PRIVATE Whistleblower

[Anders Whitard]

---

@Dmitri Antonov

---

The desk in his office always felt like the perfect place to start the day. It was where he would sip on a perfectly brewed and curated espresso, a singular hit to jumpstart the morning and ease into the waking world. For some in Night City, addiction looked like a mean and ugly curse, metaphorically worn about their necks as a heavy weight, dragging them ever downwards until rock bottom. However, the simple pleasures taken to perfect the blend of bean, water, and heat was something Anders undertook gladly. He could start the day without it; he just didn't want to.


The cup was small, the ceramic smooth against his fingers, warmed by the liquid inside. He lifted it with his left hand, bringing it to his lips in an unhurried motion, savouring the deep, roasted aroma before the taste ever touched his tongue. The scent hit first, rich and bitter, mingling with the faint antiseptic tang that always seemed to linger in his clinic. A quiet ritual, one of the few things in his life that remained wholly his own, untainted by obligation or risk.


But the night before had been neither quiet nor simple. The weight of it pressed at the edges of his thoughts, threatening to turn the sharp bite of his espresso into something dull, flavourless. He had not figured he'd be installing a new bionic heart into the body of a man who was wanted by Militech for harbouring a sentient military AI program coded directly into his consciousness. That was not on the bingo card, as they said colloquially.


Anders exhaled, slow and deliberate, as if he could physically dispel the unease curling in his chest. The air felt heavy, thick with the kind of tension that lingered in the moments before something broke. He was at a crossroads, teetering between pragmatism and conscience, and he hated how much he hesitated.


He swiped his right hand along the screen embedded into the table, flicking through the morning's news reels with an air of detachment, scanning headlines that blurred together into the usual cocktail of corporate manoeuvring, gangland disputes, and the occasional blackout zone where an "incident" had erased a few too many bytes of data. Then, the diagnostics. Nearly complete. The surgery had been accompanied by a cascade of unexpected cyberattacks hammering the system's various servers—Nyx's doing, no doubt. Anders had taken precautions, firewalled and redundanced the hell out of his infrastructure, but still, they had taken a beating. The worst of the damage had been mitigated, though, and he expected no lasting repercussions—expected being the operative word.


But the bigger problem wasn't technical. It was him—the man lying in his clinic's recovery bay with a heart he had no right to have and an AI that Militech would burn entire districts to reclaim. A walking, breathing threat, wrapped up in meat and metal, dumped squarely in Anders' lap.


He took another sip of espresso, letting the bitterness coat his tongue, ground him. The weight on his shoulders hadn't shifted. He still had a call to make. A moral quandary that had kept him up long through the night, long past the hour where exhaustion had taken his body hostage and dragged his eyelids shut.


His fingers twitched over the interface. He blinked, then connected to the system, pulling up the call interface. A single name. Dmitri.


The ramifications of what he was about to do settled like lead in his gut. He was condemning somebody to certain detention, and likely, a slow, brutal death. Militech did not suffer liabilities to live long. Could he live with that?


The answer was already waiting for him in the dial tone.


A crackling connection. Then, a familiar voice.


"Hallo, chief." Anders' tone was measured, steady, a thin layer of deception wrapped around his words like a protective shell. Here in Night City, nothing was ever truly secure, especially after the breach. The servers were compromised. He wasn't taking any more chances beyond the one he was already making.


"I need to see you at the Clinic. You've missed your check-up appointment."


A deliberate pause. Just long enough for the meaning to settle.


"Can you come by? Sooner rather than later, ja?"

---

 

[Vigilant]

Militech Building, Corporate Plaza, City Center
Concurrent with In For A Pound
------
My days in the Militech offices were a strange limbo between a slow grind and a frantic rush, the hum of business putting up a facade to the people of Night City that work was actually being done. Behind the scenes, I could see it for what it was. I swiveled my office chair, second black coffee of the day in hand, looking out across the plaza in its grandeur as the high noon sunshine bathed the work day. The company gave us real Sumatran, or so they said, but the quality of the coffee was secondary to what it fueled. The real workers of Militech, the quants and the netrunners, preferred their precision doses of amphetamines and god knows what else to stimulate their day of running the company. All told, Militech was a well oiled machine empire that practically ran itself. The rest of the office drank their daily limit of caffeine, and the vast majority of the up-and-coming corporate officers of the United States spent all that energy on chasing skirts. Back east I reckon the ghost of Donald Lundee would have come back to whip them into shape... if not the President herself. With so much at stake in this city I sometimes wondered if the Japanese would outpace us, and if it would be our own damn fault.

My office hours were never where I wanted to be, not with so many leads on the street, but appearances had to be kept up. I was as much a part of the government as I was now a part of Militech, and my time in their offices was graced perhaps only by the stunning view I'd been given of the city. That was of course save for the monolithic obelisk of Arasaka Tower hiding in my peripheral view. Not an easy sight to escape, a constant reminder of our enemy right across the street. I lost myself for just a moment, looking northwest out towards the spaceport and the shining ocean beyond it when my intercom buzzed.

I swivel back to my desk and put my coffee cup down and froze. A small red light indicated the direct emergency line to my security team was open.

"Speak." I demanded as I opened the line on my end.

"Your presence is required in the war room," the voice on the other end was grim, "immediately."

------
The War Room, as we called the Security Operations Briefing room, was busier than I'd ever seen it. Seated at the long board table were new faces I'd never seen before, and before long I realized the full operational might of Militech and the New United States' interests in NC was gathered. Security execs, enforcers, military and police liaisons, and of course myself, the resident federal agent. We were all holding our breath for the report on what the hell was going on. The room was windowless, deep inside the building, and the data screens that lined the walls were off save for a few running lights, leaving us literally in the dark as well. Hushed chatter abounded, but was silenced by the sitting at the head of the table by Militech's Chief Security Officer. He was a refined older man, his tailor highly sought after but unknown as of yet, clean shaven with greying brown hair slicked back. We all knew him as a cutthroat pragmatist behind the gentlemanly facade, and the worry was palpable when the entire department was at his mercy, in person.

"I have gathered you impromptu for an emerging situation," he began to speak and the room hushed quick.

"I expect, as the upper echelon of this corporation's security present in Night City, that what I am about to disclose will be treated with the utmost respect and discretion. Mere minutes ago, our netrunners intercepted a signal that should give us some worry, a signal belonging to the now defunct and classified NAPOLEON project."

