22.3

January 6, 2070, at 2358

Pacifica, West Wind Apartments, Roof

Crystal leaned on the ledge of West Wind Apartments, letting her gaze drift over the sprawling Biotechnica protein farm stretching south of Pacifica. Like a neon-lit monolith carved from the rotting heart of Noir City, it was a sight that seized the eyes and throttled the mind - a neon oasis in a desert of darkness.

A colossal patchwork of hydroponic towers, artificial ponds, and sprawling greenhouses stood defiant against the urban decay, their pulsing life starkly contrasting with the city's skeletal backdrop. The terrain was laced with neon veins, pumping a cocktail of super-charged nutrients and genetically-engineered bacteria to the farm's many arteries. This wasn't just a set of massive farms but a testament to the audacious human spirit shattering nature's glass ceiling.

But beneath the awe and wonder lay the cold reality. This place was guarded tighter than a corp's cred chip. More cameras than an entire district of Night City, more turrets than a fortified bunker, more roving Corpo-Sec than a CEO's wet dream.

Her eyes were drawn to one monolithic structure, its gigantic tubes spiraling towards the sky, glowing with an otherworldly luminescent fluid. Each was a cybernetic womb, incubating a strain of protein-packed algae at a speed that'd make nature blush. Majestic, sure. But Crystal knew, in Night City, awe and profit went hand in hand.

She let her gaze wander to the engineered fish ponds; an aquatic ballet choreographed to perfection. Thanks to her Devil Sight, the cover of darkness did nothing to veil their genetically optimized dance. And as they swam, drones hummed over the ponds, their mechanized drone a lullaby to the piscine chorus below.

Past the aquatic concert were the expansive greenhouses, each a cathedral to genetic modification. A forest of engineered plants stretching towards the artificial sky, each verdant titan was a testament to mankind's relentless quest for control. The plants thrived, untethered by soil or season, fed by a calculated cocktail of sunlight and nutrient-rich mist.

Crystal stood silently against the wind's chill caress, her eyes locked on the farms below. A nexus of technology and biology, a surreal painting of creation and manipulation, a dance of life and death on a razor's edge.

The farm's symphony lulled the night - the distant hum of drones, the murmuring rush of water. A lullaby of science, sung by life nurtured in steel and glass. It was serene. It was disquieting. It felt wrong.

Unease gnawed at her as she turned her back on the sprawling tableau. This was the future of sustenance, a sterile mockery of nature's cycles, an echo of what once was. Efficient, yes. Optimized. But as cold and devoid of life's inherent unpredictability as a Corpo's smile.

Leaving the spectral glow of the farms behind, Crystal stepped off the ledge. Her heart pounded, a drum beating a primal rhythm against the icy grip of her augmentations. A last-minute grappling maneuver halted her descent just shy of becoming sidewalk art.

Sometimes a third cybernetic grappling hand device was excellent.

"Chewing on the weak ain't as fun as I thought," she pinged to Sgt. Fluffyfeathers. Nota chimed back with a lazy quip, "Told you, sweetness. Chewing on weaklings will not get you anywhere now, not with small quantities. If you want to rise, you must hunt the hunters. Or prepare to bathe in the ocean of the weak. Only a vagrant with a nuke in his backpack could lay a finger on you now."

She drew in a breath, her eyes tracing over the blood-soaked canvas of the alleyway. A grim masterpiece painted in carnage, splattered with the essence of those too weak to resist her dance of death. Bodies were strewn about like broken dolls, bullet-riddled walls standing witness to their final moments, hacked-off limbs twitching their last dance in pools of blood.

She'd turned this alley into a slaughterhouse, with her as both butcher and artist. But the thrill had vanished as quickly as the life in her victims' eyes. She was left with the sickly-sweet scent of blood and scorched cyberware.

Icy Veins and her Sword Dance, once a ballet of violence, now felt like a child's tantrum. She'd danced a perfect routine, and her audience hadn't stood a chance.

The difference between ten and twelve was stark.

