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Kerry Eurodyne's apartment was tucked away in one of Night City's premium residential towers, strategically situated in the heart of the metropolis. The complex stood adjacent to the Ninth Megabuilding, which loomed in the shadow of the imposing Arasaka Tower — an architectural giant dominating the Corporate Plaza skyline.
Driving to the city center in my own car was far from ideal, thanks to the relentless gridlock that choked the district's streets. The metro would've been a smarter option, but there was no way I was risking my guitar on public transit. Priceless instruments and crowded trains? A recipe for disaster.
After a grueling hour inching through traffic, I finally reached Corporate Plaza. Thankfully, I'd handed over the driving duties to Vega, my ever-reliable AI assistant. On the way back, I'd be sure to pick up something special for her as thanks. Even if she always insisted she didn't mind playing chauffeur, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt.
Parking, though, was an even bigger headache. I cycled through every option I could think of during the crawl before reluctantly caving and opting for a premium lot on Halsey Boulevard. A thousand eddies gone in the blink of an eye — enough to make even my inner cheapskate wince.
Before stepping out, I gave myself a quick once-over in the mirror. My hair was slicked back into something neater, and I swapped my laid-back top for one that screamed "corporate-friendly." A sleek mask, a nod to the city's latest fashion trend, concealed my face, while a pair of tinted tactical glasses hid my natural eye color.
Leaving the car behind, I decided to take a short stroll through the plaza, soaking in the sights. It was my first time seeing the area in daylight, and I was curious about how the city's elite spent their mornings and afternoons. At a glance, it all seemed surprisingly ordinary. Polished professionals bustled about, dressed to impress, with the occasional gang member standing out like a neon sign amidst the corporate sea.
The corporates themselves were a different breed entirely, moving with an almost robotic efficiency. Their faces gave away nothing — stoic, disinterested, every expression smoothed into indifference. For them, it was just another Tuesday. People like me, a curious outsider, were rare here. The closest thing to kindred spirits was a small cluster of street photographers capturing their so-called "memories." I didn't linger long, exchanging only a few polite words before moving on.
Then, there it was — the luxurious apartment complex. I paused to take in its design, scanning for potential entry points while keeping my movements casual.
One approach stood out — simple, subtle, effective. Around the back of the building was an entrance to a club, a connection that conveniently linked to the residential area. Circling around, I spotted the venue right away, its bold neon sign proclaiming, Love Center. The club was open 24/7, though it was busiest at night.
Pushing through the doors, I was greeted by a bored-looking brunette slouched behind the reception desk. She barely spared me a glance, her fingers lazily flicking through a holo-screen. Perfect. If ever there was a moment to blend into the background, it was now.
"If you'd like to enter the club, you'll need to register for a pass first. A one-month membership is 500 eddies," the receptionist droned, her tone flat and mechanical, barely glancing up from her holo-screen.
"Insert your personal port for registration," she added, gesturing lazily toward a nearby hub, its data jack waiting for input.
Leaving my personal data on their servers? Not a chance. Fortunately, I'd come prepared. A dummy ID chip embedded in my wrist device would handle this with ease. Keeping my movements casual, I plugged it in and let the forgery do its work.
"Welcome, Mr. Lex," the receptionist said, flashing a perfunctory smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She didn't even glance at the unusual device I'd used. Perfect. The less attention, the better.
"Vega, wipe all traces of this visit from their system once we're out."
"Understood," she replied, her voice crisp and efficient.
The club's interior was exactly as I'd imagined — an assault of garish colors, dominated by shades of pink and violet. Over-the-top, unapologetically gaudy, and designed to dazzle. The first floor featured a cramped dance floor, the centerpiece being a raised stage surrounded by pole dancers. Scanning the room, my eyes quickly found a staircase leading to the second floor, marked as a VIP area. Access wasn't restricted, but the service charges up there would cost a small fortune. My membership pass helpfully outlined these details, sparing me the trouble of asking.
I didn't head upstairs right away. Instead, I made a detour to the restroom, ensuring it was empty before stepping inside. A solitary camera hung in the corner, but I'd already disabled it remotely. With a flick of my wrist, I activated my optical camouflage, straightened my posture, and strode out confidently toward the staircase near the bar.
The second floor was more subdued — quieter, with a sense of exclusivity that set it apart from the chaotic energy below. After wandering the area for a few moments, I found the door I needed. Predictably, it was locked.
