JohnnyZ
patreon
[Demons of NC] Chapter 60
🕑 Added 2024-12-31 23:06:04 +0000 UTCJory agreed. Either he understood it was in his favor or he was just eager to consume rare prey. An experienced runner, blind in the real worldâexactly his kind of delicacy.
âVirtual Dogtownâthatâs their turf,â I warned. âEven for the two of us, it wonât be a cakewalk.â
âMore optimism, please,â Jory quipped, his avatar smirking. The scrawny teen appearance hid a network of code and virtual constructs that seemed even denser than before.
I scanned him for details. Yup, Jory had definitely grown.
âHow many people have you killed and devoured since breaking through the Blackwall?â
âNo idea,â he sneered. âDo you remember every slice of bread youâve eaten for breakfast?â
"Actually, yeah," I replied. "Iâve got a good memory."
"More like petty," Jory sneered. "Do you really give a shit about those nobodies? Donât worry, if I ran into your girlfriend, I wouldnât touch her. Honest!"
"The NetWatch care. Heard of 'em? This ainât the Wild Net, Jory. Actions have consequences. You wanna get a body just to land in their hands right after?"
"Fine, fine. Itâs just hard to resist when thereâs so much juicy, weak prey walking around. Beyond the Blackwall, you have to fight for every scrap, but here people stroll around without even basic defenses."
Speaking of virtual arsenals, I came prepared. After our last scuffle with the Watch, I loaded up for the Voodoo Boys opâarmored up with combat programs, fine-tuned shields, cloaking, worms, viruses, and, of course, demons. Whole kit cost me 50K eddies, even with loot from a couple of dead runners in the mix. Pricey, but if youâre gunning for someone like the Slider, you donât cut corners.
Iâd debated taking out Wilky LaGuerre in real life or the Net. From what I know of the future, his base is a goddamn fortress. Plus, thereâs the risk that Barghest might step in to help their semi-allied gang. The Slider doesnât leave his real fortress, but his digital lair? Thatâs another story. I had a plan to lure him out.
I wasnât lying about keeping track of breakfast bread, either. My memoryâs solid, and I always back up important files. Among the data from Zeitgeistâs memory that got passed to the Slider were research notes on long-term breaches of the Blackwallâplaces where the Old Net and the New Net had intersected. Using Jory, Iâd fake one of those signals, something that could look like a random or preprogrammed activation of another secret bunker.
No way the Slider would resist. Heâd rally his best runners and dive in headfirst for forbidden secrets. Of course, heâd be cautious, but creatures like me and Jory have our own advvantages in the Net.
Dogtown wasnât just walled off in the real worldâit was locked up tight in cyberspace, too. The Voodoo Boys had gone all out severing and obscuring pathways into Hansenâs domain. But after the Blackwall? Those measures didnât faze us. The ruins and abandoned entertainment centers still harbored flickers of digital life on some servers. Thatâs where we set up our ambush.
In the real world, it was the Terra Cognita tech parkâa scavengerâs paradise in the chaos of Pacifica. In cyberspace, it looked like a jagged canyon, its edges lined with harsh, angular lines. On either side, distant points of light marked Scavenger strongholdsâugly, jury-rigged fortresses of stolen gear. They loomed like watchtowers over the chasm below, where chaotic heaps of broken networks flickered like veins clogged with data clots.
I arrived first, beating Jory by fractions of a second. His bloated data mass slithered sluggishly through Dogtownâs frayed connections like an overfed snake.
"Charming place," Jory said, scanning the area with hundreds of simultaneous pings. "Reminds me of home. Cursed, shitty home past the Blackwall. You been here in real life?"
"Yeah. Total dump. Youâd love it. Letâs prep for our guests. One of Night Cityâs top netrunners is coming. Letâs make it a memorable welcome."
"Gladly."
Iâd brought along eight imps, three ifrits, and one fourth-gen Balron demon. Some programs I had preloaded into the Net, ready to summon. My spectral army spread out across the battlefield, finding optimal spots to hide. Like during the Susan Tower raid, I disguised my primary form, merging it with two real cyber-imps to form a triangular structure of identical spheres wrapped in tendrils. The other six imps copied the tactic, creating two more triangles.
