaxy is going to kriff in a handbasket!"

V didn't bother to hide how she rolled her eyes. Gonks, all of 'em. Couldn't appreciate greatness when they saw it. She'd been included in the latest boardroom briefing on Atom and everything surrounding him. Not true execs, but mid-level banthas with more panic than spine. The kind of gonks who pretended — wanted — to matter so, so much, but really, truly didn't.

None but her knew the real reason she was there. Her mission to establish ties with Atom — with Smasher as the handler — was, like most of Smasher's jobs, off the books. It was… progressing, but the damned target kept doing shit that flipped the board. That was why V was included in these briefings. This one was the third in a week, and it likely wouldn't be the last. Everything they knew about Atom, his Gonk Cartel, and the war against the Hutts was being laid out and presented by the various departments tasked with gathering the information.

The only good thing about these briefings was the many eyes on the sitch. 'Course, that meant no real plan of action could ever be agreed upon, but that was very much the point. The mid-level department heads weren't being trusted to handle the whole Atom issue. They just got the paydata and presented it for V without even realizing that's what they were doing. The inevitable arguments, ranting, raving, scrambling, and panicking were exactly to Arasaka's design.

But even if she was being forced to listen to them fuck around and run in place, V didn't have to like it. Was it important information? Information that would've taken way too long for V to gather on her own? Sure. But Gods were the cunts annoying. Each one thought they were more important than they were, that they had more power and authority than they did — it was infuriating. V was the only one in the room with actual jurisdiction over the corp's second contact with the Legend in the Making. These gonks were just… meat.

'Kark,' V nearly groaned. 'And now they've got me thinking even more like Smasher. So not dealing with that right now…'

V spoke up, cutting off the ranting Director of the Arasaka Waterfront campus in Watson, "The Gonk Cartel is our new neighbor in Watson. So what? They can't be worse neighbors than Maelstrom were. Sounds to me like you're just flipping your shit over what you see as a threat to your little kingdom. Newsflash, Lionel. It's not. It's Arasaka's, just like everything else."

"W-Wha-?! No, I simply-!" Lionel sputtered. "You're not the one who's going to have to do business right next to them and all the enemies they bring every day from now on, you jumped up little sl-!"

As he raged and insulted her, V calmly flicked a throwing knife his way. It drew a bloody, dripping line across the side of Lionel's vein-riddled neck. He froze. Pussy. V had barely grazed him. Still, she just stared at him with lazily lidded eyes, quirking a brow.

"You were saying?"

"Sit down, Lionel," Susan Abernathy — Director of Special Operations — snapped scathingly. "And perhaps, consider why it might not be a good idea to insult Adam Fucking Smasher's handler. Our most sincere apologies, of course, Miss Valerie-…"

"It's V," V rolled her eyes hard. "And cut the kiss-assing, Susan. You aren't in any way slick."

Lionel paled, the blood that had risen to his face during his rant draining rather dramatically. Shakily, he sat back at the table, "I-I may have overstepped…"

"Still, you raise some half-decent points," Kiichi Nagawa — Director of Internal Affairs and maybe the only one there other than V who was actually worth a damn — said. "The Gonk Cartel's expansion and rebuilding efforts have been… rapid. In the extreme. Honestly, I'm impressed. Whoever's coordinating their affairs is competent. Very competent."

"T-They've taken over several megabuildings — H10-12 —, the defunct Northside Industrial District, and the black markets of Kabuki," Lionel reported, still visibly shaken and unable to look at V. "Already, they're turning profits. Those infamous black markets now serve the Gonk Cartel and a few factories are already coming back online, which is more than the Tyger Claws or Maelstrom ever managed. S-Surprisingly, the local residents seem rather content with them being there. A matter of prestige, profit, protection, and purpose, I imagine."

"Then there's their efforts to restock an arsenal worthy of war," Kiichi added. "Even Night City's supply struggled to match their demand. For the first day of their city-wide weapon buyout, at least…"

"They must be burning through cash," Susan considered. "Can we use that?"

"With no sign of them slowing down and Night City netrunners against Hutt Clan net security?" Kiichi raised a rather telling eyebrow. "Somehow, I doubt they'll run out of funds anytime soon."

"A-And, of course, they're recruiting heavily," Lionel continued. "Even whole gangs are signing up to go to war for the Gonk Cartel. The Animals, the Voodoo Boys, and the Valentinos, so far. The Mox likely won't be far behind, considering the Gonk Cartel's very public stance on slavery — sexual or otherwise."

"Yeah, people don't seem to like the Hutts and are looking for any excuse to kill some slugs," V drawled sarcastically. "Go fraggin' figure."

