《Cyberpunk travel to 2075》


 Chapter 1

    Chapter 1


    "Good morning, Night City! Yesterday''s Dead Man Lottery only claimed four lives per neighborhood! Surprising, right? I bet none of you placed your bets on such a low number. How many of you lost your money with your pants down? Take care of yourselves out there! Special thanks to our donut-chomping, gun-toting NCPD officers. Without their heroic efforts, the death toll would''ve easily hit twenty!"


    Stan''s voice crackled through the speakers, his sardonic tone a staple of mornings in Night City.


    "The Watson Maelstrom Gang stirred up chaos in Kabuki yesterday. Those transformation-addicted psychos can''t sit still for a minute. Meanwhile, Heywood''s Valentino Gang seems to be in a bit of a bind. They didn''t even bother celebrating Day of the Dead properly¡ªpants up, folks! It''s endless out there, I tell ya. On the other hand, Taiping Prefecture remains as peaceful as ever. Someone hand them a trophy for keeping it boring! Anyway, I''m your ironclad host, Brother Stan. Buckle up and join me as we kick off another day in the wild dream that is Night City!"


    The noisy broadcast jolted Karl awake.


    "Ugh... my head. Feels like someone dropped a nuke in it."


    Karl groaned, leaning against a grimy wall. He opened his eyes slowly, only to be met with a dizzying explosion of neon colors. The kaleidoscopic hues assaulted his senses, sharper and more disorienting than the darkness behind his eyelids.


    "Why is the damn GG card so bright... it''s blinding," Karl muttered.


    As his vision gradually cleared, he realized he was lying in a foul-smelling garbage dump nestled in the shadowy depths of a high-rise apartment building. Beyond a flimsy 1.2-meter railing, he could see the building''s central patio stretching endlessly upward.


    Above, holographic GG advertisements crammed every available space, vying for attention with a riot of flashing colors. The overwhelming spectacle left Karl feeling like he was in some dystopian fever dream.


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    Grimacing, he hauled his aching body out of the garbage heap and took in his surroundings.


    The corridor was about a hundred meters long, populated by small clusters of futuristic-looking individuals. They stood in twos or threes, chatting or arguing, their bizarre attire and gleaming prosthetic limbs catching the dull overhead light. No one paid Karl any attention.


    "What... is this place?"


    Karl shook his head, trying to piece together fragmented memories. The last thing he remembered was watching a gameplay demo of Cyberpunk 2077.


    And then... nothing.


    The gaps in his memory made him uneasy, but one thing stood out: this place was eerily familiar.


    Looking closer, he recognized the towering super-skyscraper. It was identical to the one shown in the demo¡ªthe same building where the protagonist "V" lived.


    A chill ran down his spine as he turned his attention to the odd residents of the building. He had dismissed their appearance at first, but now he saw it clearly: cybernetic prosthetics.


    Prosthetic limbs weren''t a strange concept to Karl¡ªthey were standard fare in science fiction. But seeing them in real life was another matter entirely. Mechanical arms, glowing synthetic eyes, and even bionic torsos.


    And then, there was that guy.


    A resident walked past, his crotch glowing with shifting, pulsating neon colors. Rainbow patterns shimmered with every step, and Karl''s eyes widened in disbelief.


    "Is... is that his prosthetic down there?"


    The sheer absurdity of it convinced Karl of one thing: he had traveled to another world.


    Still reeling, Karl turned to look over the railing just in time to see a floating car streak by, its sleek design and impossible speed cementing his conclusion.


    "Okay, fine. I''ll accept it," he said, slapping his cheeks to snap himself out of denial.


    This wasn''t his world. No doubt about it.


    At least he wasn''t in some grim Warhammer 40K universe, doomed to endless misery. Night City might be a cesspool, but it was still a familiar one.


    As he wandered through the dimly lit corridor, Karl waited for some kind of system prompt¡ªa voice, a menu, anything. But no miraculous cheat powers or explanations materialized.


    "Guess I''m on my own," he muttered.


    He caught his reflection in a nearby puddle of dubious liquid and froze. The face staring back at him wasn''t quite his own. It looked like a younger version¡ªmaybe 18 or 19 years old.


    "So, I''m de-aged now? That''s a silver lining, I guess."


    Ignoring the resident who had drunkenly urinated nearby and almost toppled into his own mess, Karl strolled further down the corridor, looking for clues.


    The flickering GG cards provided his first breakthrough. One ad caught his eye, promoting the Dead Lotto. Beneath it, the date was clearly displayed:


    November 3, 2075.