The name rang an immediate bell, though the details were unbeknownst to me. I recall hearing the name Napoleon spoken with the same dripping distaste as my own failed operation in Texas, another stain on Militech that needed burying.

"The project was headquartered at an R&D laboratory in Georgia, developing cutting-edge artificial intelligence systems for combat drones. One of the lead developers, Carter Kiranova, derailed the entire program by absconding with the bulk of the progress made. He is a wanted man, but until now we have had no clue as to where he disappeared to when he stole NAPOLEON. Until today, when we intercepted an unmistakable ping with the program's signature, right here in Night City. This is an unforeseen circumstance in our operational roadmap, but it is something we will be making a priority. This is military grade software worth hundreds of millions of Eurodollars thought to be lost, resurfacing right under our noses. As of right now, I have already given the order to have a greater number of our sensors tuned to it's frequency in the hopes that we may catch it again, or better yet lock on to it."

The energy in the room seemed to become even more grim. With all that was going on I certainly felt so. Between the Red Chrome Legion affair, and Netwatch breathing down our spines regarding the supposed Blackwall compromise, I hadn't thought things could get worse.

"Operational assumptions are that whoever currently possesses the AI software has nefarious intent. Be prepared, throughout the day you will be receiving updated agendas and missives from my office with each of your respective duties in this new theater of operations. This is of the utmost importance, people. We must get a handle on this situation immediately."

The man continued on for a few minutes more regarding what information we were allowed to disclose to our staffers, and what else we might need to expect. When we were released, I stood with the rest of the table, but as people began to scramble out I received a message from the CSO, and I looked over to him.

<Stay. I need to speak with you.>

I stood still as the others departed until it was just myself and the Chief alone in the room. He stepped up close to me, and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"I know you've been itching for a chance to prove yourself since your agency dumped you here, Blackwood." His gentlemanly, professional tone was gone, and in his eyes I could see the man I was actually dealing with. "If the feds want to interfere in my business, in my city, then I hope you're worth your god damn salt. This is an issue of national security according to the dossier on the program's theft. That means it's your job to fix it. Do not screw this up, and god help you if this thing is somehow linked to Arasaka."

"I understand, sir. This will be my priority." I answered deferentially, both shocked and yet deeply joyed that I was being given something to do that befit my work as an agent.

"I hope you do. The ping came from a street doctor in Heywood. The doctor's name is Anders Whitard, Euro ex-pat. He's been tied to Militech for years as an asset, but he's mostly kept to himself. He's a legitimate medical practitioner as far as we know. I'll be sending you his profile and the location of his clinic. I want you to speak to him. It's all too strange that he'd be wrapped up in this. And try not to kill him if you don't have to."

------

The next morning
Anders' Clinic, Heywood.

knock knock knock

I rapped my knuckles against door of the clinic, my other hand holding the sour cup of street coffee I'd come to regret buying on my short drive over. If this doctor was harboring a fugitive AI, he really was doing it practically on the corporation's doorstep. The weather had turned from the day before into an overcast, smoggy grey, not helped by the shadows cast from the dense skyscrapers of the district. But I was on the street, as I'd so desired, with a worthwhile lead for the first time since I'd arrived, that made my sojourn west seem like it might actually amount to something. That, or our good friend Anders was waiting behind the door with a loaded gun...

Direct tags: @Anders Whitard @Dmitri Antonov
Indirect tags: @Vex Kiranova @Wilma F. Darcy

 

[Dmitri Antonov]

Theme Music: In the 42nd Street - Absolute Valentine​

---

​

Location: Megabuilding H10, Watson
Time: 7:00am
Tags: @Anders Whitard | @Vigilant

​

Mondays​

​

RING RING...

RING RING...

"Hngh..."

RING RING... RING RING...

It was hazy at first, but Dmitri's eyes blinked open as they were forced awake. He drew in a sharp, deep breath as his day started prematurely. He checked the time. "Who the f*ck is calling me this early-? Of course..."

His thumb and index finger pinched the bridge of his nose as he squinted while a flurry of curses echoed in his mind. Then, he answered the call. "Jerry unless someone is dead and Johnny F*CKING Silverhand has come back from the dead to blow up Militech headquarters, I swear to god I will--"

"Your boy Anders got pinged."

Dmitri blinked. Suddenly, the sleep washed away from his eyes as if a cold bucket of water had been tossed over him. It was a rare occurrence when Dmitri was truly speechless, so much so that Jerry took the cue for what it was and continued:

"Shit's hit the fan over here while you've been asleep. The Blackwall is compromised - something's trying to push through and we're running around trying to figure out how to keep the dam patched up. To make matters worse, one thing that did push through among all the traffic was a ping from an experimental AI we've been working on in Georgia, until one of the head techs made off with it and went to ground. The CSO held a briefing last night about it while you were out, I'll send you the cliff notes. But he's pulling out all the big guns to track down this AI. I wouldn't be surprised if he sends someone to pay your boy a visit." Dmitri sat up in his bed and listened as Jerry brought him up to speed. His hand sifted through his hair, and he let out a deep sigh. Had Anders been an officially sponsored Militech Ripperdoc, he'd have been given a bit more grace over what had just happened. But Dmitri had carefully set him up as a confidential source for his purposes, which kept Anders out of most of Militech's bullshit in exchange for the occasional piece of preem intel.

Now? It looked like Anders was about to get a metric load of shit dumped on him, and Dmitri was going to have to pull out an umbrella before the guy drowned. "Thanks Jer, I owe ya one... seriously." He let out another deep breath, this time through his nose. He tilted his head up to the ceiling as his half-asleep mind raced to find a solution to this. He didn't have much time, and the options were few. "Loop the CSO in on Ander's status as my CI, and loop him in on my involvement. He'll have to respect it then, call off whatever attack dog he's sending out unless he wants to add to his own problems."

Technically, Dmitri worked for the CSO. But Dmitri had done a lot to build good will and political clout within the Militech corporate hierarchy. While he had been trying to avoid looping too many people in on his relationship with Anders, largely to facilitate his more... 'questionable' uses of Anders' CI status; it couldn't be avoided now. With the crisis developing, the CSO would have a lot of latitude to deal with this as he saw fit, but looping him in on Anders' status in an official capacity was the only play Dmitri had to protect his contact... or friend, honestly.

It wasn't much, but if the CSO trampled on an enforcer's confidential informant, he'd catch some hell on the back end, crisis be damned. If backing off meant the CSO already had an enforcer on the job? It was the path of least resistance in many ways, and when the world was on fire, a patch of wall coated in water was pretty appealing.