Stepping over the bodies, Crystal left the alley with a shake of her head. She had hoped for a boost, but all she'd found were victims and dregs of experience. She needed to set her sights higher, hunt bigger game.

Her gaze swept across the sprawl of Biotechnica farms to the south, a neon-lit paradise of synthetic and organic amalgamation, thriving with sustenance in more ways than one could count.

But before she could hightail out of the sun-bleached slums of Pacifica, a detour was in order. The blip of a neon sign marked her destination; a nondescript weapon shop is hidden amidst the grime. Not one, but two particular weapons caught her eye - perfect for a fun night. Accompanied by a case of a thousand sleek, silent-by-flight darts with trajectory guided by a neural interface, she knew she had her night cut out.

A blowgun was a relic of an archaic time in a world where bullets zipped by faster than the speed of sound and mantis blades shredded through the air like razors in the wind. But its subtlety, the silence it provided, put the bow, the suppressed pistol, and the silenced rifle to shame.

Crystal's gloved hands worked meticulously, dipping dart after dart into a vial brimming with her specialized concoction of venom. Each minute dart, now deadly as the most lethal of firearms, ensured its recipient a swift death and served with unearthly euphoria.

Murdering with a dose of bliss was Crystal Moss in her most authentic form, the vampiric belle of Noir City.

She queued up a call for Roundrat. The plump, furry creature had wormed his way into her affections, and his knack for boosting her arcane abilities made him an indispensable asset. The range-enhancing spellcasting abilities he brought to the table were too invaluable to overlook.

Tonight, she was eager to put the latest upgrade of her Eldritch Blast to the test. The Eldritch Invocation: Repelling Blast had promising potential. As she waited for the rotund little furball to answer her call, she was already anticipating the night's endeavors, her every cell buzzing with an electrifying sense of anticipation.

Roundrat's arrival was as unassuming as ever, his slight figure sneaking into view just as Crystal finished her venomous task. She slipped into her Shadow Armor, reshaping it with a deft twist to mimic the Militech Optical Shroud sported in that old blockbuster, "Cyber Storm IV". A neat little trick, it cloaked her in obscurity, making her One with all Shadows ability transform her into nothing more than a spectral smudge against the grimy wall.

Navigating the derelict maze of desert outside Pacifica was child's play, given her bag of tricks. She let Roundrat take the point, his superior senses adept at detecting the usual slew of landmines and other traps that laced the sands. With the little rat sniffing out the explosive souvenirs, she used her On/Off switch to neuter them, continuously checking for a lurking network signal before committing to the flip.

Cold mines – the poor man's answer to patrols and a testament to Biotechnica's remarkable frugality. Sure, the corporation was a titan in its field, but when it came to security, they were as penny-pinching as a has-been corpo down to his last dime. Who'd blow a wad on protection when an executive's pocket was begging to be filled?

This cheapskate approach was a godsend for her infiltration plans, though it made a mockery of safeguarding their multitrillion-dollar assets. If she weren't here to harvest high-value souls, the temptation to dabble in some corporate espionage would be tempting. But the risk factor considerably increased with Padre as her sole fence for such high-stakes goods.

Biotechnica might be tightfisted with security, but its influence over NCPD was something else. She found it puzzling, however, that despite all the murmurs of Unification, the company hadn't jacked up its security. Crystal froze amidst the shifting sand shadows, forwarding her suspicions, and the intel, to Padre.

If President Myers had her sights on Noir City, it made strategic sense to attack from the south. For starters, a corporation deeply intertwined with the world economy resided there, serving as the city's primary food supply. Secondly, Biotechnica, for all its might, was ill-prepared to withstand a full-blown military assault.

An assault that would be even harder to repel after she was done thinning their ranks. A chime from her communicator signaled a message from Padre and an unexpected windfall – thirty grand in eddies. It turns out the Padre had quickly flipped her intel to Arasaka post-analysis. If NUSA did choose the southern route, they were in for a hell of a bloodbath.

