Eva Barnes
A month had passed since Tony's memorable induction into the gang, and since then, the young Mox had been happy. Stark, though he initially behaved like a real jerk—even if Eva understood his motives—had since fully atoned for his guilt. Small but pleasant and useful gifts, attention, beautiful compliments that a girl raised in the gang never expected to hear from guys in her circle—all of this set her suitor apart from the crowd of other men trying to get into her pants, which probably helped him succeed where others had failed. A gang fighter with simple life priorities and needs, as straightforward as a crowbar, she easily allowed her suitor into her bed, and it must be admitted—she didn't regret it at all. Stark turned out to be a skilled lover, bringing her to orgasm several times a night, striving to repeat this achievement every day, and in just two weeks, he so saturated her with his attention that Eva seriously began to consider inviting her girls into their bed—luckily, she had never been the jealous type. Seriously, at one point, she was so sore down there from the unfamiliar activity that she had to blush and ask the girls for advice. And they were happy to help. No, that ointment really helped almost immediately, removing any discomfort, and the training in... other methods of pleasing a man bore fruit... supposedly. She herself didn't feel the difference; only her mouth started to get tired. And her legs. And she bruised her breasts at first by squeezing too hard. But the number of her own orgasms didn't just fail to decrease—it even seemed to increase! Why was she unsure? Well, during the process, she simply didn't think straight. The girls just smirked at Eva and quietly envied her. And they were curious—what kind of beast was this who literally plowed their sister?
As for Stark... well, Stark finally got his chance, and that says it all. Though Tony hadn't been a sexual giant in his past life, being quite average in that regard and relying on skill and atmosphere, that was precisely the core of the main problem. Stark was a hereditary modifier, albeit a fairly mixed one. That is, his genome contained a complex of subtle genetic enhancements for an assault eliminator and a netrunner saboteur in different proportions, mixing into a nuclear cocktail that pushed him beyond human limits without any implants. Plus, the optimization of brain function conducted in his childhood took everything inherited from his parents to a new level. Overall, this became evident in the skirmish with the Sixth Street guards, each of whom was so packed with chrome that they were worth a small fortune—and that didn't even account for their weapons—where Tony held his own quite well. Not at their level, but certainly at the lower tier of Night City's elite. It might seem that such a level was questionable, but here one must remember that Claire was a netrunner, and Tony didn't have a cyberdeck in his head for direct interaction with the mechanisms' software, while Robert, despite all his enhancements, still had a number of implants. The Starks were modifiers tuned for expanding the capabilities of their implants, no more, no less—perfect representatives of the symbiosis of technology and flesh, not the complete replacement of one with the other. And even so, Tony was stronger than nine out of ten inhabitants of the shadow world of the most corrupt city in America. And we're not talking about the former USA, but the continent of America. And... it was no wonder that he miscalculated slightly and overworked the poor girl. He simply didn't get tired in that regard! Literally! He had to tear himself away from the sweetness each time, because his partner could barely move, while he himself, even when she tried very hard, could easily continue. Plus, there were his habits from his past life in bed. Stark was, after all, a billionaire who traveled the world, bedding supermodels, pretty journalists, daughters of wealthy parents, and aristocrats from Europe, learning... a lot.
However, the problem promised to resolve itself over time, because over the past month, Stark had gained more than a good reputation among the Moxes, both for his contribution to the gang's well-being and for his attitude. Street girls, who rarely saw affection even from their parents—or didn't see it at all—were susceptible to flattery and praise, taking Stark's generally polite behavior with light flirting more than favorably and would easily agree to rumple the sheets with him for an hour or two. Stark could have agreed, if Eva had allowed it (after the sex marathon she arranged, she would have agreed to an orgy), but the future billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist had a ton of work. That was precisely what was killing Tony—the sheer amount of it.
His acceptance into the gang didn't come with any special fanfare, celebrations, or even a speech to the others. The Moxes were maximally pragmatic in this regard and didn't think to weaken the security of their establishments for a celebration over a newcomer joining their ranks, no matter who he was. But a long and thorough conversation with Susanna took place the very next day, after which they came to a simple conclusion. The head of the Moxes didn't know what to do, Stark did—so the cards were in his hands, but with one condition: marry Eva and give her a child. A strange proposal? Not really, because remember, the Moxes were a natural copy of early aristocracy. And early aristocracy wasn't about balls with dancing, exquisite dishes, and boys dressed like girls, but about stern, pumped-up men who spent their entire lives in battles, for whom slitting someone's throat was as easy as blowing their nose. Naturally, three things were valued in the environment of such thugs: reputation, strength, and blood ties. And Eva was a hereditary Mox, raised in the gang before everyone's eyes and being one of their own, who wouldn't let her husband go wild.
