Chapter 10: The Scav Ambush - Part 1
POV: Tom
Regina's call interrupted Tom's coffee-induced sense of well-being with the particular urgency that marked high-priority work. Tom answered his communication device while still savoring the last drops of genuine Colombian coffee, his enhanced nervous system already shifting from relaxed satisfaction to professional alertness.
"Mr. Adler. I have a situation that requires your unique qualifications."
"What kind of situation?"
"Suspected Scavenger operation in Northside. Client believes they're holding victims for organ harvesting. Standard investigation—confirm presence, document evidence, coordinate with appropriate authorities if necessary."
Tom's enhanced memories provided immediate context about Scavengers—Night City's most despised predators, gangs that specialized in kidnapping, torture, and black market organ sales. They were universally reviled even by other criminals, operating with complete disregard for any moral boundaries that might constrain normal human behavior.
"Why not call MaxTac or NCPD?"
"Client wants private confirmation before involving law enforcement. Too many false alarms result in reduced response times for legitimate emergencies." Regina paused. "Also, official investigation might compromise ongoing operations that we prefer to keep unofficial."
Translation: the client was probably involved in activities that wouldn't survive police scrutiny, but still wanted to eliminate Scavenger competition in their territory.
"Payment?"
"Seven thousand eddies. Plus bonus for documented evidence of illegal activity."
Tom accepted the job despite reservations that his enhanced tactical analysis was already flagging. Investigating Scavengers meant confronting enemies who specialized in inflicting suffering on helpless victims. It also meant potential exposure to exactly the kind of violence that would trigger his adaptive chrome systems in ways that drew unwanted attention.
But seven thousand eddies would fund his survival for months, and the possibility of rescuing people from Scavenger torture provided moral justification for taking risks.
Judy insisted on accompanying him despite Tom's protests about danger and exposure.
"You need technical support for proper documentation," she argued while packing braindance recording equipment into a portable kit. "Also, someone has to watch your back while you're interfacing with security systems."
"This isn't a game, Judy. Scavengers are genuinely dangerous. They torture people for entertainment."
"Which is why you need backup. Also, I've dealt with Scavengers before." Judy's expression carried the particular darkness that suggested personal experience with Night City's worst predators. "Trust me, I know what they're capable of."
Tom wanted to argue further, but Judy's technical expertise would indeed be valuable for investigation and evidence documentation. Also, his protective instincts were increasingly focused on keeping people he cared about close enough to defend rather than hoping distance would provide safety.
They drove Betty to Northside's industrial district, where abandoned buildings provided perfect cover for illegal operations that required privacy and sound dampening. The suspected Scavenger location was a former medical clinic that had been closed since the corporate wars, its legitimate business replaced by something far more sinister.
Tom parked Betty three blocks away, maintaining their connection while approaching on foot. His enhanced senses immediately detected electronic signatures that suggested active occupation—power consumption, communications equipment, and the particular electromagnetic patterns of medical devices being used for non-medical purposes.
"Too many heat signatures," Tom whispered to Judy as they observed the building from concealment. "At least a dozen people inside, plus equipment that suggests they're actively operating."
"Operating on what?"
"Probably better if we don't know until we have to know."
Tom's Techno-Sovereignty reached out to the building's electronic systems, mapping internal layouts and security configurations. The Scavengers had modified the clinic extensively—reinforced doors, additional surveillance equipment, and isolation chambers that blocked external communication. This wasn't a temporary operation; it was a permanent installation.
"This is bigger than Regina indicated," Tom said. "Full-scale operation with serious security measures. We should abort and recommend professional law enforcement response."
"Not yet," Judy replied, adjusting her recording equipment. "If there are victims inside, we need confirmation before we leave. People could die while we're coordinating official response."
Tom's enhanced tactical analysis screamed warnings about insufficient firepower, unknown enemy capabilities, and escape routes that could be compromised by superior numbers. But Judy was right about potential victims—Scavenger operations meant people were suffering while they conducted reconnaissance.
"Quick look. Document what we can, then extract immediately. No heroics."
They approached the building through service corridors that provided concealment from external surveillance. Tom used his Techno-Sovereignty to disable security cameras in sequence, creating blind spots that allowed their movement without triggering automated alerts. The former clinic's interior was a maze of corridors and examination rooms that had been repurposed for activities that violated every medical oath ever written.
The smell. Antiseptic mixed with something organic that Tom's enhanced senses identified as blood, pain, and fear. The Scavengers weren't just harvesting organs—they were enjoying the process.
Judy's recording equipment captured everything with professional efficiency while Tom's chrome augmentations hummed with increasing stress responses. His adaptive systems were preparing for violence that felt increasingly inevitable.
Then they heard the screaming.
Someone's alive in here. Someone's being hurt right now.
Tom's protective instincts overwhelmed his tactical caution. He moved toward the sounds of suffering with mechanical determination, his chrome systems activating in response to proximity to victims who needed immediate rescue.
"Tom, wait," Judy whispered urgently. "This feels wrong. Too easy."
She was right. The building's security was sophisticated enough to detect their presence, but no alarms had sounded. No guards had responded to their intrusion. The Scavengers were either completely incompetent or...
It's a trap. They know we're here. They're letting us get deeper into the building before springing whatever ambush they've prepared.
The realization came too late. Scavenger operatives emerged from concealed positions throughout the corridor, weapons drawn and targeting systems active. Tom and Judy found themselves surrounded by enemies who'd been waiting for exactly this moment.