Kiichi nodded, "In Night City, there will never be a shortage of souls willing to give their lives for a cause. Any cause. That it happens to be noble is just a bonus."

"Well, how are we supposed to fight that?!" Susan demanded. "They're making war against the Hutts! The Stars-damned Hutts! A nobler cause there never will be! The Gonk Cartel will just continue to grow and grow until the whole city is behind them!"

"Oh, just worry about your little 'special operations'," V said dismissively, rolling her eyes. "It's being handled. By people and decisions above your pay grade. I suggest you just keep bringing paydata to these little meetings and put the rest of it out of your mind."

"Hmm, quite," Kiichi hummed, eying V carefully. "For this meeting, I will vote that we once again need more information. However, I would also like to state my desire to meet the Gonk Cartel's competent organizers for the record. That is the goal I shall be working toward until next time."

"Knock yourself out," V waved. For the others in the room, it was a throwaway line. But V suspected Kiichi was smart enough to know she was giving him permission and why he might need that permission to go ahead with his stated goal. Kiichi nodded subtly to her.

"I-I will… simply keep my eyes peeled." Lionel began, his eyes darting V's way and then anywhere but. V couldn't help but smirk. She'd really done a number on him.

"And I'll focus on my 'special little' operations," Susan spat, glaring at V. Oh, how quickly the paranoid bitch's opinion turned. Kissin' ass one moment, and loathing the next. V honestly hoped she'd try something…

V opened her mouth to round out the declarations of intent and finally get the fuck out of the meeting room, but she didn't get the chance to speak. Thudding, almost trademark stomps came from outside, and the door to the room was opened as if the security on it was nothing. In the face of Smasher, it quite literally was. Everyone in the room — other than V — went still in an instant. Not even Kiichi was immune, though his stillness seemed to be more respectful than fearful, at least.

"Sup, Smasher?" V asked, taking the chance to stand and casually crack her back.

"V-BRAT. ENOUGH PLAYING MEAT WRANGLER. GET YOUR ASS MOVING. THE OLD MAN WANTS TO TALK TO YOU."

As that sentence filtered into her mind, even V was brought up short. A moment later, she let out the breath she found herself holding, though. Right. Nothing to it. Just being summoned via Adam Fucking Smasher to meet with Saburo Fucking Arasaka… Nothing to it…

At the very least, the horrified and dumbfounded expression on Susan's face as V left the room made the terrifying meeting almost worth it.

IIIII

"Saburo Arasaka's here? On Nar Shaddaa? Now?!" V hissed at Smasher as they rode the (very private) elevator up to meet the old Emperor of Arasaka.

"CUT THE PANIC. IT'S DISGUSTING," Smasher rumbled. "HE IS. AND HE WANTS TO SEE YOU. THE OLD MAN NEVER MISSES A CHANCE FOR WAR, PROFIT, AND ESPECIALLY NOT BOTH."

V took a breath to compose herself. Smasher was right. Her panic was disgusting, "… Alright. Why now? Why me?"

Smasher (unnecessarily) turned to look at her out of the side of his glaring red optics, "WHAT'D I JUST FUCKING SAY, V-BRAT?"

"That…" V said slowly. "Saburo Arasaka never misses a chance for war and profit-… Oh."

"YEAH," Smasher snorted a harsh, digital sound. "'OH.' I'LL LET THE OLD MAN TELL YOU THE REST. BUT IT LOOKS LIKE YOU'RE MOVIN' UP FAST, V-BRAT. DON'T FUCK UP."

"Thanks," V snapped back at him. Despite her tone, Smasher's special brand of encouragement did help her center herself. "Thanks…"

A few moments later, the elevator doors opened. But not to a penthouse like V had been expecting. Instead, it was some sort of viewing deck at the very top of Arasaka Tower. A glass dome on all sides and a view as if they were halfway to space. Considering how Arasaka did things, they very well could be.

As they stepped out, the elevator retracted back into the floor as if it was never there. A throat was calmly cleared behind them. V turned and saw tatami mats at the top of the world. The man who knelt atop them was surprisingly small and shockingly old, yet still sat straight and strong. V couldn't help but picture an improbable tree on a windswept cliffside, there for as long as anyone could remember and eternally weathering the elements.

"Smasher," The Emperor of Arasaka croaked. "The tea, if you would."

It was said politely, almost softly. V expected… well, she didn't quite know what to expect from Smasher in response. But certainly not for the Chrome Rancor to dutifully and perfectly brew tea in the traditional method, serve it, and kneel quietly to one side of Saburo Arasaka. It was an impossible scene. V found herself coming to kneel across from the Emperor without being asked, such was his sheer and simple presence.