Tony... agreed. Of course, he had to digest the level of social degradation that had befallen modern society from the 2000s to the present day, but he agreed. First, because he wasn't against it in general; they might not have known Eva well, but no one was dragging them to the altar that very day. Second, marriage in the modern sense meant living together and having children, since in modern realities, few people thought about registering a marriage. Because it was simply too expensive. And the legislation in Night City in this regard was maximally liberal—whoever brought what into the house, that's what they got in the divorce, the main thing was to show the receipts. And the receipts were all automatically duplicated to the cloud when personal funds were spent. And alimony—well, that wasn't happening in the next decade for sure; he simply wasn't ready for it, even if mentally he was over fifty. And in general, until he felt confident that he could tear the head off anyone who dared even to look askance at his family, he wouldn't be starting a family.
The work that was killing Tony involved... a lot. As the former owner of a multi-billion-dollar corporation that initially dealt with the production and sale of weapons, and later with pharmaceuticals, construction, and energy, he knew a great deal about business. And when he opened the Moxes' accounting books, he didn't know where to start. He didn't delve much into crime, simply because he didn't understand it and didn't want to get his hands dirty, but the gang's property was another matter. If simplified, the Moxes' property was of one kind, just divided by specialty. The most honest were ordinary bars and clubs, where they earned money from alcohol and drugs, which in Night City was almost legal and respectable income. Next came the braindance clubs, where people came to get drunk and order a braindance with something interesting. And here, too, everything was quite legal; they didn't even sell any drugs, except for various stimulants. And the rings themselves were interestingly tuned, and their programs were adjusted to enhance the sensations received. The latter was considered illegal, but in practice, it was done by almost everyone in the world, let alone the "City of Dreams." And lastly, there were brothels, which didn't need much commentary. The only thing to add about them was that they were... niche. Cheap. Dive brothels where you could rent a worn-out girl for a couple of eddies, do your business quickly, and leave. The funniest thing was that this happened because the Moxes didn't allow harm to the workers of these establishments and strictly monitored them for any illnesses, which is why both the gang girls and the representatives of the oldest profession didn't earn much. And only those who had no prospects on the streets remained in such establishments, while those who had installed good cosmetic chrome or were simply naturally gifted preferred to go to the streets. Riskier, but the money was many times greater. And almost all of these establishments, being utter dumps in terms of amenities, attracted corresponding clients. No, there were a couple of bars and one club with a more or less decent clientele, but overall, they didn't change the situation much. And, as was not difficult to predict, in such realities, it was almost impossible to fully realize Tony's product. No, the Moxes' position would improve this nicely and allow them to look to tomorrow with cautious optimism, but Stark found this frankly insufficient. To become a truly fat toad in this swamp, he needed protection in the form of his own army, capable of breaking the teeth of even the most vicious predators of the local serpentarium, and the Moxes, even with their improved affairs, wouldn't pull off that proud title. In the current realities, the Moxes could reach a maximum of five hundred people. It seemed decent, especially considering their higher training and quality equipment compared to other gangs, but the Animals had about three thousand, and the Tiger Claws had five and a half thousand. Only the Valentinos had more, with their six thousand, but they were concentrated in their district and didn't show their noses outside much, unlike the narrow-eyed ones, who, it should be remembered, had a grudge against the Mox gang. In the current situation, the Moxes would never reach the necessary numbers and strength. But Tony wouldn't be himself if he hadn't found a solution.
The secret supply routes he launched allowed the Moxes to occupy the niche of smugglers in the city—a little-explored and dangerous market. There were many reasons, but two main ones: in Night City, little was prohibited, and any goods that needed to be secretly transported were usually the property of corporations. And if outside the city, the same nomads, where the power of the suits wasn't so strong, could still afford to clash with them, then within the city, it was almost suicide for almost everyone. However, if you played by your own rules, everything changed drastically, and robbing corporations became not so risky. Add to this the work of Lucy and Omnissia, the Moxes' connections, a ready network of bases in the form of those same bars, and we get a ready-made structure for extracting all kinds of useful things directly from corpo factories, offices, and laboratories. And that was a whole different level of technology with which you could perform a miracle.
