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Chapter 39 C
🕑 Added 2025-03-01 15:59:46 +0000 UTCThe door to the weapons workshop opened, and Leo stepped out yawning.
He headed to the bathroom first and took a long, relaxing shower.
Then he collapsed onto his bed. The moment his head hit the pillow, he slipped into a baby-like sleep.
He did not get up until the sun was nearly setting.
After brushing his teeth and washing his face, he returned to the weapons workshop.
The floor was littered with parts and tools he had not yet had time to clean up.
But Leo's attention was fully drawn to the table.
To be precise, to the two Powered Arm Bracers resting on it.
From the outside, they looked like the arm armor of medieval European knights.
After being polished, the Powered Arm Bracers gleamed with a steely silver light under the fluorescent lamp.
The primary material used to craft these bracers was not ordinary metal,
but Tairen Steel.
Some of the more expensive cyberlimbs were also made from this material, as it offered excellent bullet resistance.
A small engine was built into each bracer's interior. That engine granted the wearer tremendous Fitness similar to having Gorilla Arms installed.
Leo had crafted a matching pair of Powered Arm Bracers, one for the left arm and one for the right.
Once worn, they could be used to smash enemies with fists yet still allow you to handle firearms—no trade-off needed.
Leo slipped both Powered Arm Bracers on.
He clenched and spread his fingers,
then threw a few punches, practiced some blocks, and struck a variety of poses.
There was no sense of hindrance.
He glanced at the wall.
After a moment's thought, he forced down the impulse to test out his new creation right there.
It was, after all, his own apartment.
If he destroyed anything, he would have to call someone to come fix it.
Leo decided to head out and see if he could find a few Scavengers around—he wanted to use them as test subjects.
That was how the wall avoided disaster.
He had just stepped into the elevator when he got a holo-call from Jackie.
"Leo, you out of your hut?"
Leo had let V and Jackie know he would be closing himself off to work on the Powered Arm Bracers.
He had told them to call or drop by if they urgently needed him, even if he was busy with his project.
He had not yet shared the good news that his new creation was complete, but now Jackie was calling.
That could only mean something had happened.
"What's up, Jackie? You don't look so good."
Jackie's next words stopped Leo in his tracks.
"Padre is in trouble."
…
Now let's roll back time to one week earlier.
Fidel stepped into a run-down motel somewhere in Heywood.
The motel's hygiene standards were terrible—so bad that even by Night City's standards, it was unbelievably filthy.
On top of that, the posted rates at the front desk were outrageously high.
All of this ensured that this shady motel rarely saw any legitimate customers.
But then, this motel was not really in the lodging business.
Nor had Fidel come to spend the night.
He was one of Padre's men, sent here specifically to purchase materials and parts for manufacturing tech weapons.
The man at the front desk gave Fidel a once-over and jerked his head toward a nearby door.
"Go in."
"How many times have I been here already? Don't you trust me by now?"
Despite his grumbling, Fidel still obediently walked into the small room next to the front desk.
The space barely had room for two or three people.
As soon as he stepped inside, the door slid shut behind him. A scanning beam swept back and forth.
"Firearms, none detected."
"Blades, none detected."
"Explosives, none detected."
"Bioweapons, none detected."
"Bugging devices or trackers, none detected."
Nearly a full minute passed before the room's door finally opened again.
"See? Told you I was clean."
"Head upstairs. They're waiting for you."
Fidel headed up to the second floor like it was second nature, walked down the hallway to its far end,
and pushed open a door marked "Emergency Exit."
Behind it lay a hidden room.
Several men waited inside.
One of them pointed at a duffel bag on the table. "The parts and materials you wanted are all packed up. Want to count them?"
"No need. I trust you." Fidel opened the bag just enough to confirm everything he needed was inside, then left it at that.
He nodded, a faint glow flickering across both eyes. "I've sent the money your way."
"Thanks, man."
"All right, I'm out."
He picked up the duffel bag, left the motel, tossed it in the trunk of his car, and drove off.
