It was a promising start.
"Everyone get in; I just picked up a gig. I'll fill you in on the way."
…
They headed to Jig-Jig Street—an indulgent, seedy locale dominated by vice. Surrounded by towering buildings, it was like so many other dim corners of Night City, forever untouched by sunlight: grimy and squalid.
Leo parked along the curb, and the four of them walked past a holo-projection of a sakura tree. Petals of virtual blossom drifted down, landing on their shoulders.
"What's the client's name?" V asked.
"Bryce Stone," Leo replied. "Sound familiar?"
Jackie's eyes narrowed. "You mean that preacher on TV? What happened?"
Jackie, once part of the Valentino Gang—which nominally worshipped God—paid attention to Bryce Stone. Known for helping the city's most desperate, Bryce offered spiritual and psychological care, often free of charge, encouraging them to break addictions to alcohol or other drugs. Such selflessness had earned him widespread respect.
"His son was brutally murdered," Leo explained.
"Shit! Who pulled that?" Jackie demanded hotly.
"No idea. But whoever did it recorded the whole thing and turned it into a black braindance."
"Black braindance? What's that?" Jackie asked, brow furrowed.
He knew about BDs, of course, but he'd never heard the term "black braindance." Jackie wasn't much into braindances at all—he had a girlfriend and preferred to spend downtime pumping iron. He saw no appeal in sinking into some mind-frying fantasy.
Leo glanced distastefully at the storefront mannequins, grotesquely simulating carnal motions.
"A black braindance is a recording of actual crimes—extreme fetishes, violent acts, sadomasochistic torture, even death. These are the most common themes.
"Those who're forced to 'perform' are victims, often coerced. The footage is hardly edited. Because black braindances contain the darkest emotions and primal thoughts of either the criminal or the victim, just experiencing them can leave a user with severe psychological damage. The usual barrier between recorder and end user is practically nonexistent."
"Dios mío…that sounds way worse than normal braindances," Jackie muttered, pushing away a male doll who'd sidled up to solicit him. "Who the hell watches that sick shit?"
Leo shrugged. "Like it or not, black BDs have a devoted audience. Ordinary folks who want a bigger thrill, or people with very particular tastes—whatever. The fact is, these recordings are popular in certain circles and can be big money for crime syndicates. Some gangs even build entire brands around them.
They aren't sold publicly; you can only get them underground or in hidden parlors run by gangs."
Jackie picked up on something. "Hang on. You said our client's kid got killed, then turned into one of these black BDs. We're here to find it?"
Leo nodded—then shook his head. "We need the uncut master footage, not the edited version. Only the raw recording has the clues to the killer."
Lucy frowned. "But raw footage isn't usually released, right?"
"Exactly. But I've heard there's a BD pusher in Jig-Jig Street who might know more. That's where we start."
…
Deep in Jig-Jig Street, a corporate type slunk into a hidden spot beneath a bridge. Standing there was a trench-coat-wearing vendor with tinted shades.
"Hey," the corpo whispered, "got any fresh stuff? Untouched?"
"I only sell…specialty items. What's your flavor?" the vendor drawled.
"I need something that'll make my knees go weak. A rush," the corpo said. "Like… total nerve meltdown."
"You came to the right place, choom. Bare-fist brawls? Intense shootouts? Torture scenes in a dark room? Dismemberment?"
"No—I mean… that other thing. You know."
"You mean sexual fetish?"
"No, c'mon, you know exactly what I mean—"
"No, I don't read minds, or I wouldn't be doing this job."
The corpo swallowed. "I want to know… what it feels like to kill someone."
The vendor eyed him impassively. Oh, so it's that. Plain old gore and violence wasn't enough, huh? Needs the real "murder experience."
"You could've said so. Got classic corp war braindances, or, if you don't like big battles, I've got armed robbery—"
Deciding on a particular type, the corpo watched the vendor dig around in his coat for a little single-use package shaped like a pink umbrella—the black braindance chip. A quick exchange of eddies later, the corpo vanished back into the city.
Leaning against the wall, the vendor folded his arms smugly. Selling black braindances raked in eddies faster than any 9-to-5. If business kept up, he might just afford an apartment in Charter Hill. He was already dreaming about climbing the social ladder when footsteps snapped him back to reality.
This time, there were four people approaching instead of one. That immediately set off alarm bells. Still, he'd paid protection money to the Tyger Claws, who ran things here; who'd come bother him?
He fought the urge to run and forced a smile. "Anything I can do for you?"
V and Jackie flanked him to the left and right, blocking any escape route. Leo stepped up in front, offering an easy smile.
"I want a braindance—something…exotic," he said softly.
Seeing their formation, the vendor stiffened. "You…you're cops?"
Night City was lawless, but not entirely. If these four were NCPD, they'd have the authority to haul him in on the spot.
"Nope," Leo replied. "We're customers. What's wrong? Don't want our money?"
The vendor exhaled shakily, eyeing Leo with mistrust. If they were NCPD, they wouldn't bother sweet-talking—they'd just cuff him and search his coat. Slowly, he regained his composure.
"All right, then. What are you looking for?"
"I heard there's a black BD going around—one showing someone killing a kid. You got it?"
The vendor's eyelid twitched. He quickly shook his head. "No, man. I don't handle that. Sorry. Maybe try somewhere else?"
"Ah, that's too bad," Leo murmured. He turned as if to leave—then lunged, slamming the vendor against the wall. The Powered Arm Bracer pressed against the man's throat, not even at full force, yet the vendor could barely breathe, face purpling from lack of oxygen.
When he was on the brink of losing consciousness, Leo eased up. The vendor dropped to his knees, gasping and clawing at his neck.
Crouching in front of him, Leo asked again, "Got it now?"
"Cough… yes… yeah, I remember. The kid—someone recorded it, right?" He looked at the four, eyes full of dread and desperation. "You…you're after whoever killed that kid?"
"That's none of your concern. You're gonna do exactly what I tell you," Leo said coldly. "First, give me the black BD chip."
The vendor's face drained of color. He had chosen to peddle illicit wares here because it was remote and had little foot traffic. Even if someone noticed, it probably wouldn't matter. If these four wanted to make him disappear, it'd be easy.