Self-Reliance Shooting Competition

["Unity & Prosperity, Patriotic Pioneers" Santo Domingo Community Network reminds you: Still worried about shootings and explosions? Still anxious about tomorrow's work?]

[Put aside your troubles — come and enjoy an exhilarating shooting session!

Join the "Self-Reliance Shooting Competition" on Woodhaven Street now, win cash prizes and fine weapons!]

[Free food provided on-site (one serving per person), and company bosses will be present for recruitment with excellent pay and benefits.]

[To register, please visit the official "Unity & Prosperity, Patriotic Pioneers" community site — join us and achieve the American dream together.]

David abruptly rolled off his bed and frantically rummaged through his messy blankets.

While searching, he yelled, "Mom! Where's that new shirt I bought yesterday?!"

Gloria, who was cleaning up, stopped and crossed her arms in annoyance. "Every time you lose something, you just yell for me."

"But you're always the one tidying my room!"

"That's because you never do it yourself—" she scolded while walking in, took one glance around, and like performing a magic trick, pulled the jacket right out of the closet David had just torn through. "Isn't it right here?"

David gave his mom a respectful look, then went right back to searching for other things he'd need to head out.

Gloria watched her son's hurried fussing and thought of the alert she'd just received.

Sure enough, as a resident of Santo Domingo, she got that notification too.

"You're going out? For that shooting competition?"

David scratched his head. "Gotta find something to do, right? The notice said there'll be company bosses hiring too."

Gloria sighed and rested both hands on David's shoulders —

This kid seemed to have grown a little taller again.

"I know you've been doing some risky gigs out there, and I know you look up to those people. But all of that is dangerous. You're already doing well enough as it is."

David sheepishly scratched his cheek.

Ever since he'd dropped out, he'd done all sorts of odd jobs, big and small, earning over a hundred grand in total.

But most of it went into upgrading his cyberware and studying firearm mods; what actually ended up in Gloria's hands probably added up to barely ten thousand.

For Gloria, since her son left the prestigious Arasaka Academy, those so-called corporate perks were out of reach. Now, she measured her son's life by Santo Domingo's average standard.

Ten grand might be nothing to a corpo dog, but for a broke family in Santo Domingo, it wasn't a trivial sum.

This money was also what let them move back into a two-bedroom unit in a high-rise, much more spacious than before.

But David knew that compared to what he'd sunk into other expenses, it really wasn't much.

"Mom, I won't do anything dangerous. Just gonna see if anyone's hiring tech hands."

He was lying through his teeth.

Unlike his mom, who only knew shady doctors through her corpse-collection gig and had probably never even seen a scav, David had seen the real gang members — the real killers who murdered without blinking.

Honestly, he thought those guys were scarier than a lot of cyberpsychos.

A psycho might flip out and kill a dozen people before MaxTac put them down.

But when the Maelstrom had a full-blown civil war, they nearly blew up the entire Watson District.

Gloria closed her eyes and thought for a moment, then drew her hands back and put them on her hips, saying sternly, "Then I'm going with you."

"Okay."

[V: Hey David, kid, gather your crew. Got a job for you — working for the 6th Street Gang.]

[V: Bring your gear. It's a bit dangerous — but there's food and booze first.]

David instantly changed his tone and turned serious toward his mom: "No way, Mom. The 6th Street boys are all gonna be there. You can't come."

"How do you know?"

"Don't ask, Mom. You just can't."

David said no more and ducked into the storage room, grabbing his gun and gear.

He didn't have the cash or confidence to get loads of subdermal armor installed, so he had to go the old-school route: extra plating under his clothes.

While checking his equipment, he gave his mom one last warning: "Whatever you do, don't go out. Don't go to Woodhaven Street."

Gloria stood frozen, watching her son load bullets with practiced hands.

She wasn't stupid. She knew David was working for that man who had once saved them both.

She hadn't expected her son to change so much, so fast.

She didn't know what to say, so she just nodded quietly, watching David walk out the door — and then watching him from the window as he left the building, wearing that jacket, and climbed into the Mackinaw.

Her mind went blank. She didn't know how to feel about her son's transformation.

Her thoughts naturally drifted to the graffiti on the back of David's new jacket:

A giant hamburger with its jaws wide open.

Gloria sighed. Of course, she knew what that was: Night City's most popular urban legend lately.

Young people loved it.

"What kind of dumb graffiti is that?" V scoffed at her underlings' taste. "Why does everyone slap that crap on their clothes and cars?"

In the back seat, Jackie nodded silently. "C'mon, you really don't know why?"

"I know," V agreed with a sigh. "It's all Leo's fault — can't even come up with a normal name."

"Honestly... I think it's kinda stylish."

The two of them were sitting in the Mackinaw, parked right on Woodhaven Street.

This place was so poor it looked like a construction site. Some houses weren't even fully built, just patched up by residents themselves.

On both sides of the street, piles of garbage burned openly, choking the air with black smoke.

Jackie frowned, waving a hand in front of his nose. "Smells worse than the Haywood rat dens."

V sniffed. "Haywood's rat dens don't even have fresh air. Same difference."

On the rooftops of these mismatched flat houses, locals had built makeshift "sky bridges" from metal sheets.

Those rooftops were the main venue for the 6th Street event.

Despite being filthy and poor, it was still one of the gang's favorite gathering spots — remote enough that while the Vista del Rey area might still see NCPD or Valentinos, here it was pure gangland.

Plus, it was "well equipped" — a few bars, the Rama Armory, and a cheap ripperdoc clinic. Shoddy service and equipment, but dirt cheap.

Topographically, the area was slightly elevated compared to the surroundings, the highest point in the neighborhood.

To snipe from above, you'd have to use the Petrochem Dam — but there was almost no cover up there.

If they tried sniping from there, they'd have to deal with roaming Aldecaldos. In the Badlands, good wheels beat good chrome every time.

If they attacked from the lower ground, they'd be forced into a straight-up brawl.

Traffic-wise, Leo's system would control the entire local network, with CTOS's smart threat detection monitoring every vehicle.

For communications, three military-grade signal interceptors were deployed to eavesdrop on all suspicious chatter.

For visual recon, sixteen Octant drones would follow Mortont around, patrolling possible sniper nests.

This level of info coordination was full military standard — unless their enemies had military-grade backup too—

But they were just mercs.

Pulling off a "decapitate the enemy commander in a sea of troops" stunt had always been a tale worthy of legends — not something everyone could do.

The Mackinaw idled by the curb as 6th Street boys set out food and beer. V killed the engine and stepped out.

"C'mon, let's see what this gig's all about."