146: Zhang Jiajie's application for congratulations was not passed

(The following is fictional content; any resemblance is purely coincidental)

cyberpunk 2077·A Mercenary's Daily Hunt:

Morning light filtered through Night City's heavy smog, casting dappled shadows between the dilapidated apartment buildings.

Valentine rolled off the cheap synthetic mattress, his optical implants emitting a faint mechanical hum as they calibrated automatically, red markers for several unread messages flickering on his retina—all new gigs from the fixers.

The apartment's neon sign projected through the grimy window, casting the advertisement light of "All Foods Plant Special Supply" on the wall.

Valentine reached out to turn off the constantly flashing alarm hologram, grabbed the half-empty bottle of spoiled synthetic whiskey from the nightstand, and took a swig. The cheap alcohol burned his throat but couldn't dispel the dull ache of a hangover.

Today's first gig came from an old acquaintance, the "Old Captain," requesting the retrieval of a Militech-grade cyberware stolen by the Cleaners in Pacifica.

A holographic recording was attached at the end of the message: a bloodied man was tied to an operating table, and the Cleaners were using a laser scalpel to dismantle his Militech-grade spine cyberware.

The pay was good, but the risk was also significant—those Cleaners psychos loved to dismantle living people for parts to sell, and recently they seemed to have received covert support from a certain corporation, making their equipment increasingly sophisticated.

Valentine chewed on a synthetic protein bar, the sticky artificial flavor spreading in his mouth.

Checking equipment was an essential step for a safe mission.

Valentine's fingers traced the cold metal body of the "Sadalara" smart pistol, a gun that had just taken down a Maelstrom gang member in the Lizzie's bar last week; the blades of the Mantis Blades snapped out with a crisp "click." Valentine adjusted the dosage of the subcutaneous injector in the mirror, the blue liquid of the Berserk drug glowing eerily in the syringe—it looked like today would be a bloodbath.

Pacifica's abandoned factory district was even more dilapidated than expected, rusted metal frames groaning in the wind.

Cleaners graffiti and bloody markings were everywhere, and the holographic projection on the wall was long broken, only half a distorted smiling face flickering incessantly.

Valentine's Hacker equipment suddenly sounded an alarm, detecting three rotating surveillance cameras.

The Quickhack interface unfolded in his vision, the Optical Camo program spreading like ink through the code stream, temporarily disabling the surveillance system.

As he climbed over the rusted iron fence, a loose metal plate made a harsh scraping sound. Valentine immediately crouched down, hearing the Cleaners' conversation from inside:

"We can strip a lot of good stuff from this batch, especially that Militech-grade neural link... Heard it was peeled off a retired Arasaka agent."

Another voice responded with a hoarse laugh:

"Let's try it on the test subject first, the remaining parts are enough to sell for three months."

Valentine sneered, drew his silenced pistol, and the first bullet passed through a gap in the ventilation duct, accurately hitting the speaker's temple.

The dull thud of the body hitting the ground startled the others, and combat erupted instantly.

A Cleaner with modified arms charged forward, his reaction enhancers making his movements a blur, but he had no advantage against Valentine's Sandevistan cyberware—the world suddenly plunged into a gray-blue stasis, only Valentine able to move at normal speed.

The Mantis Blades sliced through the air, splitting the first attacker diagonally from shoulder to waist.

The moment the stasis ended, blood and organs splattered like an explosion onto the rusted pipes.

The other two Cleaners had just pulled out their submachine guns when they were locked onto by Valentine's smart pistol. The bullets traced eerie arcs through the air, one piercing a throat, the other hitting dead center between the eyebrows.

The last one trying to escape was locked onto by Valentine's target acquisition system. The bullet passed through three sheet metal walls, accurately piercing his heart.

The Cleaners' warehouse was piled high with "trophies"—refrigerated lockers neatly stacked with various human organs, each labeled with a tag and price; used cyber components soaked in a pale yellow preservation fluid; a display stand in the corner held several unopened Pain Editors, devices that could keep victims conscious to feel every inch of pain.

Valentine found the password 2045 on a terminal—exactly the year Arasaka Tower was bombed—and opened the inner safe. The target cyberware was soaking in nutrient solution, dried blood still clinging to the spine-like metal structure.

While searching, Valentine kicked over a box full of data chips. One of them recorded the black market transaction details between the Cleaners and a biotech company, including a timetable for human experiments and payment records—it looked like there might be a chance to extort them with these things.

By the time Valentine returned to the Old Captain's bar, the neon lights had just come on, staining the rainwater purple.

Valentine tossed the cyberware onto the liquor-stained tabletop and casually pushed the data chip backup over.

The Old Captain laughed heartily, his facial wrinkles blooming like flowers under the neon light:

"Knew I was right to come to you!"

His mechanical hand, missing three fingers, tapped on the transfer terminal:

"I'll take 10% less commission this time as your extra pay. Next time there's a Militech job, you'll be the first one I consider."

Just as Valentine was about to leave, the notification sound for the payment arriving chimed, and his communicator suddenly vibrated—it was River, that NCPD detective who always looked exhausted.

"Valentine, I've got a gig you'll definitely be interested in."

His holographic projection looked blurry in the rain:

"Three more bodies found in the Watson District, organs professionally removed, Cleaners markings at the scene... but this time the victims were all biotech employees."

Valentine sighed, getting up while swiping a bottle of cheap tequila from the table.

He took a long gulp, the burning liquid mixing with the rain and sliding down his throat.

Outside the window, a news drone was broadcasting today's death statistics, and in the distant cluster of skyscrapers, the corporate logos still shone brightly.

In Night City, killing and money never stop, just like this never-ending acid rain.

Valentine tossed the empty bottle, pulled up his jacket collar, and walked into the streets where neon and darkness intertwined, the safety of his smart pistol clicking softly—another long night had just begun.