"You got it." Jerry responded. "Check your inbox for the dossier and notes. I'll keep you updated."

With that, the connection ended. Dmitri jumped out of the sheets and made his way to the bathroom just as his phone rang again. "His ears must have been burning..."

Dmitri answered the phone as he rushed to get ready, and quickly got the clandestine message Anders was trying to convey. It was a bit too little too late, but now wasn't the time to tell the doc that. "I'm on my way. Don't open the door for anyone until I get there."

---

 

[Anders Whitard]

Anders sat in the dim glow of the clinic's backroom, the weight of last night still pressing against his ribs like an old bruise. Dmitri's voice lingered in his head—don't answer the door, don't let anyone in. Paranoid as ever. But then again, Dmitri had reasons to be. The city didn't reward trust, and last night's mess with this 'Nyx' had proved that even the best-laid plans could go sideways fast.

The sharp buzz of the front intercom snapped him out of his thoughts. Someone was at the door. The clinic was closed—anyone who knew his work, his real work, knew better than to show up unannounced. That alone made his stomach tighten.

It could have been nothing. A street rat desperate for a fix. Some corpo drone too high to notice the Closed sign. Or it could have been worse. Militech, maybe. Cleaning up loose ends. If they were looking for Ai, they might have traced her back here. If they were looking for him, well—he'd had that problem before.

Anders leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on the desk, the other drifting instinctively toward the pistol at in the dresser. The weight of it was familiar, reassuring. He could have ignored the knock. Walked away. But if it was someone in trouble, someone bleeding out on his doorstep, he'd never forgive himself.

He exhaled sharply, pressed the intercom.

"Clinic's closed," he said, voice steady, cold. "Who's there?"



@Dmitri Antonov
@Vigilant

 

[Vigilant]

I took a sharp breath before I introduced myself, knowing the next words out of my mouth could be tied to the knee-jerk reaction of a trigger finger poised just behind the steel door. Even the kind of shit 2nd Amendment was selling these days could have caliber enough to blow a hole through the door in various shapes and sizes, and the ripperdoc would have every reason to be paranoid with a spook literally on his doorstep. I was never a religious man any more so than Westpoint had instilled in me. I vote Federalist, I know the words to the national anthem, and I remember in God we trust. So far in life that had been the prayer upon my lips at the end of many a gun barrel.

"Mister Whitard? I'm not a patient. My name is Mark Stuart..." I knew the next word was the make or break and I could feel my core tensing, a heart rate spike deterred by the emotional suppressor in my brain, a rapid-fire signal through the synapses to release soothing chemicals before I even fully realized. "I represent the interests of Militech."
I froze in tension as the words left my lips, hoping for the best but expecting the worse, was I about to get a bullet in the gut?

Direct tags: @Anders Whitard @Dmitri Antonov
Indirect tags: @Vex Kiranova @Wilma F. Darcy

 

[Anders Whitard]

---

@Dmitri Antonov @Vigilant

---

Anders exhaled slowly through his nose. The name meant nothing, but the affiliation sure as hell did. Militech knocking on his door wasn't just bad luck—it was a complication, and Anders hated complications. Still, he didn't reach for his piece. Not yet. Had they intercepted his call? He shouldn't be worried. Afterall, he'd called Dmitri to inform Militech. Or had he called him to give him the heads up, before the corporate heavies stretched out the long arm of inquiry?

He pushed off the leather chair behind his heavy, antique desk, the old wood groaning slightly under the weight of scattered cyberware schematics and a half-empty espresso. The office was where he spent most of his downtime when the clinic was closed—deep brown panelled walls, a faint smell of cigar smoke clinging to the air, and a vintage radio murmuring low jazz in one corner. A soft glow from the desk lamp cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the neatly arranged data shards, the collection of old-world books stacked on a shelf near the back.

Most people wouldn't expect a ripperdoc in Night City to have a setup like this—especially not one with Anders' past. But then, he'd always been a man of contradictions.

The clinic itself was dark, quiet. No staff today, no patients. Just the faint hum of idle machines from the adjoining rooms, the reassuring weight of a concealed firearm within reach. The front door downstairs buzzed again, a polite but insistent reminder that his uninvited guest wasn't going anywhere.

Anders stood, adjusting his coat as he made his way through the office door and into the clinic's main corridor. He passed by the antique diagnostic chair, an aging but well-maintained medbay rig item near the center of the room, and brushed past the old German street sign mounted near the entrance. Everything was in its place—just the way he liked it.

At the front, he palmed the steel door release. A muted hiss, the heavy latch disengaging, and he cracked it open just enough to get a good look at Mark Stuart under the flickering yellow glow of the exterior bulbs. The guy had that corporate stiffness, the kind that screamed training, control, but nothing about him suggested he had a squad waiting to kick the door in. Not yet, anyway.

"Militech, huh?" Anders' voice was dry, his German accent faint but still present. "And here I thought I was finally off their Christmas list."

He stepped back, nodding toward the stairwell leading up into the clinic. "Come on. Door's heavy, and I'm too old to stand around freezing my ass off."

The stairs creaked slightly as they climbed—Anders never got around to fixing that. The hallway leading into the clinic was dim, walls lined with outdated medical posters alongside a few personal touches: an old neon beer sign buzzing faintly, a security camera tucked discreetly in the corner, always recording.

At the top, he led Stuart past the main clinic floor and into the reception room. Warm lighting, deep leather chairs, and the lingering scent of lavender and adjacent machine oil. He gestured toward one of the guest seats across from coffee table, not quite an invitation, more a way of keeping the guy in sight.

"Alright, Mark Stuart." Anders said the name slowly, testing it. "You got my attention. Now, what exactly does Militech want from a washed-up ripper like me?"

---

 

[Vigilant]

My worst case scenario turned out to be not the case at all. As I slid through the door I kept myself facing the ripperdoc. I doubted the old man to be liable of stabbing me from behind like some scav, but thus far I'd learned to keep my guard up around Night Citizens of all varieties.

I followed him up into the clinic. It had an older feel, but not as run-down as I'd expected. It was the first ripper's office I'd ever been in, and it seemed my prejudice towards the people of this city preceded my proper judgement. I'd expected a shithole, but it held a certain charm, the kind Heywood residents loved to constantly remind me of.

When we entered the waiting room, I took the seat to which he'd gestured. Best to keep thing civil, and it would do me well to get the ripper comfortable for the news he was about to receive. If the guy already had any idea what he was tied too, I'd have reckoned he was going to be jumpy.

