Cyberpunk: The Ultimate Saga

"These are all the gains," Lena Fox said as she and Lily Cross each opened a heavy black case inside a hidden safehouse in Heywood Valley.

The boxes revealed rare loot: epic-grade cyberware, high-spec weapons, and specialized effect drugs that shimmered with danger. Eleven or twelve valuable pieces in total—an underwhelming number at first glance. But in Night City, top-tier goods were scarce by design. The rarer, the better.

If they had deeper pockets, Lena and Lily would've bought everything available.

Item grades were everything in Night City. Common, Rare, Advanced, Epic, Legendary, Immortal—with each tier, prices rose exponentially. An Epic item might cost ten times more than its predecessor. Legendary? Forget it. Only corpos and old-money tycoons had that kind of power.

"Most of the high-end gear released recently is right here," Lily said, watching as Leon Black casually examined a sleek black-and-red Biotech 'Second Heart' cyber-organ. She gave a small chuckle. "Now our team's account is dry."

Behind the dry humor was reality. Bank collapses, unreliable currency systems, volatile trade routes—money flowed in Night City, but it flowed like water: fast and uncontrollable.

As corporate operatives under Arasaka, Leon's team received salaries and bonuses through Arasaka Bank, a relatively stable private system. But that wasn't true for most. In Night City's banking chaos, all money—clean or dirty—was accepted without question.

It was this freedom that kept commerce alive in post-nuke Night City. That, and the rise of e-wallets and personal-area networks. You didn't need to trust banks—you could upload your credits to a local chip. Some stored theirs in their neural OS, deep in their brain. Hack-proof unless you were dead.

Only gangs and paranoid survivalists went that far, but those were the types who didn't trust anyone—not even themselves.

"No money? Don't worry," Leon said, placing the 'Second Heart' back in the box with a grin. "We'll have more soon."

He was counting on someone to act. And that time was approaching.

---

Military Technology Corporation – Counter-Intelligence Division – First Team – Information Section

Biersen lazily twirled a pen between his fingers while watching feeds from a fleet of unauthorized surveillance drones.

A small group of Cleaners had popped up in the Watson District. At first, Biersen paid attention—new player sightings always triggered alerts. But after days of inactivity, they hadn't done much more than sit around.

Shrugging, he marked them as low risk on the Military Tech operations map.

Honestly, they weren't worth the company's time. NCPD could handle them with two patrol cars and some beanbag rounds. But this was Biersen's life—scrolling through chaotic drone footage, waiting for something interesting.

Sometimes he'd catch a corporate convoy. Sometimes a gangland execution. Occasionally, something not safe for workplace viewing. And sometimes... his drone got shot out of the sky or hacked mid-stream. Occupational hazard.

Military Tech didn't care.

When you control 80% of the market with the top 20% of companies, losing a few low-tier drones doesn't matter. Disposable.

And with Earth's population in decline for decades, automation had filled the void. AI replaced the need for workers. Resources were controlled by megacorps, and the rich clung to flesh and blood.

Despite the rise of cybernetics, powerful elites still preferred organic parts. That's why organ trade never died out. Wealthy clients wanted real organs, not chrome replicas. Human production remained complicated, and unless 3D-printed biology or cloning saw massive breakthroughs, demand would only increase.

Then it hit Biersen. The Cleaners were boring—but why not use them for a test?

A certain someone had been waiting for an opportunity.

His fingers hovered over the mouse before quickly darting to his encrypted phone.

Around the office, the usual atmosphere remained: half his colleagues were eating, a few napped, and the rest were pretending to work while watching lewd vids or scrolling feeds.

Classic intel department behavior.

When the boss was around, they were angels.

When the boss was gone, they were gods.

He smiled and dialed a number he'd never used but always remembered.

Beep… beep… beep…

"Hello?"

The voice caught him off guard—it was female.

He hesitated but remembered the golden rule: Don't ask questions. In this line of work, the less you knew, the longer you lived.

He spoke quietly:

"Northwest corner of the Northern Industrial Park, Watson District. Cleaners. Approximately six to ten people."

Then he hung up, scrubbed the metadata from his drone photos, and sent them.

Three things mattered in a quick report: location, personnel, threat level. He'd delivered all three. Now, the rest was out of his hands.

---

Back in Heywood, Lena Fox blinked at the stream of images flowing onto her terminal.

"Oops. Forgot to tell you," Leon said, lightly tapping his forehead. "I gave our contact info to a good friend in Militech's data team. Looks like he just sent us a favor."

Lena chuckled. "Seems our 'friend' doesn't completely trust us."

"Well, we are new faces. Can't blame him for playing it safe." Leon smiled. "Besides, since we're broke, might as well go pick up a little pocket change."

He turned to Lily. "Sort the loot and upload it to the team network. See if anyone needs anything."

Naturally, teammates got first dibs.

Lily raised an eyebrow. "You don't need me for the raid?"

"It's just a Cleaner hideout," Leon shrugged, stretching his arms. "Yui and I can handle it."

As always, the right gear for the right job.

And as Leon often said: "Murder and robbery? We're professionals."

---

The two suited up in stealth gear: urban camo jackets, black hoods, and tactical vests. Then they hailed a Delamain cab toward Watson.

Night City's weather had no consistency. One hour it was blazing sun, the next it was gray clouds and acid rain.

As they crossed into the North District, Lena glanced out the window. "Looks like rain."

She turned back to her portable deck, fingers flying. She didn't fully trust the intel and wanted to verify everything herself.

The Northern Industrial Park was massive—more like a small city. Its old buildings had been refurbished or repurposed over three redevelopment waves, blending decay and advancement into a confusing maze of tunnels, pipes, and overgrowth.

The deeper they went, the more it felt like stepping into an abandoned simulation.

They stopped behind a half-collapsed concrete barrier 500 meters from the objective.

Lena pulled out several tiny drones—'Hummingbirds'—and tossed them into the air. The drones buzzed quietly, their camo plating glinting in the low light. Though unarmed, they were near invisible and excellent for recon.

As the drones disappeared into the industrial sprawl, a green 3D terrain map began forming on Lena's screen.

Leon leaned in to watch. "Tech just keeps getting better."

Lena rolled her eyes. "You sound like a grandpa."

Still, she didn't look up. Her focus sharpened as she piloted the Hummingbirds through rusted ducts and decaying vents. The screen split into four feeds—one per drone. Her fingers danced across the controls, guiding them through impossibly tight corners.

To anyone else, it looked like the drones were about to crash at every turn.

But they never did.

Lena had full command.

Leon silently watched. He didn't joke anymore. When it came to work, he was serious. You strategically underestimate the enemy—but tactically, you prepare for hell.

"Basement access," Lena muttered.

One of the Hummingbirds spotted a grated vent leading into a tunnel system below. The pipes twisted into a chaotic mess of sewer tunnels, industrial runoff systems, and forgotten wartime infrastructure. Like a blind box—you never knew what would pop out next.

Those who ventured into the underground often didn't return. The electromagnetic noise down there fried high-end gear. It was a graveyard of brave scavengers and foolish thrill-seekers.

One of the drones peeked through the grate. Inside, Lena caught sight of several figures. Their body heat registered on thermal scans—thicker than average, lean muscle, cyber-augmented. Professionals.

She tightened her jaw.

"We've found their real nest."

Leon nodded slowly. "And it looks like these aren't just any Cleaners…"

The faces and movements caught on the final drone feed made Leon Black narrow his eyes.

Whoever was down there… they weren't rookies.

And this mission had just escalated.

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