"Emperor," She bowed in greeting.

"Miss Valerie," Saburo nodded a bow back to her.

"… I prefer V," As soon as the words left her mouth, V was cursing herself mentally and preparing for the worst.

Yet… it didn't come. Instead, Saburo simply lifted his tea to his lips for a small sip and nodded, "V, then."

"Try your tea," Saburo continued. "I insist. I spent much too long drilling decorum and tradition into Smasher to have my efforts go ignored."

She did, and she blinked, "It's… good…?"

"You sound surprised," Saburo said.

"I am," V freely admitted. "Not with you or your efforts, of course, Emperor. Just… this is very much not the Smasher I've come to know."

Ever-so-slightly — to the point V might've imagined it — Saburo's lips quirked upward, "No, I imagine he is not."

"THE OLD MAN LIKES TO FLEX ON ME," Smasher rumbled. "BUT AT LEAST HE'S ACTUALLY EARNED THAT RIGHT. NO ONE ELSE CAN SAY THAT MUCH."

"I expect the best," Saburo stated firmly. "Not just the best, but the best done correctly. Life requires more skills and practice than mere violence, as important as it is in our lines of work. Tradition, duty, decorum, trust — all of these things are just as important."

V inclined her head with respect, "As you say, Emperor. Yet… most of what I know comes down to violence and more violence. I fear I might just disappoint you."

Saburo shook his head just once, "Never. I have high hopes for you, V. According to Smasher, you are living up to most if not all of them. Praise from him is a rare and beautiful thing if one knows how to read between his lines. His expectations are only a touch lower than mine. That you do so in a way unique to yourself is something to be celebrated — a credit to you, young V."

The idea that Smasher had been reporting on her to 'Old Man Saburo' — the Emperor himself — made V go very, very still, "That… Thank you, Emperor. At times, I'll admit, I don't feel like I'm doing enough. Especially not compared to… well, our current target."

"Finding one's way takes time. You are in no way behind schedule. Comparison is the thief of joy," Saburo said. "But yes, let us cut to the core purpose of our talk tonight. Let us speak of this… Atom, and your efforts regarding him."

"MEAT FUCKING CLONE…" Smasher snorted, and V tensed.

"I will not apologize, Smasher," Saburo simply stated. "It was a failed project. A mere whim. None could have expected how it developed so impossibly once our hands were removed from the matter."

"I PROBABLY COULD'VE," Smasher grunted. "EVEN AS JUST MEAT, ADAM SMASHER IS ADAM FUCKING SMASHER."

Saburo casually sipped his tea, "I disagree. In fact, I don't believe our young target is you at all, Smasher. The only thing shared is your DNA. His actions so far have shown that much. What truly happened is impossible to say, however. Some things in this galaxy, even we will never comprehend."

"SO, FORCE BULLSHIT," Even with his familiarly hostile tone, Smasher's kneeling position was a perfect picture of decorum and deference.

"Such is the way the galaxy turns," Saburo nodded. "Even here in Night City. At times, all we can do is turn with it. V, a report in your own words — from your own mind — if you would."

V shifted slightly on her knees, "Uh… Things are… progressing. But it seems like every time I look back at him, he's doing something new to change the sitch. This all started with a single Hutt. It's now… escalated far past that.

"Does that change my — our — objectives? Does Arasaka even want to throw our weight behind such a polarizing character? If we do, we'll inevitably be dragged into his war against the Hutts. If we don't… well, he's survived everything thrown at him so far and just kept on truckin'. After an orbital strike, I like his odds to keep doing so."

Having the Emperor of Arasaka listen to her so closely, so intently, was a heady feeling. Saburo gave an acknowledging nod, "Your view of the matter is apt and accurate, V. To some, those considerations would cause a trial of conscience. But I have seen far too much for such petty concerns. Speak bluntly, V. Do you believe?"

"Believe…?" V asked slowly.

"IN THE MEAT CLONE, V-BRAT. DO YOU THINK HE HAS WHAT IT TAKES TO PULL ALL THE WAY THROUGH?" Smasher clarified, not stating an opinion either way though V was certain he had one.

"No," Saburo denied, his stare piercing. "Not merely 'think'. Do you believe, V? Remove logic and pragmatism. Tell me of your heart."

V paused… and slowly nodded, "I… do. Stars help me, I fucking do. He's talking big game, but he's living up to his talk, too. The ripples have already been cast. And he just keeps making more. Also… I can't help but want to believe. I want him to keep going and going — fighting and fighting — until there's nothing left of the Hutts but dust."