    Karl exhaled sharply.


    "So, it''s not just a random year. I''m 54 years into the future."


    His mind raced. The realization of his predicament was starting to sink in, but before he could process it further, one final question tugged at his thoughts.


    If he could understand this futuristic world''s language effortlessly, was that some sort of ability?


    Or was it just a perk of the journey?

 Chapter 2

    After discovering his unique  ability in 2075¡ªa skill akin to an automatic translator¡ªKarl was cautiously excited. He had braced himself to face this chaotic world completely unprepared, but realizing he had even a minor advantage was comforting, like finding himself at least wearing underwear in an otherwise vulnerable state.


    He wasn''t someone who indulged too much in the "water of life" to numb himself, so keeping a clear mind was a relief.


    "Alright," Karl muttered, adjusting his mood. "What now?"


    After a moment of thought, his priorities became clear.


    "First, find a place to live. Then, get enough food to survive a few days. And, if possible, figure out how people communicate here. Are there still regular phones, or has everything become some kind of external prosthetic?"


    While he was willing to embrace the cyberpunk life, installing prosthetics wasn''t his immediate priority. He figured that high-tech cyberware would be expensive¡ªperhaps old or second-hand pieces might be affordable. Or, ironically, more valuable because of their rarity.


    As he thought, Karl walked back to the man who had collapsed earlier, the one who had urinated on himself.


    The young man was about 25 or 26, with a bright green mohawk and metallic plating on both sides of his cheeks. Near his hand lay a pistol.


    Karl noticed something odd about the weapon. He thought he saw faint words flicker on it. The words vanished almost instantly.


    Curious, he stared at the pistol intently, and to his surprise, text appeared in his field of vision:


    > [Militech M-10AF Lexington]


    A Militech product. A compact, lightweight kinetic pistol with low recoil, ideal for subduing targets.


    "Huh, so my ability works on weapons too," Karl mused. "What about people?"


    He shifted his gaze to the unconscious green-haired man. Again, text appeared, but it read:


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    > [Insufficient Intelligence]


    "Insufficient intelligence?" Karl blinked. "What''s that supposed to mean? Are people harder to analyze than objects?"


    As he considered this, a theory began to form in his mind. To test it, he looked at other passersby in the corridor. The results were consistent: most people displayed "insufficient intelligence," though the weapons they carried occasionally offered detailed information.


    "So that''s it," Karl concluded.


    it was more like an enhanced memory recall. It allowed him to translate or recognize things based on information he had already encountered in his original world. For example, he remembered reading about the Lexington pistol in pre-release material for Cyberpunk 2077. His mind simply pieced together and displayed that information.


    "Not bad," he muttered. "Better than a basic translator, for sure."


    Karl stared at the Lexington on the ground, then at the green-haired man. After a moment of hesitation, he decided not to take the gun.


    It wasn''t out of morality or honor¡ªKarl simply didn''t want to risk the guy waking up and shooting him out of reflex.


    Just as he reached this conclusion, the man''s body stopped shaking. A new message popped into Karl''s vision:


    > [Dead: Cause of Death ¨C Drug Overdose]


    Karl scanned the area. The garbage dump near the apartment building was deserted. He sighed and muttered under his breath, "No offense to the dead, but right now, the living matter more."


    He reached down and picked up the pistol. As the man''s body stilled, colorful pieces of paper slipped from his pocket.


    > [Eurodollars: 230]


    "Well, aren''t you generous," Karl said, pocketing the cash.


    He saluted the green-haired man as a gesture of respect. "I''ll remember this. If you have family, I''ll repay them someday when I can."


    Karl wasn''t a saint, but he believed in balancing debts. Even if this was technically theft, he saw it as a necessary evil.


    Hiding the Lexington under his coat, Karl made his way toward the elevator. The first step was to find a shop that sold communication devices or something similar. In this world, even monks probably needed tech to receive "offerings."


    The elevator was a cacophony of ads and jingles from holographic GG cards. Karl pressed the button to descend, watching as the flickering light from the door reflected on his face, giving him an almost spectral appearance.


    With a groan of old machinery, the elevator reached the ground floor. The doors opened, and Karl stepped out into the overwhelming spectacle of Night City.


    Blinding lights bathed the towering buildings and the teeming streets. Neon advertisements, colorful holograms, and endless crowds filled the chaotic scene.