The ifrits fragmented into scattered code, losing their forms but staying connected to my threads. They could reform into fighters in seconds. The Balron I stationed farther away, tying it to a specialized channel.
I began weaving a network of signal threads, subtly embedding them into the surrounding digital landscape.
Jory took a different approach. Masking himself as part of the environment wouldnât workâhe was too massive and unique. Instead, he restructured his data into a chaotic, broken mess. Within minutes, he looked less like a deadly AI and more like a corrupted databaseâa toothy treasure chest waiting to spring. A clever mimic protocol. A curious runner might poke the "data" and get mauled.
Time to bait the tomb raiders. I sent Jory the signal templates to broadcast. Heâd be the lure; Iâd strike from the shadows.
The Voodoo Boys didnât take long. First, a few imps arrivedâgolden lightning orbs accompanied by a couple of search programs. The hounds of the net shamans sniffed around for danger but didnât spot our ambush. Joryâs mimicry still held strong.
Searchers are great at finding netrunners and stock combat programs. But ours? Custom. Even the bought programs were heavily modded.
The searchers vanished. The imps stayed. Soon, five runners entered the canyon. Spotting the Slider among them was easy. His virtual form was massive, a pumped-up version of his real body, towering over the others. Empty eyes glowed with unnatural fire. Four lackeys flanked him, their faces painted with white, mystic-looking symbols.
The Slider spoke in Haitian Creole, the translation rendering roughly as:
"To the worthy, fate pours the strongest rum."
Worthy, huh? Guess weâll see. Too bad youâre about to eat shit.
But the Voodoo Boys didnât rush the bait. Careful bastards. They started scanning, running detection programs. One of them brushed against a disassembled ifrit but hadnât yet figured out what they were poking.
"Thereâs a lot of weird stuff here," one of the runners muttered. "What happened, Wilk?"
"The currents of the Net have thrown us the carcass of a beast," the Slider said thoughtfully. "Like a whaleâs corpse washed ashore."
So, he recognized some AI algorithm presence in Jory but assumed the Blackwall had already taken him out. Between the hands of the top net sorcerer appeared a greenish circle. Through it, like a prism, the Slider began analyzing Jory's data without taking too much risk. Damn it. If he figures out what he's dealing with, we'll lose the element of surprise. I thought Jory would strike first, but looks like itâs on me.
And one, two, three. Netrunner, RIP! (1)
In an instant, green lightning burst out from under the depths of the gorge, striking all five netrunners. My threads followed right after. Imps emerged from their camouflage, Ifrits began assembling, and the Balron lit up on the horizon with emerald fire.
"Trap!" one of the Voodooists screamed, claiming the Captain Obvious award of the day.
His prize? A double blast of green lightning from the Brainstormer, leaving him badly damaged. His virtual image flickered a few times, and his face contorted in pain. It's not pleasant having your brain fried. I tried to finish him off with my threads. Looked like it was working.
But the other runners reacted fast. Shimmering black-and-white armor with Voodooist patterns enveloped them.
"Find and kill!" the net-priestess shouted, unleashing a Cerberus.
This program looked like a massive black metal wolf, its eyes glowing white and its skin rippling with fire. Cerberus was a beast of a programâhighly lethal, especially against netrunners. It could locate them and trigger a heart attack with a single pulse. But I wasnât exactly in a human form right now and was disguised in a cluster of Imps.
Cerberus scanned over and over, but it couldnât lock onto a target. Visually, it looked like the beast was turning its head in frustration. The priestess caught on quickly.
"Spirits!" she yelled to the others, who were fending off my Imps' and threads' attacks.
Spirits? Yeah, thatâs about right.
The Voodooists released their own Imps and killer programs. Slider, arms spread wide, summoned a projection of a two-headed dragon, seemingly forged from red crystals and fire. A full-on virtual war had begun. Maxed-out chaos.
