Dawn is coming to Night City

Glasseye knew this data was hot. Stupid hot. This was his big score, a ticket to the data-fixer big leagues. He watched his contact walk in. Edgerunner. Probably a solo. Big sucker, with an armored leather longcoat rippling over a jumpsuit. The contact sat, slid a credchip across the table, and stared at Glasseye, waiting.

“Anybody tell you ‘bout these boys, choomba? Yeah, you heard the whispers. People sayin’ that these boys drive around shootin’ up boosters right in the street an’ the cops can’t find ’em.

I know secrets about ‘em though. I know that cappin’ a few boosters ain’t shit for these boys.

They’re building custom power armor. Yeah. Power Armor. Custom stuff Militech can’t even touch. Flyin’ and everything, like those old-ass comicboo-"

A Militech Arms Avenger interrupted Glasseye’s diatribe with an argument his forehead couldn’t refute. The contact swiped the credchip, and tossed it to the bartender as he left.

Glasseye’s data was hot after all.

Night City War Machines

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