Saburo gazed into her soul, piercing, assessing, and judging the truth of her declaration. V did her best not to fidget. Whatever the Emperor was looking for, he seemed to find it. He took another sip from his tea.

"I am no fan of the Hutts," Saburo said as if he was simply stating the weather. "Their species, their whole society, is insulting to me on a personal level. While there is competence to be found amongst them, it is as rare as platinum. For most, they are sickeningly content to allow their vast power and reach to languish in mediocrity. For that reason alone, I would support the war effort against the Hutt Clans."

V held her breath, getting a peek into the Emperor's mind. How many others could say the same…? She nodded along with his words, and Saburo continued.

"But this decision cannot be purely personal. I have seen many things, V. More than you could imagine, and still less than some in the galaxy. But I have long since known one thing for certain: sometimes, the only thing one can do is go all in on a Sabacc hand. Win or lose, it is the only way forward. And having seen many Legends come and go… I know a winning hand when I see one."

"Atom is a winning hand…?" V breathlessly half-said, half-asked.

"DAMN FUCKING STRAIGHT, HE IS. HE'S GOT GREATNESS IN HIS VEINS. HE'S NO PASSING LEGEND," Smasher scoffed, finally stating his opinion on the matter.

"He is a catalyst," Saburo corrected gently. "One that shows no sign of burning out. He takes Smasher's 'Unstoppable Force' and makes it his own, setting an avalanche in motion. The avalanche gathering around and behind him… That is the winning hand.

"Everything he builds, everything he inspires, and everything he sweeps up in his path is what makes us go all in. He is the lynchpin of the hand, yes, but one does not bet everything on one card. Therefore, our greatest boon, the greatest point in his favor, is that he surrounds himself with other competent cards — winners in their own rights — and brings out the greatness within them to join his."

"Stars…" This… This was history in the making, V already knew. She could feel it in her fucking chrome. She shook her head, focusing back on the present. "So where do I come in? Continuing my mission, I assume? Is it finally time for us to make a move?"

"In a way," Saburo deflected before going on what seemed to be a tangent. "Militech has been selling weapons to the Hutt Clans here on Nar Shaddaa."

V blinked, "I… hadn't heard anything about that."

"And now you have," Saburo continued, his voice hardening and inviting no more interruptions. "As will the Gonk Cartel. I have arranged for knowledge of Militech's dealings to be leaked to them. Very soon, an opportunity will present itself. You will take it.

"Since our 'Gonk' friends are most starved for territory and resources — and since they are currently occupying Watson — I expect them to strike at the Militech base there. When they do, you will lead Arasaka to join the strike.

"Not as allies to the Gonk Cartel, for that would be forced and suspicious, but as competitors. It is a chance to take territory from our rival, but more importantly, it will give us — you, V — an opening to make contact with the target. The rest — making an impression and establishing ties, good or bad, for I can work with either — will be up to you. Do not disappoint me… Valerie."

"Never," She straightened her spine and met Saburo's eyes head-on. "And… it's V, Emperor."

That time, the ghost of a smirk on Saburo Arasaka's face couldn't have been mistaken for anything else, "Indeed, it is. And I expect you'll give me good cause to honor that name in the future… V."

IIIII

— Embo (and Marrok) —

Enough credits could buy most any loyalty… but never real respect. That should've been the motto of the Hutt Clans. Maybe then the truth of it would wiggle its way into their ears and stick in their brains.

Embo stood guard over a council of Hutts, strong and silent. He didn't speak — rarely did at all — and when he did, he preferred his native Kyuzo rather than Galactic Basic. He was happier that way, and the tight hold he kept on his tongue earned him a decent premium on his services. But though he didn't speak, none could stop him from listening.

Marrok sat at his side, just as strongly stoic as his master. Though the male anooba — aggressive pack-hunting creatures native to Tatooine — wasn't fully sapient, he was still quite intelligent. Embo couldn't ask for a better hunting partner.

Marrok was a fierce and vicious pseudo-hound, with a sharp, split-beaked snout that could crush thick bones within powerful, jaws. He was taller at the shoulder than Embo's waist, thick with lethally effective muscle, and had a long, whiplike tail trailing behind him for balance. Best of all, his canine-adjacent nose could track any scent and he was uniquely loyal to his master — loyal in a way that would otherwise be impossible to come by for a bounty hunter.

Embo had tamed Marrok while stuck in the endless deserts of Tatooine during a mission in his youth. At the time, Marrok had seemed like a demon of death, come for Embo's dehydrated husk. But Embo offered his trademark hat as shade for the wolflike creature under those twin burning suns, and they'd made common cause ever since.