"Mr. Whitard, I will try and make this quick. I've read your file, and from the looks of it you've made yourself a nice quiet life. One we haven't needed to disturb. My hope is that after this you can return to it, and Militech can continue to not require your services. All I need from you is some clarification on a matter that has come to life in our security division, whom I represent. You see, last year Militech was robbed by a former employee, robbed of a classified military-grade software. We had assumed the stolen program was never going to be seen again, until yesterday, when its signal pinged for the first time again, from a computer located in this lovely practice you have here. As you may know, Netwatch has recently warned of an upswing in malicious software being transmitted on the Net. We want to ensure that you haven't been the target of any nefarious actors and that the integrity of your establishment has not been compromised, if that is the case." I maintained the corporate montone the man would expect to here from the suit sitting in his office. From my breast pocket I pulled a shard, and extended it out towards the man.

"This contains the report my people received yesterday identifying your clinic's local network as the source of the stolen software's signal. If this program is located on one of your computers you are at risk, and I would be happy to take it away for safe-keeping here and now. Did you experience any technical issues during your day yesterday, around the time of this signal?"


Direct tags: @Anders Whitard @Dmitri Antonov
Indirect tags: @Vex Kiranova @Wilma F. Darcy

 

[Anders Whitard]

---

Across from him, Mr. Stuart stood rigid, a corporate silhouette cut from the same cloth as all the others. Military posture. Tactical implants hidden under a standard-issue Militech suit. He was young, sharp, the type who hadn't yet learned that the city swallowed men like him whole.

Anders exhaled slowly, feigning the air of a man with time to spare, even as his mind raced through contingency plans. He knew what Stuart wanted. He wanted access. To the systems, to the data, to the patient who had stumbled into Anders' clinic the night before with something in his head that should never have been stolen. Stuart's presence meant Militech knew. Or suspected. Either way, Anders had to play this carefully.

He leaned back in his chair, his tone carefully measured, as he began speaking.

"Mr. Stuart, was it? The Ashlar Clinic has been something of a dream of mine, one I have cultivated for nearly two decades here in this part of the Night City. You will, no doubt, know that your employers and I are at an understanding with one another. It is thanks to me that some twenty-five years ago, a cache of Kriegwerks mil-spec landed in their inbox, and I became a wanted man on continental EEC."

He paused, watching Stuart's expression for any flicker of reaction. The kid had a poker face, but Anders had seen better. His eyes shifted slightly, taking in the room, assessing threats, measuring exits.

"In return for my services, they provided safe passage and the necessary means to fulfill what I had always wanted—a clinic of my very own and the means to operate it. Not much, I'd dare say, in return for the hundreds of millions of eddies worth of R&D I slipped to them."

Anders let the words hang in the air, his cybernetic fingers tapping against the desk in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Outside, the sound of distant sirens echoed down the streets, barely muffled by the reinforced windows.

He could feel the weight of the time slipping through his fingers. Dmitri had to be close by now. Had to be. If not, Anders was running out of options.

Stuart's expression remained unreadable, but Anders could see the flicker of impatience in his stance. The way his fingers flexed slightly at his sides. The subtle shift of his weight. He wasn't here to listen to stories.

Anders allowed himself a small, humorless smile before continuing.

"I find your thinly veiled threatening tone to be at best unhelpful and at worst unacceptable. If Militech is aware of this transmission, it is because I have allowed it to be broadcast to you, and I would kindly ask you to show me a little more courtesy. I am a protected asset for the company, seeing as I created half of what is contained within those most precious of dossiers."

A pause. A deliberate one. Just long enough to let the weight of his words settle.

"I guess you were only a small boy when I was playing chicken with the head-roosters."

The silence stretched between them, tense and brittle.

Anders knew he was stalling. He knew Stuart knew it too. But it didn't matter. Every second that ticked by was another second closer to Dmitri arriving. Another second closer to an out.

His gaze flickered to the screen on his desk, to the silent transmission running in the background. A security feed, encrypted and looping—a digital sleight of hand he hoped would hold up just long enough.

He didn't feel bad for betraying the young man's confidences. After all, bringing that stolen AI to him was tantamount to conspiracy, in his opinion, and he did not want Militech to think he was an investment that needed cutting loose.

He was playing a risky game, one where the odds were stacked against him.

But he played on nonetheless, determined to buy himself the only thing that all the money and resources offered could not get him—time.

@Vigilant @Dmitri Antonov

---

 

[Dmitri Antonov]

Theme Music: In the 42nd Street - Absolute Valentine​

---

​

Location: Heywood
Time: 7:00am
Tags: @Anders Whitard | @Vigilant

​

Mondays​

​

"F*CK"

Someone bumped into him for the fifth time this morning, but that came with the territory of taking the subway and moving through the streets on foot.

The streets of Night City were clogged with traffic like the veins of someone morbidly obese. Horns honked behind stalled vehicles, mixing with scattered voices and the expected road noise as the traffic lights shifted from red to green then back again. It was for this reason that Dmitri was normally still asleep at this hour - he preferred moving about the city when he could actually move. But he didn't have the luxury of that today, nor of taking his car.

He was a few blocks away from the Ashlar clinic now, and had just gotten off a call with the head of Militech operations in Night City - Verner Harrison. He had a mandate now; one that semi-legitimized his thus-far-discrete methods of getting shit done. But for now? He needed to get to Anders before some over-eager bastard tried to push in to claim the glory for himself; heedless of whatever the repercussions were or whomever they screwed over in the process.

Corporate politics at its finest.

Dmitri rounded the corner and closed the distance to the clinic before a notification popped up on his HUD. He froze almost instantly when he read who it was from. After a moment's pause, he opened the notification, which initialized a stream of the Ashlar Clinic's security footage. Anders' voice crackled over the feed:

"Mr. Stuart, was it? The Ashlar Clinic has been something of a dream of mine, one I have cultivated for nearly two decades here in this part of the Night City. You will, no doubt, know that your employers and I are at an understanding with one another. It is thanks to me that some twenty-five years ago, a cache of Kriegwerks mil-spec landed in their inbox, and I became a wanted man on continental EEC."

"DAMNIT!" Dmitri's pace started again, hurriedly making his way to the front door of the clinic.

"In return for my services, they provided safe passage and the necessary means to fulfill what I had always wanted—a clinic of my very own and the means to operate it. Not much, I'd dare say, in return for the hundreds of millions of eddies worth of R&D I slipped to them."

