"Jack, fill us in on the details," Roqi said as he cracked open some sunflower seeds—something neither V nor Jack could quite understand.
He always felt that post-meal banter needed a little snack to pass the time. But Night City's idea of snacks was laughable: either cloyingly sweet candy or calorie bombs disguised as synthetic food.
Sunflower seeds and green tea? That was the proper vibe. But in this massive bar, he couldn't find either. He'd ended up buying the seeds from an import snack store across the street.
Of course, they were imported from China.
"You guys know I used to run with the Valentinos," Jack began. "Grew up here in Heywood. I know pretty much everyone."
"Even if I haven't seen some of them in years, I still remember their names. A lot of memories… not all of them good."
He sighed. "Lately, a few people just vanished. Like, gone without a trace. One of them was an old friend. If it weren't for Gustavo, I might not have even noticed."
"Who's that? Another childhood buddy?" V asked, chin resting on his hand.
"Yeah. We grew up together."
Jack's eyes glinted with memories. "But you know, after I got shot—three rounds, not strays—I left the Valentinos. Couldn't stand to see my mom that heartbroken again."
The bullets had hit near his heart. The situation had been critical.
When Mama Wells arrived at the hospital, Jack looked like a human octopus—tubes sticking out of him everywhere. Her words, not his.
That was ten years ago. Jack had been twenty.
That incident marked his departure from gang life. He parted ways with his crew and started fresh in Night City.
But leaving didn't mean cutting ties. He still kept in touch with his old friends.
V and Roqi were his closest brothers now, but he hadn't forgotten the people from his past. Gustavo Orta was one of them.
And he was the one who'd tipped Jack off about the disappearances.
"Hey, Gustavo, how you doing?"
Jack dialed his number.
"¿Sí? ¿Quién habla?" A rough, heavily accented voice picked up after a few rings.
"It's Jack. Got a minute? Need to talk. Padre sent us."
There was a pause.
Then: "Oh, Jack! Is it about that thing?"
"Of course. You good to talk?"
"Perfecto… Where are you? I'll come to you."
"Salmon Bar in Vista del Rey. Second floor."
The bar served beer, cocktails, breakfast coffee, and hosted a live band.
Less than thirty minutes later, a sharp-eyed man climbed the stairs, scanned the room, and made a beeline for their booth.
"¡Hola!"
Jack greeted him in Spanish. The man slid in next to him.
"My bros—V and Lucky," Jack said. "This is my childhood friend, Gustavo."
"Pleasure to meet you."
Roqi shook Gustavo's cool, golden cybernetic hand, sensing a deep mutual respect.
Clearly, Gustavo valued Jack—and extended that respect to his friends.
"Likewise, my friend," Gustavo replied in his rich Spanish-accented English. Roqi immediately thought of rowdy soccer fans yelling in bars.
With no language implants, Roqi had to rely on Gustavo's heavily accented English.
Lijing District was the poorest part of Heywood, long dominated by gang violence.
But gang control came with structure. If you adapted to the rhythm, the chaos became a weird form of order.
Whenever something went down, the Valentinos knew first.
They even had better intel than the municipal services. Gustavo, a mid-tier gang member, had a say in maintaining that order.
It started with a single missing tenant.
In Night City, that wasn't unusual—even if she was a gang member's girlfriend.
Then a drunk across the street vanished. Then a child from a regular family.
People were vanishing like smoke.
Go out for a walk, never come back.
Creepy, sure—but the city accepted it.
But when double-digit disappearances hit in one week? All in the same blocks? That raised alarms.
Especially since the missing included members of both the Valentinos and 6th Street.
The streets were quiet. Buildings worn down, walls plastered with graffiti marking gang territory.
Small skirmishes had broken out between the two gangs—until they realized they were both losing people.
Even Padre, a longtime enemy of 6th Street, had suggested a ceasefire.
That's how serious it had gotten.
Then they noticed the outsiders.
Then they realized—they were Wraiths.
And it had been nearly two months since the first confirmed disappearance.
You couldn't expect gangs to run high-efficiency investigations.
Gustavo was frustrated—furious, even—with the complacency in his own crew.
That's what he told Jack.
"Sometimes I think you were right to leave, Jack… but still—"
His usual tough guy act slipped, revealing a tired bitterness.
The Valentinos weren't what they once were.
But they were still Heywood's family.
He tried to drink from an empty bottle.
Clunk.
A new bottle appeared, placed in front of him.
"Drink, my friend. Drink all you want."
Roqi offered it calmly, his expression unreadable—but steady.
Everyone had their struggles in this city.
Sometimes you roared. Sometimes you drowned.
Night City didn't care. Neon dreams didn't listen.
But maybe, maybe, a bit of light would fall on the lost tomorrow.
"Gracias…"
Gustavo smiled at him, then set the bottle aside, eyes closed.
"Let's go."
"Go where?"
He cracked his knuckles.
"Lijing District."
And he left the rest unsaid—
Before the Wraiths disappear.
...
Massive towers and crumbling apartments loomed like tombstones.
People still lived here—but barely.
This was Lijing District.
A no-man's land tucked between Corpo Plaza, Japantown, Vista del Rey, and Arroyo.
Locals eyed Roqi warily—until they saw Gustavo.
"They think you're corp scouting," Gustavo said. "A lot of corpos want this district. We know they're coming eventually—but we'll be ready."
Roqi didn't look like a suit. More like a clueless new arrival.
Too plain. No flashy gear, no combat-grade chrome.
But underestimating him could be your last mistake.
Lijing bordered Corpo territory, making it a corporate eyesore.
And they didn't hesitate to use force when they wanted something.
The district had always been unstable.
But now? It was something worse.
"All these cookie-cutter towers," V muttered, scanning the buildings.
The place felt lawless. Dirty streets, trash piles, gang clusters.
Even with its location, its heyday was long over.
Apartments looked decent—but people were disappearing from the shadows.
The places sunlight never reached.
Stacked towers. Bridges over bridges. Chaos built on chaos.
The place had once been full of hopeful entrepreneurs. Most had lost everything.
Then came the Fourth Corporate War.
Small businesses died. Arasaka and other corps moved in.
Locals couldn't compete.
Gangs took control. Police gave up.
6th Street from Santo Domingo and the Valentinos from Vista del Rey had turned it into a battlefield.
"You were right not to move here," V said.
"Better a garage than this shithole," Jack agreed.
"A mix between a warzone and a public toilet?" Roqi quipped.
"It wasn't this bad with just 6th Street," Gustavo added. "But the Valentinos stopped caring. Now the freaks moved in. Probably why the Wraiths chose it."
Filth in forgotten buildings made ugliness stand out.
Even at the street corner, Roqi could smell rot soaked into the walls.
"This is it," Gustavo said. He spread his arms. "A lot of people have gone missing around here."
Roqi stared at grime-covered walls, eyes scanning the messy wires and cluttered signs.
"The Wraiths—where are they hiding?"
"That's the problem. They don't wear signs that say 'Hi, we're Wraiths.'"
Gustavo leaned casually against a signpost, eyes alert.
"But I'd bet my life—it's them."
"Couldn't it be a corp? Or 6th Street?" V asked.
"Where's the center of the underground economy?"
Gustavo answered with a grin.
"The black market," Jack said with a knowing smirk.
Roqi blinked. Then shared a look with V.
Yeah. Now it made sense.
You couldn't run a census in this mess—but the Valentinos knew the black market inside out.
Padre wasn't blind. Neither were the Valentinos.
All those new deals out of nowhere?
That wasn't a coincidence.
Give me a break.
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