"Well, well," the lead Scavenger said, his optical implants focusing on Tom with predatory interest. "What do we have here? Chrome boy and his tech support girlfriend. Perfect timing."
Tom's enhanced senses catalogued threat parameters with crystalline clarity. Eight Scavengers, military-grade weapons, positioning that suggested professional combat experience rather than street gang improvisation. This wasn't random opportunistic violence—it was carefully planned predation with specific targets in mind.
"You've been expecting us," Tom said, though it wasn't really a question.
"Been tracking you for days, chrome freak. Regina Jones thinks she's clever, but everyone in Night City has a price. Including her information sources."
Regina's intelligence network has been compromised. This isn't a rescue mission—it's an assassination attempt disguised as a job.
The first shots came from behind Tom—Scavengers positioned to create crossfire that would eliminate both targets simultaneously. Tom threw himself toward Judy, trying to shield her from incoming fire while his chrome systems activated defensive protocols.
The smart rounds struck him in the shoulder and chest with enough force to spin him around and drop him to his knees. Tom felt his adaptive cyberware analyzing the ammunition—velocity, composition, targeting algorithms—while simultaneously beginning defensive modifications.
Armor-piercing rounds designed to penetrate standard chrome protection. They're equipped specifically for hunting people like me.
Tom struggled to his feet as chrome plating began forming across the impact sites. His adaptive systems were learning from the attack, building defenses against the specific ammunition types while his nervous system processed pain that should have rendered him unconscious.
More shots. Tom interposed himself between the Scavengers and Judy, accepting wounds that his chrome could adapt to while protecting someone whose baseline human physiology offered no such resilience.
"She's going to die unless I stop holding back. Unless I use everything I've become to end this fight immediately."
A Scavenger moved to flank them, assault rifle aimed at Judy's head. Tom saw the targeting laser settle on her temple, calculated bullet trajectory and impact probability, and made a choice that would change everything between them forever.
Time dilated as Tom's Sandevistan activated with desperate intensity. The world slowed to honey-thick crawls of motion as his consciousness accelerated beyond normal human perception. He could see the Scavenger's finger tightening on the trigger, observe the micro-adjustments in targeting that would determine Judy's survival.
Tom moved between them faster than human reflexes could track, his chrome-enhanced muscles propelling him across the corridor in fluid motion that appeared impossible to external observers. The bullet meant for Judy's head struck him in the chest instead.
The round deformed against chrome plating that had hardened to deflect exactly this type of ammunition. The metallic clang of impact echoed through the corridor like a bell tolling, and Tom remained standing while the bullet fell uselessly to the floor.
Judy stared at him in shock, watching chrome spread visibly across his body as his adaptive systems responded to multiple threat signatures. His augmentations glowed with blue light that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, creating geometric patterns that seemed almost artistic in their complexity.
"No time to explain," Tom said, his voice carrying electronic harmonics as his chrome systems reached full activation. "RUN!"
He grabbed Judy's hand and pulled her toward the building's exit while chrome continued spreading across his body like liquid metal responding to threat assessment protocols. Behind them, Scavengers shouted in confusion and rage as they processed the sight of bullets bouncing off someone who moved faster than their targeting systems could track.
They burst through the building's emergency exit into Night City's neon-stained alley system, Scavenger pursuit immediately behind them. Tom's enhanced hearing tracked multiple footsteps, weapon systems powering up, and radio chatter coordinating tactical response to targets who'd demonstrated capabilities beyond standard threat parameters.
"Betty!" Tom called out while maintaining his grip on Judy's hand. "Come here!"
Through his Techno-Sovereignty connection, Tom activated Betty's systems remotely and sent her racing through Watson's streets toward their location. The car's autonomous navigation carried her through traffic with precision that would have been impossible for human drivers, while her communication systems provided Tom with real-time updates on her approach.
Judy stared at him as they ran. "You're driving your car with your MIND?"
"Among other things," Tom replied, chrome glowing brighter as his systems maintained combat readiness. "Questions later, survival now."
Betty's engine roar echoed through the alley as she cornered at impossible speed, her tires screaming against concrete while Tom's remote control maintained perfect stability. She came to a sliding stop beside them with precision that spoke to genuine artificial intelligence rather than simple automation.
They dove into Betty's interior as Scavenger operatives emerged from the building behind them, weapons tracking their movement with targeting systems that couldn't quite compensate for the speed of their escape. Betty's armor plating deflected several shots before Tom's remote control sent her accelerating through Watson's maze of streets with violence that threw both passengers against their safety restraints.
"What the actual fuck, Tom?!" Judy shouted over the sound of Betty's engine and the wind rushing through bullet holes in her windows.
Tom looked down at his hands, where chrome now covered seventy percent of his visible skin in patterns that pulsed with soft blue light. His reflection in Betty's rearview mirror showed someone whose evolution had accelerated dramatically under combat stress—less human than he'd been that morning, more machine than he'd ever intended to become.
I revealed everything. All of it. No more secrets, no more pretending to be baseline human. Judy saw me take bullets and keep fighting, saw me move faster than possible, saw me control Betty with thought alone.
"I'm something that shouldn't exist," Tom said quietly as Betty carried them away from immediate danger toward whatever uncertain future awaited people who'd crossed every line that separated normal from impossible.
Behind them, Scavenger vehicles began pursuit with determination that suggested they wouldn't give up easily. The chrome freak who'd survived their ambush represented both valuable commodity and dangerous threat—reasons to capture him that went far beyond simple gang territorial disputes.
The chase was just beginning.
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