Now, seven years on, they found themselves in a different kind of desperate situation. It wasn't the same drying, roasting, hours-to-live heat of twin suns across endless sand, but perhaps someone should've told their Hutt employers that. Their war council — and Embo hesitated to call it that much — went back and forth, fueled by panic, rage, and barely competent ideas.

"We have shit the bed!" One Hutt — Lord Torta — exclaimed.

"No, the Human has shit in our throne!" Another Hutt — Lord Pyory — argued rather pointlessly.

"M-My Gods…" Lady Spaya said, looking pale for her usual green. "The things he did to Legendary Gromix, our Armored Fist… All we could do was watch. No amount of pulling slaves could tear him free from where the usurper staked him. He died a pathetic death, screaming and even sobbing there at the end…"

"Cursed, debased magic," Lord Borof spat. "We should sic the Jedi on him! Surely, he perverts their precious 'Force', yes?!"

Lord Pyory shook his head vigorously, "He fights side by side with Jedi already! How, I do not know! But he does! A Twi'lek and a Kiffar! Perhaps the long-eared one was Jedi as well!"

"The Jedi are the least of our problems," Lord Torta said. "The masses are working themselves into a great fury! They forget their place and question if they should rightfully be beneath us, just for a simple orbital strike! Pathetic, base creatures, but they are numerous!"

"And where has the usurper disappeared to?" Lady Staya asked. "We know he survived. But his attacks have ceased! I find that cause for much concern!"

"He has returned to that infuriating Human-majority section of the moon," Lord Torta informed. "Night City… Disgraceful, disgusting place. All of those pink-skinned rats packed into a meaningless rathole."

"Then, that is where we strike!" Lord Borof declared.

"We have been trying," Lord Torta insisted. "But we have not managed to find a consistent way inside. The locals are an ignobly independent sort and very unfriendly to outsiders. Even our cousins within Night City are cut off from us."

"Well, keep trying!" Lord Borof snapped. "Throw bodies upon bodies at the problem until it is brought to heel! No section of Nar Shaddaa, no matter how independent, would dare declare for the usurper! WE have the overwhelming force! WE are the power here! WE will bring the damnable Humans to their knees!"

"We can't afford another orbital strike and the backlash it would bring," Lady Staya said. "The Black Suns and the Pykes will pick us apart. They're already watching with increasing interest. And if it didn't work the first time, why would it work the second?"

"We will if we must!" Lord Borof loudly disagreed. "It's not as if this Night City will have a fleet that could stand against ours! Find me a target and I shall let the Hutts' hammer fall once more! Until then, find a crack, a way into the city, and flood the usurper with bodies even he cannot overcome!"

Embo and Marrok simply stood there as the council progressed, a pair of forgotten observers. To the outside, they were akin to statues. Bought and paid for statues… Within the safety of his mind, however, Embo began having doubts about his current job.

For he knew Night City. And the Hutts, very clearly, didn't. That did not say good things for their chances against the unique forces of violence — the Legends and more — who inhabited Night City… And if that wasn't enough to get Embo thinking twice, the next point raised by the council certainly was.

"My Lords… I do not know how, but we seem to be burning through liquid capital at an alarming rate… It's as if our money is simply disappearing into thin air! In the coming assaults on Night City, I fear we'll have to cut back on costly mercenaries in favor of slaves and droids… Oh, but I doubt this will much affect the results we expect, of course."

Well, now. Wasn't that just… the perfect thing for an overlooked bounty hunter to overhear…? Leverage. Leverage that Embo could use and leverage that he could spread to other bounty hunters in the Hutts' employ. For a price, of course.

The low growl of seeming agreement that Marrok gave sealed it for Embo. If even the hound could see the writing on the wall, perhaps it truly was… an unprecedented time for change on Nar Shaddaa…

Embo expected that he and his bounty-hunting peers would soon decide that Hutt Space was simply not the place to be right about now. That the coming storm would be best weathered from without, rather than from within.

'And honestly,' Embo considered. 'It'll be best to do so before the Black Suns, Pykes, and other syndicates finally decide to sink their claws into this mess. Hells, I'd rather be on Coruscant when that happens. But I suppose I can take an early payday and settle for a bit of 'free love' on Zeltros.'

Embo imagined many historical figures would emerge from this mess at the center of Hutt Space. But if nothing else, he'd put himself down as one of the most intelligent beings in the yet-to-be-defined Gonk-Hutt War… Simply because he knew when to get himself out of the frelling way.