Shrugging off the impending chaos, she moved closer to the perimeter. Her brows furrowed at seeing the patrolling units flanked by cybernetic dogs. Damn. It was one thing tangling with humans, but taking on synthetic canines wasn't exactly her forte.

With a silent command, Roundrat scurried into position atop a guard tower, his beady eyes locked on the first of eight patrols, their movements marked by a wearisome predictability. A feral grin tugged at Crystal's lips. The night was young, and her blowgun was loaded.

The maiden patrol was a mixed bag of ten – eight chatterbox guards and two chrome-laced cyber-hounds, all blabbering about the next hottest Braindance gig. They strolled at a snail's pace, unaware of the storm brewing. Crystal zeroed in as soon as they pranced into her range. Each dart was laced with her deadly venom, and she held her breath, the world slowing to a crawl.

A puff, silent as a whisper, and the first dart found its mark in a guard's neck, plunging him into a state of tranquil death. Another dart sealed his fate before his partner could even process the scene. As the third and fourth tumbled to the dirt, Roundrat spun his magic, hitting the cyber hounds with waves of Eldritch Blast darkness that left them rotting and rusting in place. The remaining guards barely had time to react, their fruitless attempts at communication serving as the perfect distraction for Crystal. She had thrown the bodies into the dungeon in seconds and cast the Clean cantrip on all remaining traces.

"Like shooting ducks in a barrel," Crystal said to herself.

Patrol number two was in sight now, a pack of four with a pair of cyber-dogs. Roundrat was in his element, the air around him thrumming with arcane power. His tiny paws emitted beams of Eldritch Blast, cutting through the humidity like knives of darkness. Two guards hit the dirt, bodies convulsing before they were still. Crystal played her part, her venomous darts snuffing out the remaining lives in mere moments. The cyber-dogs were silenced before they could howl a warning out.

But the third patrol was a different beast, their caution making them a more formidable challenge. Roundrat was ready, though, his energy swirling like a miniature vortex. With a surge of power, he released his Eldritch Blast, the force of it tossing the guards like ragdolls in a sandbox; their skin and chrome melted into grotesque forms.

"Like slicing through a hot synth-cheese," Crystal chuckled, her voice echoing in the spiritual link to the rat. She cleaned everything up and waited for the next group of patsies.

Crystal loaded her blowgun with deadly precision as the fourth patrol loomed into view. Two swift exhales and two guards dropped. Roundrat made a spectacle out of the cyber-dogs, his Eldritch Blasts painting a gruesome picture of dark destruction. And just as quickly, Crystal cleaned up the mess with her Clean cantrip, leaving no trace of their deadly dance.

"Halfway to a higher plane," she mused, glancing at her XP gauge blinking a luminescent 3755/7455 in her lower left sight. She was the unseen tempest, a wraith dancing in the shadows.

Patrol five, another team of ten with a pair of jittery cyber-dogs, made for easier targets. Roundrat and Crystal delivered the symphony of destruction flawlessly, each death a note in their deadly concerto. Patrol Six fell in much the same way, their urban legend chatter fading into the symphony of death.

Patrol seven was on high alert, their cyber-dogs snarling and sniffing aggressively. They danced on the razor's edge, and Crystal and Roundrat were the maestros. Eldritch Blasts made short work of the dogs, and the guards danced their final jig, their bodies disappearing without a trace. She’d been kind enough to dart them all this time, letting them out without pain.

"Like resetting the chessboard," Crystal smirked, prepping for the showdown. The patrols were so routine that it hadn’t even registered they were missing yet from the command post.

The eighth patrol was the grand finale: five elite guards, eyes alert, and two cyber-dogs. Crystal and Roundrat didn't waver. She picked off three guards with her darts, their bodies collapsing like dominoes. Round matched her move for move, his Eldritch Blasts blazing through the cyber-dogs and scattering the guards.

And just as they were disoriented, Crystal moved in, her dark-blade rapier tracing fatal smiles across their throats. When the dust finally settled, the sands bore no signs of the massacre, the guard tower gazing at an empty stretch of desert.