    "Night City," Karl murmured, recalling its reputation as a "City of Dreams" and the "Capital of Crime." But his first impression was simpler:


    "A City of Lights."


    It was dazzling. Overwhelming. Almost too much.


    Karl took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he gazed at the streets with renewed determination.


    "No matter what they call this place¡ªCity of Dreams, City of Crime, City of Lights, or City of Night¡ªit doesn''t matter."


    He smirked.


    "Because now I''m here."


    Lifting his chin, Karl squared his shoulders and strode into the chaos.


    "I, Karl, am here."

 Chapter 3

    The super skyscraper where Karl had stepped out was situated in the Watson District of Night City. As he sifted through his memories, fragments of information about the area surfaced in his mind.


    Watson District had once been a thriving industrial hub, home to skyscrapers, nightclubs, corporate buildings, advanced medical centers, and bustling food streets. At its peak, it was considered the heart of Night City. However, the financial crisis decimated the area, leaving it in ruins. Now, Watson was the poorest neighborhood in the city, controlled by vicious gangs like the Tiger Claw Gang and the Maelstrom Gang, who roamed the streets unchecked.


    Even the Night City Police Department (NCPD) considered it a high-risk zone.


    > NCPD Danger Level Assessment: Extremely Dangerous


    "Well, lucky me," Karl muttered sarcastically, realizing he''d landed in one of the city''s most hazardous areas.


    His stomach growled, interrupting his thoughts. Hunger was a pressing concern, and he spotted several food stalls ahead. Judging by the signs, they specialized in East Asian cuisine¡ªa small comfort in an otherwise alien world.


    It made sense, considering he was now in Little Chinatown.


    > Little Chinatown: Once envisioned as the city''s second central hub during reconstruction efforts, it became a haven for East Asian immigrants, primarily Chinese, in the 2040s. However, as Watson District declined, so too did Little Chinatown, turning it into another impoverished area of Night City.


    Karl approached a food stall, scanning the worn-down establishment. Yellowed cushions with brown sponge spilling out, greasy countertops dotted with remnants of past meals¡ªit was far from hygienic. After some searching, he found a seat that was marginally clean and sat down.


    Across the stall, a few other patrons were eating, their faces expressionless but alert. The owner, busy preparing their food, glanced at Karl and said, "Menus are on the screen. Just let me know when you''ve decided."


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    Karl followed the man''s gesture to a display screen embedded in the tabletop. The screen showcased a variety of dishes alongside their prices. The pictures made the food look surprisingly appetizing, but Karl knew better.


    In this world, fresh organic food was a luxury reserved for the upper class. The average citizen subsisted on protein farms'' produce and factory-made food¡ªartificial meats, hydroponic vegetables, and synthetic spices. He winced as he recalled what he''d read: the base ingredients for these "foods" often included worms, algae, and other unappealing sources.


    Some unregulated factories might even use actual meat, but in this era, even rats were considered rare delicacies. Contaminated or not, rat meat was a commodity that could spark envy.


    Determined not to traumatize his taste buds, Karl settled on a vegetarian option.


    He noticed a dish labeled "Chinese Cold Noodles." Judging from the photo, it seemed the safest bet. Though traditionally made with chicken or beef broth, this version was likely vegetarian¡ªthanks to cost efficiency rather than any ethical considerations.


    The noodles themselves were made from genetically modified wheat cultivated by Petrochem, one of the few megacorporations permitted to grow wheat commercially. This modified grain served as the base for CHOOH2, a synthetic alcohol that had become the world''s dominant fuel source. Surplus wheat was either sold to food manufacturers or donated to impoverished countries under the guise of "humanitarian aid."


    With Night City bordering Petrochem''s farmlands, it wasn''t surprising that genetically modified wheat was readily available for food production here. Despite its industrial origins, Karl had heard it was surprisingly palatable.


    "Three euros," he muttered, noting the price. In a poor district like Watson, it was a reasonable amount for a simple meal. Though the euro had clearly been inflated over the years, it still felt comparable to its value back in his previous life.


    "Boss, one Chinese Cold Noodle, please," Karl said, pulling out the cash.


    But just as he handed over the money, chaos erupted.


    A deafening boom rang out, and the stall owner''s head exploded in a violent spray of blood and bone. The fragments splattered across Karl''s face, mixing with an unknown liquid that blurred his vision.


    Blinking to clear his eyes, Karl saw the boss''s lifeless body slump to the ground.


    "Fuck you, Sixth Street Gang! You dare invade Maelstrom Gang territory? I''ll split you open!"