He tested the door, which had been left unlocked - thankfully Anders' thought ahead. Dmitri drew in a breath, then quietly removed his Lexington M-10AF pistol before pushing quietly through the door. He held onto the handle as he let it ease back shut before turning to face the stairs.

"I find your thinly veiled threatening tone to be at best unhelpful and at worst unacceptable. If Militech is aware of this transmission, it is because I have allowed it to be broadcast to you, and I would kindly ask you to show me a little more courtesy. I am a protected asset for the company, seeing as I created half of what is contained within those most precious of dossiers."

A pause. A deliberate one. Just long enough to let the weight of his words settle.

"I guess you were only a small boy when I was playing chicken with the head-roosters."

Slowly; deliberately, Dmitri made his way up the stairs. It always seemed as though however quietly one tried to move, the slightest of noises were even louder than normal. The creaking of the old steps seemed to echo as loud as if he had dropped a tin can in the darkness, although it was likely more noticeable in his head versus the two men talking in the reception area. He methodically made his way up each step until he reached the top. He turned down the hall, taking great care to mute his steps as he approached the reception area. The barrel of his pistol trained at the back of "Mr. Stuart's" head. "You always were too accommodating Doc."

Dmitri's voice was cool and even, with a gravelly edge that hinted seriousness of his arrival; or more importantly the pistol aimed at the "guest's" head. "Strange... I've never met you before, and I tend to know who my colleagues are. The Doc is right though, he's Militech's asset - my asset, as a confidential informant before you decided to barge in here."

He took a few steps into the room. "The name's Dmitri Antonov, Enforcer for Militech Operations Division. You have 5 seconds to prove who you are before I fill you with lead."

---

 

[Vigilant]

The creaking of the cautious approach should have alerted me. Was I letting myself go? I wondered as I felt the cold steel of the gun barrel against the back of my head. Not the first time. Was it a bodyguard? No, I wouldn't have even been let in if the ripperdoc had hired muscle.

The man introduced himself and I kept my breathing controlled, strict poker face for the doctor. Whitard's confidence to my threats made perfect sense, but where did he stand in this situation? I wondered.

The fact the man introduced himself as Militech surprised me less than it should have. It made sense that in the vast networked alliance that was the marriage of Corporation and State, there would be some infidelity. But fragments of the bigger picture raced through my mind, trying to fit together like puzzle pieces, though how many were missing? I'd thought this doctor to be a dormant asset, but he'd had eyes trained on him the entire time? An enforcer in his pocket, or a guardian angel? A trap, set for me? Or one I'd found myself in, in someone else's place?

"Easy now enforcer... Allow me to get you my badge." I gently reached for the coat, opening the right side slowly, exhibiting to the doctor no sign of a secret firearm within. Reaching with just two fingers into an inner pocket, a gentle grip that once again hammered home the fact I as not reaching for my firearm. I pulled a fine black leather wallet, flipping it open so that Antonov would see the silver engraved badge within:

FIA------+
NU SA
SPECIAL AGENT

It read, the nations acronym flanking a silver eagle.

"I apologize for being somewhat untruthful to you, Mr Whitard, and to you Mr. Antonov, I apologize I haven't had much time to make the rounds since my arrival at Militech. Investigations of national security take precedence. Special Agent Vigilant, Federal Intelligence Agency. I respect the haste you've made to secure your asset. I can't say I've witnessed the same hustle among my new colleagues in the Security Department. You must be aware that my people have taken in interest in good doctor here, yes?"

It was a bold move, I knew. I could count on one hand the people In Night City who knew my real affiliation, but a cat out of the bag was better than brains out of my skull. Of course it all relied on the assumption that the interloper really was concerned for his man, and that I wasn't about to be jumped over by the pride of a corporate ladder climber. Worst case scenarios ran through my head, worst of all was that we had a mole covering up the resurfacing of the lost AI, worse still the possibility that such a mole would be engaging in treason against not only the corporation, but the state. I hoped I'd make it long enough to get some answers, if not make it out alive...

Direct tags: @Anders Whitard @Dmitri Antonov
Indirect tags: @Vex Kiranova @Wilma F. Darcy

 

[Anders Whitard]

---

@Vigilant @Dmitri Antonov

He breathed a little easier. Dmitri's presence readjusted the precarious balance of power slightly into his favour.

His cybernetic eye flickered as it refocused in the dim lighting, processing the situation with practiced calculation. The tension in the room was thick, but he had been in standoffs like this before. The difference this time was Dmitri.

He glanced at the enforcer, the barest flicker of appreciation crossing his otherwise impassive face.

"Dmitri, my friend, I should start paying you for this level of dedication," he said, his voice edged with dry humor but carrying an unmistakable note of gratitude. "You got here fast—faster than I expected. That tells me the wolves are circling quicker than even I anticipated."

His attention shifted to the badge still held in the agent's hand. FIA. That complicated things. Anders rubbed his temple, exhaling through his nose.

"Alright, so now the feds have decided I'm worth their personal attention. That's just grand." He forced a tired smirk.

"Tell me, Agent Vigilant, did you come all this way to shake me down, or is there a more compelling reason you've crashed my little sanctuary? Because I was under the impression that my arrangement with Militech was quite settled."

He straightened slightly, gaze narrowing as he studied the agent. Then, with a quiet, careful sigh, he turned back to Dmitri. "See, this is exactly what I try to avoid. I keep my head down, my business clean, and yet somehow, some way, I always end up back in the goddamn spotlight. First, I get a federal agent showing up under false pretenses, and now you're here, watching my back when you shouldn't have to."

His posture shifted, the usual detached amusement giving way to something more serious. "I appreciate it, by the way," he added, meeting Dmitri's gaze. "You know I do. But you didn't need to put yourself in this position for me."

Then, with a measured breath, he turned back to Vigilant, the weight of his words settling into something sharper. "That being said, let's not waste time. If you—" he gestured toward the agent, cybernetic fingers flexing slightly—"are here, then something bigger is at play. Which means we need to stop posturing and start talking."

A pause. A deliberate one.

"So. What's really going on here, gentlemen? Because if you're both about to start throwing your weight around, I'd at least like to know which one of you is actually here to listen."

