Towaering into the clouds yet brimming with the grit of everyday life.
And… Jesus, the NCPD pigs are everywhere.
That was Leo's first impression of Megabuilding H4.
Two patrol cars were parked at the entrance, making the shirtless, tattooed tough guys loitering nearby scatter like roaches—no one wanted trouble.
"Stick close. Looks like another incident."
V adjusted her leather jacket uncomfortably, tucking her weapons further out of sight.
Eyeing the chaotic foot traffic, she grabbed Leo's arm like he was some clueless kid about to get snatched.
Leo took the chance to pull his hood tighter, obscuring his face. "Another incident? How often does 'another' happen here?"
"Every couple days." V nudged him forward. "Everyone here's just a step above homeless—bottom-feeders and lowlifes. Something's always kicking off."
They passed a few fragrant food stalls and climbed the steps.
An NCPD officer randomly checking IDs gave them a glance, then lazily looked away—pretending he saw nothing.
V signaled Leo to stay quiet, and they slipped past like ghosts.
Inside the megabuilding, an elevator bank stood to their right—four elevators, and a crowd ten times that size waiting.
"Those are for the lower floors. Not ours."
V's grip tightened slightly, a silent warning.
"Stop gawking. Half these people are probably wanted. Stare too long, and you might catch a bullet."
They moved deeper, finally reaching the high-rise elevators Leo "remembered"—heavy steel doors, four screens in a grid, and even more ads.
The only difference? They weren't the only ones waiting.
"Fuck, why's the right elevator sealed again? Always breaking down!"
A stranger's loud complaint drew a dry response from his friend:
"Not broken. Just had a corpse in it. They just hauled the body out. Wanna ride up with fresh bloodstains? Be my guest."
"Shit…"
Everyone—including Leo—took a collective step back.
When the left elevator arrived, disgorging a packed crowd, Leo muttered, "Next one?"
"Every trip's like this. Just get in and hug the wall."
Squeezing inside, Leo felt like he was back in Tokyo rush-hour subway hell.
A dozen people crammed in, leaving even more cursing outside.
He noticed something unsettling—even in the crush, everyone kept wary distances, eyes darting like cornered animals.
Hum—
The elevator ascended, the view outside pulling Leo's gaze downward.
The rapidly shrinking world blurred into the smog.
Then V's voice cut through—low, dangerous, the same tone she'd used when they first met.
But not aimed at him.
"The fuck you looking at?"
Not a shout. A promise of violence, hissed like a blade unsheathing.
Leo's heart stuttered as he turned.
V had positioned herself between him and two obviously-not-good-news guys—nose rings, dreadlocks, tattoos crawling up exposed skin.
Worst of all? They were staring at Leo like he was exotic prey.
"What, your boytoy's so precious I gotta pay to glance?"
The retort spiked the tension to knife-fight levels.
"Not here! There's a kid!"
A Latina woman protested, shoving her child behind her.
The boy—no older than ten—clutched something under his jacket. A glimpse of black metal. A gun grip.
With the child present and space limited, both sides backed off, glaring elsewhere.
Soon, the elevator hit the 7th-floor services. V yanked Leo out first.
The two men stayed on, heading higher.
"Hah…"
BANG—BANGBANG!
Leo's relief shattered with gunfire. His whole body locked up.
V shoved his shoulder. "Relax. That's just the gun range next door. Never stops here."
Her voice dropped. "But those two earlier? Bad vibes. We need to move fast."
Leo hesitated. "…Blood?"
"You smelled it too? Yeah. Blood. Fresh organ blood. My guess? Scavs. Just finished 'working.'"
"…"
Leo's face twisted. Scavengers were the absolute worst of Night City. The kind he'd cheerfully nuke into paste.
"They live here?"
V snorted. "Where else? Scavs are gutter rats—one step above hobos but still trash. Love places like this."
"We'll wrap up before dark."
"Because bad things happen at night?" Leo quipped.
"No. Because they drink. And drunk Scavs forget they're not bulletproof."
She pushed him toward a storefront—three pistols on the sign,[The Second Amendment]in bold.
"24/7? Dedicated."
"In Watson, guns are necessities. Like food. Like water!"
The reply came from behind the counter—a burly man with a classic bald-spot-and-fringe combo, a face like a battered bulldog, and a horseshoe mustache.
Looks like a thug. Sounds like a teddy bear.
"Wilson. Watson's shadiest arms dealer. This is L. New… friend."
V introduced them, ditching Leo's real name.
"New friend? Ha! I love new friends."
Wilson's eyes locked onto Leo's hood-and-glasses disguise—and the money oozing through the gaps.
"Oh-ho! You look fabulous, my friend. The kind of fabulous that buys top-tier hardware!"
"And you, V—bouncing back already! Told you you're Night City material!"
"Fucking thrilled…"
V's sarcastic "thanks" trailed off as she eyed the display—assault rifles, SMGs, shotguns, even an LMG. The good stuff.
Too big to conceal. Too expensive.
Sighing, she jerked a thumb at Leo.
"My friend here's a total rookie. Get him something simple. A kinetic pistol."
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