First, Tony focused on the brothels. This source of income brought almost no profit, but most importantly, due to the girls' reluctance to work there, the Moxes constantly clashed with the Scavengers. Stark's task was complex but generally feasible: to raise the prestige of their establishments while not allowing clients to do whatever they pleased with the workers, as the Tiger Claws did. Difficult? As it turned out, not very—all that was needed was to tweak the faces a bit and synthesize the necessary stimulants. And to update the atmosphere, making it more elite. With access to corpo labs, assembling an auto-doc that automatically performed facial and figure plastic surgery turned out to be not difficult; all that was needed was to consult with Victor a couple of times. Yes, it might seem that in the age of high technology, one could replace their entire body with metal, let alone their face, but fashion was a strange thing that always valued what was scarce. And in the modern world of metal, synthetics, and plastic, natural beauty was rare, which is why natural beauties were in high demand. Whores who had replaced their faces with pretty implants were always plentiful, but those with a flesh face were few, and that was what made them valuable. Scarcity breeds demand, as they say. And the atmosphere played its role. What was it like in the Clouds, the elite brothel of the Claws? Just glass boxes with dim lighting and a large bed, that's it. The Moxes' brothels, however, were located in full-fledged houses, and Tony, not being a fool, completely rebuilt them. Furniture was cheap now; the same 3D printers could print anything from a garden chair to a Victorian-style throne—just load the right model. So instead of a room with dolls, they had full-fledged multi-room spaces, including a bathroom with various additives, and the girls themselves took courses in braindance to maintain conversation, playing instruments, singing, and massage. Here, Stark completely stole the idea from the Japanese—after all, the nation that invented tentacle monsters knew their way around the sex industry. And he relied on the atmosphere—after all, it was one thing to go to an obvious fuck-shack that didn't even hide it, and another to go to a solid establishment where incense burned, a full-fledged designer worked, and instead of a bed in a box, you were taken to a full-fledged room that not every hotel had. People went to the first type of establishment to let off steam and give in to dark impulses; they went to the second to rest their souls and mentally relax—pure psychology and no fraud. And as one might guess, Tony's alcohol brought in a solid portion of the income there, accounting for almost a third of the total revenue.
The second point was the braindance bars. Here, Tony didn't invent anything; the atmosphere in the gang's such establishments was appropriate, and he didn't know what was needed. In his world, there were no analogs to such establishments, and their specifics were poorly understood by the former life-burner. The only thing he did was install normal holograms of strippers indistinguishable from real ones and work on the braindance rings, bringing them up to the level of the latest models, increasing the sensitivity threshold without the risk of frying one's brain. And... it worked. After all, people went to such bars simply to watch a quality recording on quality hardware, which could cost as much as the latest plasma TV model in his world—that is, very expensive.
As for the bars and clubs... oh, here Stark went all out, being a great specialist in this field. Complete change of furniture, wallpaper, and lighting, replacement of bar counters and bartenders, change of menu—what's more, he even changed the signs and buildings where they were located, making them specialized. In Night City, there were literally thousands of bars of varying degrees of shabbiness, but Tony tried to scrape from his memory the most memorable establishments he knew. As a result, the Moxes now owned the "Iceberg" bar, where everything was decorated in an ice and snow theme, with hyper-realistic animatronics of polar bears, foxes, and seals frolicking about, and alcohol served in ice glasses; a bar with maids in the strictest canons of the Japanese service industry; a cat café (how he ordered these tailed and eared brats into the city was better not to recall); a medieval-themed bar, and a number of others, already less eccentric. Yes, the ideas might seem hackneyed, but that was for the early 21st century; for the locals, all of this was new, and overall, a sign of quality. Even the most modern bars today were obsessed with minimalism, ultra-futurism, and all kinds of plastic and metal, and something well-decorated with its own twist was simply not built, for fear of failing and trying to save on everything possible. And such an atmosphere was cheap, easy to maintain, and if something happened, it was easy to replace, while a uniform form for waitresses was already an extra expense, and cats were generally a luxury by modern standards, costing huge sums, since they were cloned to order in special laboratories, and a solid tax was due for their maintenance. Of course, Stark didn't intend to pay; all Mox establishments operated off the books, and the cats he got were literally from the dumpster—all they needed was a wash and vaccinations, and to be pumped full of sedatives so they wouldn't attack people. And it all worked; the Moxes' establishments started bringing in very good money in the first week, a percentage of which settled in Stark's pocket, while the newly minted member of the Mox gang was able to switch to more important directions. Namely, strengthening the girls, dating Eva, time with family... and the project of becoming a cyborg.
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100 power stones= 1 Bonus Chapter
advanced chapters available on{P@treon/Anna_N1}