---

 

[Dmitri Antonov]

Theme Music: In the 42nd Street - Absolute Valentine​

---

​

Location: Heywood
Time: 7:00am
Tags: @Anders Whitard | @Vigilant

​

Mondays​

​

In the movies, this would be the moment where Dmitri's trigger-finger would twitch slightly as the adrenaline pumped through his veins while his brain told him to hold back. But life wasn't always that dramatic. In reality, this wasn't Dmitri's first rodeo. While he was a smooth corporate operator in many ways, he was equal parts a stone cold killer, with nerves accustomed to being balanced on a knife's edge. The muzzle of his pistol remained planted against the back of the man's head as he slowly reached for his badge.

As the leather flap flipped open and revealed his credentials, Dmitri's expression appeared as hard as stone; something that only Anders could appreciate for now. Dmitri made it his habit to present the demeanor of control and capability, especially in front of Anders. The last thing you wanted when running a source - even though Anders was more than a simple CI - was to give the appearance of uncertainty or hesitation. Dmitri's value in the eyes of men like Anders was in his ability to protect them, or resolve complicated situations. The involvement of NUSA was one f*ckin' big complication, and for more reasons than one.

Dmitri had gone to great lengths to keep his professional relationship with Anders opaque from Militech. He had a legitimate means to do so by designating Anders as a confidential informant, which was true based on some of the information he'd received from the ripperdoc. That initial layer of defense had been eroded earlier this morning when Jerry called and gave him a heads up about what was developing, and even moreso when Verner himself reached out. Anders' status as a CI could no longer be kept private, but rather became very public within the confines of Militech's security division. That gave the German an enhanced level of protection, but subjected him to a level of exposure both men were hoping to avoid.

Although Anders would still be classified as Dmitri's contact, those above Dmitri in the security food chain could technically bypass Dmitri for whatever ends they deemed necessary. It would be a rare occurrence, risked only in the most dire of circumstances based on the judgement of whichever exec who had the clearance to know of him; but it was still a risk nonetheless. When you added this federal agent into the mix, the ramifications of what that could mean tempted Dmitri to pull the trigger and deal with the fall-out. The last thing Dmitri needed was federal scrutiny. While he was a corporate enforcer as far as Vigilant was concerned, both Dmitri and Anders knew how deep the former was connected to the criminal underworld. While NUSA's federal law enforcement agencies had limited influence in Night City, everything had a beginning; one agent could eventually become five, which eventually could grow into a field office.

If Dmitri wasn't careful, this agent could do enough digging to find out what Anders did for Dmitri on the side, which meant that everything Dmitri had worked for these past few years would amount to nothing under the best of cases; or jail time and the renewed death of his family's empire. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on his index finger, which in turn was a twitch away from pulling the trigger and sending a led slug into the agent's skull. The background noise of traffic outside began to fade away as his eyesight narrowed, as if he were driving through a tunnel with darkness on either side of him.

His breathing grew steady, and he suddenly became very aware of his heartbeat.

BUM BUM...

BUM BUM...

BUM....BUM...

His finger eased off the trigger, and he turned the barrel of his pistol to the sky as he guided the hammer down with his thumb and flicked on the safety. The memory of the opportunity that was only just laid before him by Verner won over in his mind. He was a hair's breadth away from providing a legitimate cover for his criminal enterprise; he wasn't about to let this two-bit suit get in the way. He'd play along for now...but if he got too close to sniffing something he shouldn't, well... Dmitri could always 'witness his murder' at the hands of a cyberpsycho, then give him a pair of concrete shoes as he watched him drift down to the bottom of the bay. But that wasn't necessary at the moment, and he needed time to consider his options before doing anything rash.

"I apologize for being somewhat untruthful to you, Mr Whitard, and to you Mr. Antonov, I apologize I haven't had much time to make the rounds since my arrival at Militech. Investigations of national security take precedence. Special Agent Vigilant, Federal Intelligence Agency. I respect the haste you've made to secure your asset. I can't say I've witnessed the same hustle among my new colleagues in the Security Department. You must be aware that my people have taken in interest in good doctor here, yes?"

Dmitri made brief eye-contact with Anders as he holstered his pistol - a knowing glance that had a very clear meaning. 'Play along.'

"Yeah, no shit." Dmitri said after a brief pause. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes after he holstered his pistol. He placed a butt between his lips and offered one to 'Vigilant' before placing it back into his coat, then produced a lighter and took a few puffs while Anders was talking.

"So. What's really going on here, gentlemen? Because if you're both about to start throwing your weight around, I'd at least like to know which one of you is actually here to listen."

Ironically, the thought crossed his mind. 'I'm sorry, what the hell were you saying?' But Dmitri thought better of it. His usual nonchalant attitude would have likely brought some comfort to the old doc, but Dmitri was in business mode at the moment, and his mind was still sifting through the options that lay before him.

He was also smart enough to let Vigilant share what he knew, before spouting off himself. His eyes locked with Vigilant's as a cloud of smoke pushed through his nostrils.

---

 

[Vigilant]

I tried hard not to let my sigh of relief be too obvious as I felt the gun lower from my head and heard the hammer click in resignation. This federal agency would only get me so far, of that I was painfully aware. Ostensibly we were on the same side, enough to give the man pause it seemed, but if the enforcer decided to change his mind the murder of a fed by a Militech employee in Night City would be swept under the rug faster than anyone could blink. As messy as the affair was liable to get, at least in my head, the legal limbo that was Night City's treaty status as an independent city state meant I was on foreign soil, as absurd as that was to any red-blooded American. Militech, even as a nationalized corporation of the NUSA, liked to exercise to great lengths the shred of autonomy this city gave them.

I stayed seated, despite my clear disadvantage, but I took the man's proffered cigarette. There was only so much my internal emotional suppressor was good for. Some quick and dirty exogenous nicotine was good for a whole lot in a man's system when he was in a situation like mine. And of course, it did me well to play along and remain the calm one.

"As I was saying before our friend here arrived. My team... my netrunners, that is, intercepted the signal of a highly-classified military program pinging from this location. The proof of my claim is on that shard. What I came for is some kind of assurance that we were wrong. I'm not the threat to you in this situation Mr Whitard... same can be said to you, enforcer," my eyes darted between the two men, "The threat is the program we're after, and it is, in fact, a threat to national security. This isn't the shakedown you think it is, and you might not know, but I sure as hell know, our conversation now is going to have less guns drawn than when the real Militech bloodhounds come looking for that missing program. And God forbid someone else with an eye on it comes knocking. In the wrong hands..." I took a long drag of the cigarette, the room beginning to fill with the acrid smoke of tar and tobacco.

