Beneath the East Dock Vault

The data haven warehouse squats beneath a dead maglev line, its loading doors sealed and its windows blacked out. Selene arrives to the smell of rain, hot circuitry, and old insulation.

Inside, a broad-shouldered middle-aged veteran in a scarred combat jacket holds a pistol against a trembling young courier's ribs. Chrome plates crawl up the veteran's neck, flickering with diagnostic light.

The sealed blackmail archive rests between them in a shockproof case, its surface swallowing the warehouse's thin red emergency light. A biometric lock pulses once, then goes dark.

A security feed shows Euran Cross near the warehouse entrance, tall and oil-stained beneath his bomber jacket, checking a tool pouch with his back to the hostage scene.

The veteran’s chrome neck lights stutter as he glances toward the security feed. Euran remains unaware, framed by rain-streaked glass and the warehouse’s dead entrance lamps.

On the monitor, Euran checks the loading doors again, one hand resting near his tool pouch. The feed’s timestamp shows he arrived minutes before Selene.

The veteran lowers the pistol a fraction, still keeping the courier covered. The screen cycles through rain, static, and Euran’s patient silhouette.

Selene crosses her arms beneath the loose mechanic’s jumpsuit. Rain ticks against the warehouse glass while the veteran’s pistol remains trained on the courier.

The archive case pulses once between them. On the monitor, Euran turns toward the sealed doors as a tiny red targeting glyph appears across his silhouette.

Selene moves before the veteran can raise his weapon. Her hand twists the pistol aside, strips it from his grip, and turns the muzzle back toward him.

The shot cracks through the warehouse. The veteran drops out of frame, the pistol clattering across the concrete as the targeting glyph vanishes from Euran’s silhouette.

The courier lunges for the shockproof case, presses both palms to its biometric plate, and forces the emergency bypass open. Black glass unfolds into a nest of encrypted ports.

Outside, Euran reaches the loading doors. The locks begin cycling, and the courier’s stolen trace paints a second signal inside the warehouse, close enough to hear the rain.

Selene launches across the warehouse, strength and cybernetics driving her over the concrete. She catches Euran before his hand reaches the loading-door controls and tackles him behind a stack of insulated freight crates.

The impact knocks Euran’s tool pouch loose, but Selene keeps him low and hidden. Above them, the door sensor flashes red, searching the empty entrance instead of their position.

Rain hammers the loading doors. From cover, Selene sees a maintenance conduit beneath the crates, its fiber line pulsing with the same encrypted signal as Cross’s stolen credentials.

Selene leans in behind the crates, but Euran turns at the last instant. Her lips brush the corner of his mouth instead of meeting his, and his startled breath catches.

His murmured protest stays low, but his shoulder bumps the freight stack. A loose metal brace clicks against the conduit, and the pulsing fiber line dims.

On the conduit panel, a narrow diagnostic seam opens beneath grime. Its service glyph matches the old dockyard credentials, but the access path leads away from the targeting network.

Euran keeps his voice barely above breath. Beyond the crates, the loading-door sensor sweeps past, its red beam crawling over empty concrete.

The courier slides beside the conduit and jacks a thin lead into the diagnostic seam. Lines of pale code spill across the case’s black glass, mapping the buried route.

The service glyph accepts the old credentials. Beneath the freight crates, a concealed floor panel unlocks with a soft hydraulic sigh, revealing a narrow maintenance ladder.

Selene raises one finger to Euran’s lips, silencing him beneath the freight crates. She lets the touch linger for one stolen heartbeat, then withdraws before its meaning can sharpen.

Euran’s eyes flick from her face to the ladder, surprise compressed into silence. Above them, the sensor’s red sweep passes over the crates and fades.

The courier lifts the black archive case and descends first. Its dead surface swallows the emergency glow while the hidden panel remains open beneath the crates.

Euran retrieves his tool pouch and lowers himself onto the ladder. Behind him, the warehouse door locks cycle again, searching for the signal that is already slipping underground.

Selene slips past Euran with a teasing tilt of her shoulder and takes the ladder first. Her boots find the lower rungs, descending into the maintenance shaft.

Below, the shaft opens into a cramped service tunnel lined with wet conduit and obsolete fiber trunks. Blue diagnostic pulses ripple through the standing water.

The courier lowers the archive case from the ladder and follows. Above, the hidden panel seals with a muted hydraulic click, cutting off the rain and the warehouse alarm.

Selene turns on the wet tunnel walkway, catches Euran by the front of his bomber jacket, and kisses him cleanly beneath the blue conduit pulses. This time, there is no mistaking it.

His hands hover, then settle carefully at her sides. The courier looks away while the archive case projects a thin route map across the standing water.

Selene sighs once, turns from Euran, and leads them along the municipal service spine. Her boots send shallow ripples through blue-lit water as the route map updates ahead.

The tunnel bends beneath the warehouse district, passing sealed utility doors and sleeping maintenance drones. Selene follows the authenticated markers without hesitation, choosing each junction before the map finishes rendering.

Selene brings them to a reinforced service hatch beneath a shuttered transit depot. The archive’s route map settles on the hatch, confirming their clean exit into Night City.

Selene grips the reinforced hatch wheel and turns it. The locking bolts withdraw in sequence, releasing a breath of cool depot air and amber transit light.

She opens the hatch fully and walks inside, boots crossing from the wet service spine onto the depot’s dusty maintenance platform. The others follow.

Beyond the platform, shuttered transit bays recede into darkness beneath dead signage. A dormant maintenance drone twitches once, then settles as the hatch closes behind them.

Selene crosses the dusty platform toward the dormant maintenance drone. Its compact chassis is scuffed, one optic dark, and its articulated limbs locked beneath dead signage.

She crouches beside it, pries open the service panel, and traces the diagnostic contacts with practiced precision while amber transit light crawls over her hands.

The drone’s maintenance log confirms a full shutdown before their arrival. No cached footage remains, and its network hardware cannot broadcast or receive.

Behind them, the transit depot stays silent. The archive’s route map continues glowing across the courier’s case, while the disabled drone offers no witness to their passage.

Selene stands, wipes depot dust from her hands, and moves toward the nearest maintenance console. Amber light follows her across the silent platform.

The courier secures the black archive case against their chest and follows. The sealed transit bays remain dark, their dormant systems offering no resistance as they cross the platform.

Selene reaches the console and wakes its local interface. A dusty display flickers on, confirming the depot’s east maintenance corridor is unlocked and isolated from Night City’s grid.

Selene opens the depot console’s credential-forensics layer and feeds it the archive’s relay residue. The system burns a disposable access key, then locks onto a live endpoint.

A filtered voice answers through the console, stripped of age and gender by aggressive modulation. The connection displays a verified dockyard credential and a location inside Night City.

The console sparks under the strain, burning out its local interface and filling the depot with the sharp smell of scorched insulation. The contact remains live through Selene’s routed key.

Selene clamps onto the scorched console and routes the live handshake through her own interface. Her hack folds an electric feedback loop around the credential handler’s channel.

The feedback loop tightens without sparking outward. Across the depot, dead displays wake in sequence, each mirroring the handler’s authentication trail while every external alarm stays silent.

A packet of signed records spills across the console: Vanta Meridian’s recovery desk, its relay path, and a current location beneath the old East Dock exchange. No alert leaves the depot.

Keep Mara’s disappearance from being buried