I managed to take out the wounded Voodooist, despite the othersâ attempts to shield him or sever my threads. Distracted by an Ifritâs feint, my thread destabilized his essence. The runner started glitching, screaming, and emitting pulses of nonsensical code. Thatâs when the others abandoned himâthey knew heâd never be the same. My threads dragged him away, shredding him into pieces. But the enemy had gained enough time to mount a counterattack.
At first, the Voodooists couldnât locate my primary structure. They saw individual threads and tendrils everywhere but couldnât pinpoint the core. That changed when the Slider pulled some special signal-tracking move. He locked onto the cluster where I was hiding.
"Itâs here!" he shouted, marking me with a blue beam. "Show it the fury of Pacifica, brothers and sisters!"
Jory... You gonna step in sometime soon? I cast you in one of the lead roles, not as background scenery. I sent him the message, but my "partner" stayed quiet.
Maybe he wanted the Voodooists to wear me and my arsenal down before he made his move.
The Sliderâs dragon easily obliterated one of my Ifrits. The Balron was still holding its ground, but it now faced a swarm of killers resembling robotic skeletons in samurai helmets.
If you donât step in now, Iâm pulling out.
Unlike Jory, I could bail quickly. With his bulk, the Voodooists might just corner himâor at least strip him down hard.
Patience, patience he finally deigned to reply.
A few seconds later, his massive data structures rippled and swelled like a festering boil. And thenâboomâthey exploded. Once again, we were being sucked into one of Joryâs illusions. He sure loved this crap. But honestly? It worked here. Weâd grown used to his extreme virtual constructs, but the Voodooists? Theyâd be caught off guard.
The space around us transformed into a vast dungeon. Massive columns wrapped in stone serpents supported a towering ceiling. Shadows danced along dark-brown walls, cast by flaming braziers. Programs morphed into monstersâreal imps, horned djinns, hellhounds. The runners now appeared as four dark-skinned sorcerers decked out in bone talismans. Jory, meanwhile, hovered near the ceiling in his usual semi-transparent ghostly form.
"Welcome to my theater of horrors!" he announced. "The worst is yet to come!"
The Voodooists didnât let him gloat long. They fired off four silver mist clouds, deadly to rogue AIs. But Jory... just popped. His form burst, unleashing a torrent of phantom figures from where heâd been floating. Each was a subroutine. Alone, they werenât much, but the sheer volume was overwhelming. It completely distracted the enemy from me.
This is why working with Jory in the Net was worth it. His over-the-top moves were perfect cover for my precision strikes. We were like a tank and DPS combo.
And now, the little freak had given me free reinâor free tentacles. Breaking from the Imp cluster, I dashed toward the enemy, blending into the swarm of ghostly figures. My own form adapted to mimic them.
Three bursts of green lightning pierced the Sliderâs armor, and then I launched my full assault. A multi-pronged attack aimed to overload his memory buffer while injecting hundreds of lines of corrupting code. It looked like he was about to crumble.
But instead of breaking, Slider dragged me into another subspace.
"Did you really think itâd be that easy, demon?" I heard his mocking voice.
The subspace was an icy labyrinth, untouched by Joryâs projection. Massive blue structures loomed in the Cybervoidâs darkness. How many hundreds of thousands of eddies had this cost him? How the hell had he wired this up? Must be nice to be rich, smart, and unhinged all at once.
But as Jory pointed out earlier, persistence was my strong suit. This grand fortress couldnât intimidate meâor scare me off. Those feelings were buried, dormant, until I returned to flesh. I began the assault. Wandering through the maze was pointlessâI was sure Slider had ensured it was near impossible to navigate. This wasnât just a digital fortress; it was a complex defensive machine. One Iâd have to break piece by piece.
The ice repaired itself constantly, dynamically reconfiguring. But compared to the defenses that had once protected Abernathy, this? It was second-rate.
I pushed forward, mixing brute-force assaults, viral injections, and subtle workarounds of already damaged structures. I didnât hesitate to use worm samples Iâd snagged from Arasaka. At the same time, I managed to breach the outer gates, letting Joryâs subprograms flood into the labyrinth. They added numbers to my precision strikes.