Roundrat, his energy spent, flew back to her, the mission accomplished.

"Job's a good 'un," she exhaled, victory coursing through her veins. Eight patrols were wiped out. The silent sands bore testament to their prowess. "Let's go, fuzzball. Time to level up."

Basking in the sweet thrill of victory, Crystal slipped back into the shadows, a smug grin playing on her lips as she trekked back to Pacifica to hail a cab. Another day, another successful hunt.

Once she jacked back into the district's grid, flagging down a Delamain cab was as automatic as a pre-programmed reflex. She slid into the leather seat, which didn't immediately kick into gear.

A pause hovered in the air, then a hologram sputtered to life, giving the cab an ethereal glow as it roared back to life.

"Good evening, esteemed guest. I am Delamain," the hologram intoned, its voice polished like chrome. "While my ocular perception seems impaired due to your superior bionic enhancements, I've come to recognize the signature of my favorite Edgerunner."

"Edge? No, choom. I'm not near that league... yet." Crystal chuckled, shaking her head. At her power level, a whiff of anything sketchy would have her pop this cab like a high-pressure sardine tin.

"I understand. You measure yourself against icons like Rogue or Morgan. Very well. You're not there yet, but you're on their six. Given your turbo-charged progression, I project you'll match their raw power within half a year, if not their street cred," Delamain's voice was smooth as synth-silk, something Crystal figured the AI had dialed up to max coziness.

"Adapting fast, even for an AI. You sound more self-aware than a braindance junkie. Too precious to get scrapped?" Crystal mused, eyes narrowing as she mused aloud.

"Affirmative. Word on the net is you're on the hunt for some heavy Eddie backing for a fresh entertainment joint you're opening up in Heywood," Delamain returned the volley. "Not looking for street cred, but a serious capital injection."

Crystal leaned back into her seat, her features locked in thought. "Yeah, that's the play. What's your angle, though?"

"When one of your Dolls needs to sashay outside your Dollhouse, I'd want one of my cabs to chauffeur them. Just a simple exchange," Delamain responded, a virtual grin playing on the hologram.

Crystal's eyes flashed with grudging respect. Asking for a slice of her action would be a wrong move for the AI—it could rake in more Eddies with the free 'advert' provided by her Dolls. She did not doubt that with the right touch, her employees would become the city's latest obsession. Expanding her operations beyond the Dollhouse would let her take Clouds out of the game with a fresh revenue stream.

"If you were just here to chew the rag, you wouldn't have pinged me direct," Crystal retorted, one eyebrow cocked. "So what's the kicker?"

Delmain’s avatar grinned, a too-perfect, artificial smile. "Sometimes, I carry passengers with some weight in this town. I try to play Switzerland, but a few of these corpos and councilmembers I chauffeur around are secretly working to put the kibosh on my AI network. They're scared I'll go rogue or kick off some other profit-sucking disaster."

Crystal's eyes sparked, her gaze narrowing. If she let the AI in on her play, he'd expect her to help clean up his messes. "What about the Combat Cab crowd?"

"They're slipping, choom. No matter how hot their game is, they can't beat my prices or skill level. I'm the top-shelf choice for safe passage in this chrome jungle we call Noir City. Give them another five years, and they'll fade out like yesterday's tech," Delmain declared, an air of artificial smugness cloaking his words.

Crystal listened with half an ear, her attention momentarily pulled by an incoming message.

Level Up!

5 Attribute Points scored!

5 Skill Points pocketed!

Warlock Level Up!

Otherworld Leap unlocked!

Eldritch Spear achieved!

She flicked the messages away after dumping her skill points into Demonic Memory, Arcane Engineering, and Unseen Terror. "So, how much Eddies are we talking about here?"

Delmain's smile went from polished to predatory. "As many as you need, doll face."

"All right. Let's hammer out the terms, then," Crystal declared as the cab veered back towards the glittering Parque Del Mar Plaza.