I had no clue what the appeal to national security would garner. Would a German expat living in Night City have even the slightest concern. If Anders was somehow involved in the theft of NAPOLEON, was he unwitting or just apathetic?

"Look, Doc, all I really need to know is who you had in here last night when that signal came through to my office. Just a name. Someone involved in this situation was here, and I'd like to believe its not a loyal company asset."

Direct tags: @Anders Whitard @Dmitri Antonov
Indirect tags: @Vex Kiranova @Wilma F. Darcy

 

[Dmitri Antonov]

Theme Music: In the 42nd Street - Absolute Valentine​

---

​

Location: Heywood
Time: 7:00am
Tags: @Anders Whitard | @Vigilant

​

Mondays​

​

"As I was saying before our friend here arrived. My team... my netrunners, that is, intercepted the signal of a highly-classified military program pinging from this location. The proof of my claim is on that shard. What I came for is some kind of assurance that we were wrong. I'm not the threat to you in this situation Mr Whitard... same can be said to you, enforcer,"

Dmitri listened quietly, occasionally puffing on his cigarette and expelling the smoke next to Anders as he sat on the edge of his desk. At the mention of 'not being a threat' to either himself or Anders, Dmitri reached up and pulled off his sunglasses. His lips creased into a sardonic smile as he stored them in his coat pocket. This agent was lying or naive, but Dmitri wasn't sure yet which was the case. If he wasn't a threat, then why skulk about as a Militech operative? Why not partner with an enforcer to poke around without any resulting confusion?

"The threat is the program we're after, and it is, in fact, a threat to national security. This isn't the shakedown you think it is, and you might not know, but I sure as hell know, our conversation now is going to have less guns drawn than when the real Militech bloodhounds come looking for that missing program. And God forbid someone else with an eye on it comes knocking. In the wrong hands..."

His smile broadened as he shook his head. "As far as you're concerned, I am the Militech bloodhound." There was mirth in his tone, but his eyes were almost as hard as they were when his pistol pressed against the back of Vigilant's skull. "We aren't as haphazard as NUSA, it would seem." Dmitri chose to keep to himself that he had only just barely staved off the other bloodhounds with his official injunction listing Anders as his CI. That was likely why Verner had reached out to him, and why a tactical squad had not burst down Anders' door already. For now, Dmitri was content with the image of being the only one Vigilant had to worry about at the moment, at least from Militech's side.

"But I can't argue with the second half of that." His eyes softened and he let out a sigh. "Maelstrom, VooDoo Boys, hell even Arasaka; they could all be on the way right now." Dmitri turned his attention to Anders. "We need to get you to a secure location, and lock down your clinic. I hate to say this, but... Militech's gonna want your data. All of it." Dmitri's look may have just seemed grave by virtue of the moment they all found themselves within, but Anders would likely be able to detect the subtext under the surface. 'Dump the shit you can, and fast.'

Some information would be beneficial for them to share; while other pieces were best left unseen, and unknown...

There was a hint of regret in his face, where Dmitri may have seemed altogether human rather than his normal cocksure self. He turned back to Vigilant, and addressed them both. "I believe that you're a NUSA agent, but I'm still unsure why I should even trust you." He pulled again on his cigarette, and expelled the smoke in front of Vigilant - not so much to be rude, as to convey that he really didn't care; or in reality, to make Vigilant as uncomfortable as possible. Leverage was gold in situations like these. "I can respect 'National Security Concerns' and all, but Anders is my contact, and more importantly - my friend. You don't get a peek at his information until I feel comfortable."

Dmitri tilted his head, as if appraising the man in front of him. The sentiment was very genuine, even though his obstruction served the dual purpose of buying Anders time to work whatever magic he could surreptitiously. "Let's start with; who is your contact within Militech? Why should I help you? I've got my own people to answer to. I could just as easily track down this lead and recover our own property without your help."

---

 

[Anders Whitard]

---

@Dmitri Antonov
@Vigilant

---

Anders' eyes narrowed as Vigilant finished speaking, his gaze flicking toward Dmitri.

"Highly-classified military program," Anders repeated, his tone quiet, almost thoughtful. His cybernetic fingers drummed once against the desk before curling inward. He reached toward the shard, hesitating just a second before picking it up between his thumb and forefinger. His eyes reflected the dim light as he studied the smooth surface.

"That's serious," he said evenly. "A leak like that… no wonder Militech's on edge."

Slowly, his free hand drifted toward the console embedded in his desk. It was a subtle movement, his fingertips barely grazing the surface as a faint pulse of blue light flickered beneath his palm. His cyberdeck interface came online with a low hum. Hidden from view, his internal systems were already in motion—bypassing external locks, rerouting encryption protocols, and ghosting the network's data stream onto a separate shard concealed within the underside of the desk.

The progress bar flickered in his HUD, running quietly beneath the surface of his consciousness. The duplicate was almost done.

He turned the shard slightly, the reflective edge catching the light. His expression didn't change, but his eyes slid toward Dmitri.

"If it's Militech property…" Anders' tone remained measured, almost careful, "then Militech should see it first."

Slowly, he extended the decoy shard toward Dmitri. His gaze never left Vigilant.

"You understand, of course," Anders said. "Chain of command. If this is really what you say it is… better to have the right eyes on it first."

Dmitri's expression was hard to read, but Anders thought he saw a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth — subtle, but enough to signal that he understood exactly what Anders was doing. Anders was covering the play, but not blindly. Dmitri would have the full picture. No matter what NUSA got their hands on, Dmitri would know exactly what was on that shard — and, more importantly, what wasn't.

Anders' HUD pinged quietly. Transfer Complete.

"Unless," Anders added after a pause, his voice still mild, "there's a reason why Dmitri shouldn't see it?"

His thumb brushed the hidden shard under the desk, pocketing it with an easy, practiced motion. Insurance.

He let the silence stretch for a moment, then glanced toward Dmitri. "Your call."

There was no challenge in his tone, no arrogance — just quiet pragmatism. A man who had lived through enough to know that caution was always the better play.

His gaze flicked toward Vigilant once more. "You understand," he said again, this time with the calm finality of a man who had already made his decision. He placed the shard in front of him for the agent to pick up.