Only after he left did the men in the motel start talking.
"You know, that guy's a real weirdo. Every so often, he comes running to us for supplies. If Padre needs some tech weapons, why not just buy them directly? Why go through the trouble of getting parts and materials? Is he even able to manufacture them?"
Back in 2022, people might have ridiculed someone by saying, "Did you slip through the cracks of the nine-year compulsory education?"
But by 2077, that phrase no longer applied.
Because plenty of folks hadn't even graduated from elementary school.
Education in Night City was distributed so unevenly, that those who received schooling got top-notch instruction, while those who didn't—beyond basic literacy—knew practically nothing.
Education and technology had been tightly monopolized by the megacorporations.
Strangely enough, among the lower classes, the ones who did the best job with education turned out to be the Nomads.
Because from childhood, the Nomads were expected to contribute to their clan or tribe, following a long tradition of rural American family education.
Nomad teachers took on the responsibility of educating both adults and children, and most camps had mobile libraries and communication hubs so they could stay connected to the rest of the world.
Larger Nomad camps even had their own traveling cinemas and theaters.
Their curriculum was pragmatic, emphasizing subjects like mechanics, agriculture, and engineering—the kind of knowledge that helped them do their jobs better.
Some Nomads even delved into classic literature or philosophy.
In many cases, Nomad speech tended to be more nuanced and sophisticated than the language spoken by most Night City residents.
"Ah, who cares what he wants? We were gonna sell these parts anyway. What does it matter who buys them? At least Padre pays better than most. That's enough for me. We don't need to overthink it."
"I heard Padre's territory has a bunch of weapon shops that started selling tech weapons in bulk. The prices are cheaper than other shops, plus they offer after-sales service: exchange only, no repairs. Everyone in Heywood's flocking over there to buy guns."
"Probably knows someone in charge of a corp warehouse. Same as us—collect a company paycheck, but fiddle with the inventory to swipe a few items and resell them outside. Wouldn't be surprising for Padre to have that kind of connection."
"He's not a good guy, but he's old-fashioned. Likes to play by the rules. If I could work under him, that wouldn't be half bad. I hear he never mistreats his people."
They gazed enviously in the direction Fidel had driven away.
Eventually, one of them spoke up.
"You think the tech weapons in those shops under Padre's control could be related to the parts we sold him? Could it be there's a gunsmith who can make tech weapons working for him?"
"Makes sense. But so what? Don't forget, we're just a bunch of corporate dogs sneaking stuff out to make side cash. None of this has anything to do with us, right?"
The first man snorted. "You'd be dead wrong to think that. You realize there are people out there who'd pay good money for this kind of intel, right?"
Seeing the others still look puzzled,
he continued, trying to keep his patience. "The 6th Street Gang's been at odds with the Valentinos lately. They've wanted to carve out Wellsprings from Heywood for a while now."
"Imagine if 6th Street found out Padre had a gunsmith working for him, someone capable of crafting tech weapons. What do you think they'd do?"
Shock spread across everyone's faces.
"That's… not right, is it? We do business with Padre, and now we're about to sell him out? That's messed up, man."
He scoffed. "What's 'messed up'? We busted our asses studying to get into a corp, and then what happened?"
"Because we have no connections or backers, anyone can stomp all over us. Our top grades from Arasaka Academy mean nothing. Nobody cares. I've finally figured this world out—it's rotten to the core. If you want to live comfortably and have freedom, you need money. Without money, you're nothing."
"If this intel's worth money, why shouldn't we sell it?"
Someone voiced a concern. "But if Padre finds out we're the ones who screwed him over, he'll skin us alive!"
"You don't say anything, and I won't. Then only the Devil and God, you, and I will know. 6th Street and the Valentinos have been at odds for ages—it's nothing new. As long as we're careful, who's gonna know it was us?"
Silence followed.
After a while, one of them stood.
"I'm out. You guys split the money. I don't want in, and I won't say a word to anyone."
He had just turned away, intending to leave,
he was met with a bullet to the back of the head.