"Hello, Alex," I thought with a smirk, slipping through the now-unlocked door — a small victory courtesy of my handiwork.
Kerry's apartment was on the 37th floor, nestled in one of the building's ultra-luxury suites. Living large, as expected. Rumor had it he was working on a secret new album, one that was set to rake in a fortune. Not surprising for someone like him.
The elevator ride up was uneventful, but I noticed the hallway was lined with security drones, each stationed at precise intervals. Before stepping out, I hacked into the elevator's systems to disable the scanner, ensuring I wouldn't trigger any alarms. Once the task was complete, I stepped out casually, scanning the corridor for the door marked "3724."
It didn't take long to find it — a sleek, reinforced door equipped with a state-of-the-art electronic lock. It looked impressive, but it took Vega and me only a few seconds to crack it. Before entering, I ran a quick scan to ensure the apartment was empty.
It was. Perfect.
Not bad at all, I mused, taking in the high-end decor as I stepped inside. Kerry clearly had a taste for luxury. My gaze swept over the room, picking out the subtle but telling details. Given his career, it was safe to assume the apartment housed a custom studio — somewhere he could retreat to work on his music in peace.
The apartment spanned two floors, and I wasted no time heading upstairs to begin my search. If I was lucky, I'd find the studio quickly and get out without a hitch.
After a few minutes of wandering, I finally found what I was looking for. The studio was on the first floor — modestly sized, comparable to my own workspace, though far less cluttered. A drum kit sat neatly in the corner near the entrance, while a slightly scuffed synthesizer occupied the opposite side. It was an older model, but judging by its condition, still functional. Despite the interesting array of equipment, my attention was drawn to something else entirely.
Against the wall near a computer desk stood a guitar rack, mounted directly into the wall to save space. As I approached, my eyes locked onto the guitar I was after — the one from the job's briefing photo. Its polished neck caught the dim light, gleaming faintly, and an engraved phrase on the wood drew my attention.
"Don't cry over spilled milk"
"Charming," I muttered, smirking at the unexpected bit of wisdom etched into the instrument.
The carrying case was conveniently tucked beneath the rack, ready and waiting. Without hesitation, I slid the guitar inside, securing it carefully. I didn't touch anything else. Kerry's personal life and secrets weren't my concern — I was here for one thing and one thing only: the job.
Exiting the apartment as quietly as I'd entered, I made sure to reset the lock, leaving everything exactly as I'd found it. I pressed the elevator call button and waited, the guitar case resting securely in my grip.
The mimicry system I used could extend its field a few centimeters beyond my body, but the power drain was significant. I had a maximum of ten minutes before the battery gave out, so there was no time to waste. As soon as the elevator doors opened, I stepped inside and began my descent.
When I reached the ground floor, I moved quickly, retracing my steps toward the restroom. From start to finish, the entire operation — getting into the apartment and returning to my entry point — had taken about fifteen minutes. A reasonable amount of time that wouldn't draw suspicion from the club's understated but ever-present security.
Inside the restroom, I found one other occupant: an unfortunate soul hunched over a toilet, violently emptying the contents of his stomach. Judging by the sounds — and the smell — he'd clearly overindulged. I ignored him, shutting off my mimicry system as I steadied my breath and adjusted my grip on the guitar case.
Satisfied I was in the clear, I slipped out of the club and onto Halsey Boulevard, walking with a casual stride. No one paid me any attention, and that's exactly how I liked it.
"Alex, I've wiped all records of your visit. Exiting the building's internal network now," Vega reported through the comms, her voice crisp and efficient.
"Thanks. I owe you," I replied mentally, grateful for her thorough work.
Thankfully, everything had gone off without a hitch. My departure with the guitar case hadn't raised any red flags. The constant ebb and flow of foot traffic worked to my advantage — places like this saw all kinds of transactions, making it easy to blend in. Marco's advice on how to avoid standing out had proven invaluable yet again, and I made a mental note to hit him up for more tips the next time we crossed paths.
Reaching my car, I carefully placed the guitar case in the back seat. It was a high-end case, designed to offer exceptional protection for its contents. From the looks of it, it could probably survive a drop from a few stories without leaving so much as a scratch on the instrument inside.