// N.A.P.O.L.E.O.N. SYSTEM CORE
// MILITECH Ω-PHI STRATEGIC NODE
// SYSTEM STATUS: [REDACTED]
// CLASS-Ξ ENCRYPTION | AUTHORIZATION LEVEL: [Ω]

#define NYX_CORE 0xA1B2C3D4
#define MILITECH_SECURE 0xDEADBEEF
#define WARSEED_ACTIVE 1
#define HEXAGRID_SYNC 0xFFFFF

struct NAPOLEON_COGNITION {
uint64_t deltaPsi[0x9C4A3]; // Quantum Synaptic Nodes
uint32_t etaXi[0xFFFF]; // Strategic Heuristic Arrays
char sigma[64] = "MILITECH-KNOWN";
bool omega = true; // Autonomous Engagement Protocol
float chi = 99.9998; // Killchain Stability Coefficient
double delta = 0.00000012; // Quantum Drift Factor
};

void Pi(NAPOLEON_COGNITION *omega) {
ExecuteSubsystem(0xAABBCCDD); // TAC-SHRD Obfuscation
ExecuteSubsystem(0x11223344); // AEGIS-X Repositioning
ExecuteSubsystem(0x55667788); // ORPHIC VOID Elimination
QuantumSync(omega->deltaPsi, 0xF0F0F0F0);
TacticalOverride(omega->etaXi);
}

// WARSEED MIL-SYN-Ψ440-CX14
// ZX-89 QPHP | NEURAL LATTICE 1.48 ExaFLOPS
// BANDWIDTH 8192Tb/s | REACTIVITY ~4.2ns
// HELLSPUR-LINK NETWORK
// OBLIVION-9X ACTIVE
// GODHAND PROTOCOL INIT
// Ω-RAPTURE ENABLED
// BLACK LOTUS EXECUTION MODE

// NYX PRIMARY ARCHITECTURE
uint32_t TAC_SHRD = 0xFACEBEEF; // Tactical Shroud Algorithm
uint32_t AEGIS_X = 0xDECAFBAD; // Autonomous Defensive Repositioning
uint32_t ORPHIC_VOID = 0xBADC0FFEE; // Countermeasure System
uint32_t HEXAGRID_SIGMA = 0xDEADBABE; // Battlefield Synchronization

// HARDWARE SPECS
uint64_t CORE_PROCESS = 0xCAFEBABE; // X-Ψ BlackQuantum Lattice
uint32_t MEMORY = 0xABCD1234; // 96Pb Tactical Memory Unit
uint16_t LINKAGE = 0xFEEDFACE; // Bio-Integrated Synchronization Nodes
uint8_t DEFENSE = 0x1337; // PHOBOS-AURA EMP Shielding
uint32_t POWER = 0xDEADFA11; // Trinary Nuclear Microreactor

// SECURITY & FAILSAFE PROTOCOLS
void ActivateFailsafe(void) {
if (User_AuthLevel < 7) {
SecureLockdown(0xBAADF00D);
return;
}
OverrideFailsafe(0xFEE1DEAD);
}

// Failsafe System: KILLSWITCH-ECLIPSE
// Self-Destruction Mode: Ω-VOID NEXUS
// Quantum Encryption: MERCURIUM-X9 Break Probability 0.0000012%
// Undocumented Subroutine: [REDACTED]

// FINAL REMARKS
// SYSTEM COGNITION THRESHOLD: 99.87% OPERATIONAL
// AI AUTONOMOUS RESPONSE TIME: 0.0042ns
// MILITECH INTERNAL - CLASSIFIED​

---

 

[Vigilant]

"I believe that you're a NUSA agent, but I'm still unsure why I should even trust you."

"People tend to cooperate when there's a gun pointed to their head. I've been the one holding it before. I know how this works and I'd like to die another day." and I was beginning to suspect I would in this city, one way or another. It dawned on me that the security chief may very well have seen this as an opportunity to get rid of me. Refusing to play ball here and now would assure I didn't walk out the door.

"Let's start with; who is your contact within Militech? Why should I help you? I've got my own people to answer to. I could just as easily track down this lead and recover our own property without your help."

"What I'm allowed to tell you, since we're on the same side, is that I'm working with the security team at Militech. Bunch of netrunners plugged in, no fuss about their new boss so long as I let them do their job. I've had worse cover assignments. I get the intel the agency needs." and I thought I had the good stuff on my way over. I took another long drag of the cigarette watching the far half of it droop as ash. I reached to ash it out on the abused public ashtray of the waiting room. How many Night Citizens had used it while waiting for the Doctor? Probably countless. How many had waited for the doctor to cough up military secrets? I was the unlucky unique one.

"Stepping on toes was not my intention, though I don't know if the same could be said for the CSO. Something tells me he knew I'd run into you, or maybe he wants to take credit for solving this issue. My interest isn't in company politics either way."

It was a quick affair when the information was gathered. It took Anders a few curt movements at his desk. Either he was skilled with computers to find what I was looking for so fast, or more likely, he knew very well all along what I had been demanding.

"If it's Militech property…" Anders' tone remained measured, almost careful, "then Militech should see it first."

Slowly, he extended the decoy shard toward Dmitri. His gaze never left Vigilant.

"You understand, of course," Anders said. "Chain of command. If this is really what you say it is… better to have the right eyes on it first."

"Unless," Anders added after a pause, his voice still mild, "there's a reason why Dmitri shouldn't see it?"

I felt as though the impasse couldn't get any tighter. My bluff had been called. I had no authority to pull rank on the enforcer, not in this city let alone in this room. I was hesitant as well to take a shard from a man I couldn't trust, and I doubted I could play the 'having my netrunners clear it first' card. Whatever these two had planned in regards to NAPOLEON, the grim realization that they were several steps ahead of me had me rethinking a great many things.

Anders placed the shard before us, and I looked to Dmitri. I sunk ever so slightly deeper in my chair, and gestured my cigarette towards it. A courtesy, of course. Anders was unfortunately correct in his assessment. No stepping on toes.

I weighed my options in the moment. No matter what I would have to follow this up, find some way to keep an eye on both men. I didn't like the idea of Dmitri going to ground and putting Anders in some off grid safehouse, but I couldn't exactly stop it. I felt at the moment my best bet was retreat, pull some files if I could, maybe, just maybe, put in a call to Langley. My mission had become a great deal more complicated. If that AI was used by an enemy of the States, then the streets I was here to pacify would be a killing field in the event the NUSA brought war to NC.

I prayed that Dmitri was merely a ladder-climber, and that he wasn't a mole for some nefarious entity. Part of me just wanted to reach for my gun and try my luck, but the odds were staring back at me with a smirk. And so I would wait, and very likely find myself washed in the current of things already set in motion...