"Wait, wait..." A voice echoed through the labyrinth, far less confident now. "Itâs you, V? We can still cut a deal."
I didnât answer, hammering away. The labyrinthâs structure began to collapse. The Black Ice generation systems started eating themselves under my influence. Wilky had prepped well, but even the best swimmer wonât outpace a shark. We were on entirely different levels. For every countermeasure he deployed, I threw a hundred different attacks back at him.
"You think you can fuck me over that easy? Iâve already planted a dead-manâs switch. Go ahead, try me! Hansen and all of Night City will know who you are!"
Go ahead and try? Sure. You convinced me. And if heâs lying about the dead-manâs switch, Iâll find out in his memories. Iâll have time to neutralize it. I doubt the Slider shared this intel with a third party. Itâs all got to be stashed on his base or nearby in Dogtown.
"Wait, V, hold up! Just listenâ" The labyrinthâs heart, a massive disco-ball-like core, cracked open, exposing the Sliderâs plain virtual form, stripped of the ridiculous muscles heâd painted on. "Youâre not gonna hit a cripple, are you?"
No. Iâll just eat you alive before Jory catches up.
The last thing Wilky LaGuerre saw in his drawn-out life was a cluster of red tendrils bursting through the breach in his fortressâs heart, shredding the final shields, andâŚ
I felt what gold rush prospectors mustâve felt, pulling a nugget the size of a fist from an unknown river. Klondike! El Dorado, with a dash of his slimy thoughts thrown in. Terabytes of valuable intel poured outânames, passwords, locations, insights on the Net, the underbelly of Dogtown and Night City. I didnât even sort through it all, just shoved it into myself to sift through later. But one critical fact stood outâhe wasnât lying about the dead-manâs switch. I had to act fast, while his body was still twitching.
Grabbing the data, I slipped out of the collapsing labyrinth. Jory was still dealing with two netrunners. Heâd handle it. Using the cover of his phantom barrage, I slipped out of the virtual trap. The Voodoo Boysâ sniffers were still lurking nearby. Perfect. I slipped into one of them and gave the order to return to base.
Under this guise, and using Sliderâs virtual keys, I accessed the local network of his base.
The stash was there. The problem? It was physical. Thatâs how it was protected from Net-based attacks. Just an ordinary safe, set up for his crew to crack open if he died. A last will and testament. Inside was also a shard detailing all our dealings.
Smart move, Wilky. But I still had options. Through the local network, I tapped into the surveillance cameras. Then I found one of his goons with weaker ICE and puppeted him.
A regular gunman, but one of LaGuerreâs trusted guys, marched purposefully to the office. A pair of bots stood guard at the door.
"Access currently prohibited," one security bot announced.
"Twelve. Eight. Osiris. Torpedo," my puppet responded.
"Emergency shutdown protocol actiâ" The botsâ voices faded as they powered down into standby.
And there we were. A metal safe packed with the dead manâs secrets. But I didnât need it anymore. I already had everything in my memory, just waiting to be sorted.
The puppet keyed in the right combination. Then he grabbed an incendiary grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, tossed it inside, and slammed the door shut. A muffled hissing sound came from the safe. A faint wisp of black smoke trickled out through the seal. Good safe, but everything inside was now toast.
Then my zombie pulled out a frag grenade, this time stepping up to the Sliderâs half-dead body slumped in his chair. The pin hit the floor again. One second. Two. Three, and...
I left the puppet a split second before the explosion. Alarms were already blaring across the base, but I could still loot a little before dipping. Everything was going my way. Iâd scored priceless intel and eliminated a potential enemy.
_____________________________________________
(1) In Russian there is a common phrase, a rhyme that is used during New Year celebrations: âOne, two, three. Light up, Christmas tree.â
P.S. In Russia and most post USSR countries, New Year is a much more significant holiday than Christmas. Whatâs more, Christmas there is celebrated on Jan 7th (not 25th because of the Gregorian calendar) and it considered religious holiday not secular.