Incoming Video Call – Wakako Okada
The dashboard screen flickered to life, and Wakako's sharp gaze met mine. She raised an eyebrow, her expression cool but tinged with mild curiosity as she noticed my slightly altered appearance.
"Did you need something, Alex?" she asked, her tone calm and measured, as always.
"The instrument is in my possession. I'll bring it to your salon shortly," I said, cutting straight to the point.
"Efficient as always," she replied with a pleased smile. "I'm glad this nuisance of a client will finally stop pestering me." Her attention shifted briefly as she answered another call, her composed demeanor unshaken. Turning back to me, she continued, "How long until you arrive?"
"About an hour. Traffic in the center is a nightmare right now." I stifled a sigh, though her faintly amused expression suggested she caught the hint of frustration.
"I won't keep you any longer, then. Drive safely," she said, her tone smooth and polite.
Call Disconnected
***
After wrapping up the day's tasks, I wasted no time heading back to the megabuilding. While I didn't quite get the chance to unwind, at least I'd managed to earn a decent sum of money — something that could definitely be put to good use. It had been ages since we ventured outside our district, and I figured tomorrow might be the perfect opportunity to take a break. A family day out, so to speak.
The Corporate Plaza offered plenty of entertainment hubs that would make for a great outing with the kids. I also planned to bring Vega along. She was starting to adapt to human society, but there was still a long road ahead. Life in the megabuilding was like living in a self-contained ecosystem. Many people spent their entire lives within its walls, rarely venturing beyond them. With the complex providing everything one could need, it wasn't surprising that this insular lifestyle had taken root. If not for my occasional missions outside, I might've turned into one of those recluses myself. Thankfully, my work ensured I always had reasons to step out.
"How was your day?" Kiwi asked as I collapsed onto the couch beside her, exhaustion practically pouring off me in waves.
"Rough," I said, rubbing a hand over my face and exhaling deeply. "First, Galina spent the entire car ride tormenting me with her innuendos. Then I got stuck in endless traffic in the city center. Long story short, I'm mentally fried. Which is why tomorrow I'm declaring an official family day off!" I proclaimed dramatically, raising a finger like I'd just announced a national holiday.
"A day off?" Kiwi perked up, her curiosity evident. "You're planning for us to go somewhere?"
"Exactly." I nodded firmly, taking a sip of coffee — a creamy blend that felt like my only lifeline after such a day. "We haven't had a proper family outing in forever. I figured we could take Vega and the girls, spend some time out in the city for a change. What do you think?"
"Mmm, I'm not against it… but Vega…" She trailed off, hinting at the complexities that came with her "twin."
"Don't worry," I reassured her. "She'll stick close to us, and there won't be any trouble with the police. Your 'sister' is officially registered now, so no one's going to make a fuss." Sliding down onto her lap, I savored the gentle sensation of her fingers running through my hair.
"Do we have any scheduled clients tomorrow?" I asked, suddenly remembering another potential wrinkle in the plan.
"Nothing for the next three days," Kiwi replied, shaking her head, her blonde locks shifting softly with the motion.
"Well, then it's settled!" I declared, leaning back with satisfaction.
"I'll let the girls know. By the way, we should pick out something nice to wear. Might as well use the occasion to spruce up our wardrobes."
"Fair point," I agreed. "But we're not taking the car. Better to call Delamain. I'd rather avoid the chaos of driving through Night City."
"Now that's a plan I can get behind. Owning a personal vehicle in this city is more trouble than it's worth." Kiwi scowled, no doubt recalling her recent ordeal driving through Japantown.
"Agreed," I chuckled, smoothly shifting my position so she was now perched on my lap.
"And what if someone shows up while we're out?" she asked, her tone teasing as my hands wandered higher, brushing against her shoulders in deliberate strokes.
"Lunch break," I replied with mock seriousness, my movements slow and purposeful.
"You're impossible." She rolled her eyes, though her cheeks flushed a faint pink as she turned to face me.
"I do my best," I said smugly, remotely locking the outer doors with a subtle flick of my wrist. Leaning in closer, I whispered against her ear, my voice low and deliberate. "And don't tell me you're against this?"
"A-Alex!" she squeaked, her voice rising an octave in surprise, her flustered expression only adding to the moment. "That's it — you're asking for it!"
Her words dissolved into a mix of laughter and playful retaliation, and for a while, the weight of the day vanished, replaced by the warmth of shared amusement and affection.