    The shout came from a distance, followed by the rapid pop of gunfire.


    Karl glanced around. The patrons who had been sitting opposite him had already ducked under the tables, moving with practiced ease. Their swift, mechanical reactions made it clear this wasn''t their first gang shootout.


    As more gunshots echoed, Karl pieced together what had happened.


    Two gangs had started a firefight nearby, and the poor stall owner had taken a stray bullet. If that bullet had hit Karl instead, his own head would''ve been blown apart.


    "Great," he muttered darkly, wiping the blood from his face. "How the hell is anyone supposed to adapt to this?"


    He reached for the Lexington pistol hidden under his coat, gripping it tightly.


    He had just wanted a simple meal. Now, he was in the middle of a gang war.


    "You can''t even eat in peace," Karl growled, anger surging as he crouched behind the table for cover. "I''m going to kill every last one of you bastards."

 Chapter 4

    The Sixth Street Gang was formed after the Fourth Corporate War by disgruntled American veterans who were fed up with the NCPD''s long-standing inaction. They claimed to "bring justice to the city," but in practice, their actions were no different from those of other gangs. With a total of around 2,300 members, the Sixth Street Gang was a formidable force. Among its ranks, Oliver was a newcomer, having joined less than a week ago.


    As a rookie, Oliver typically wouldn''t have been assigned to a mission in Watson District. The Sixth Street Gang generally respected gang territories, focusing on defending their stronghold in Santo Domingo. But this time was different. A shipment of smuggled firearms, critical to their operations, had been stolen while passing through Watson District. Oliver''s team had been the closest to the scene, so they were the first to respond.


    It was not the kind of start Oliver had imagined.


    The moment they arrived in Little Chinatown, negotiations with the Maelstrom Ganger escalated into a gunfight. One misplaced word had been all it took for the Maelstrom members to open fire. Oliver had heard the Maelstrom Gang was made up of lunatics who transformed their bodies into grotesque, cyber-enhanced monstrosities. Meeting them in person only confirmed their reputation¡ªthey were even crazier than he had expected.


    Oliver''s squad of ten had barely managed to fight back. Their captain was killed instantly by a shot to the head. In retaliation, they managed to take down four Maelstrom members before retreating to cover. But they were hopelessly outnumbered: the Gang had brought thirty fighters. Despite their military training and superior tactics, the Sixth Street members were overwhelmed by the sheer numbers and ferocity of their enemies.


    This is insane, Oliver thought, crouching behind a dilapidated stall. I only joined because of my dad...


    Oliver''s father, a respected figure in the Sixth Street Gang, had arranged for him to join under the protection of an experienced captain. But now that captain was dead, and Oliver was on his own in his first mission.


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    "Plop."


    A teammate beside him collapsed, twitching twice before going still. The gunshot echoed in Oliver''s ears, making his heart race.


    Where are the cops? Where''s the NCPD? Can''t they hear the gunfire?


    Oliver wanted to run, but he knew better than to abandon his team. Turning his back on the enemy would mean certain death, and betraying his gang would bring consequences far worse. The Sixth Street Gang didn''t tolerate deserters. Their punishment for abandoning comrades was brutal and ceremonial¡ªcarried out by the families of the fallen.


    He shuddered at the thought, gripping his weapon tightly.


    Suddenly, a gunshot rang out¡ªnot from the Maelstrom Gang''s side, but somewhere between them.


    "Bang, bang, bang."


    Amid the chaos, Oliver saw several Maelstrom members drop to the ground. They screamed in confusion, scrambling for cover.


    Seizing the moment, Oliver fired his weapon. Years of shooting practice with his father paid off as his bullets found their targets. He brought down a few more enemies before pausing to reload.


    "Where are these guys coming from?!" a member shouted. "Is this all Sixth Street?!"


    "Bang."


    The loudmouthed thug was silenced by a bullet to the head, despite hiding behind cover.


    "Shit! Smart weapons! Kang tech?!"


    The panic in the Maelstrom Gang was palpable.


    Meanwhile, Karl calmly calculated his remaining bullets.


    The Lexington pistol in his hand held 21 rounds. He had fired six so far, taking down five targets.


    Despite never having used a gun before, Karl''s precision was unnervingly accurate. Each shot was guided by instinct¡ªor something beyond it. After firing his first round, he felt as though his mind had absorbed every relevant piece of data: wind direction, temperature, and the gun''s unique characteristics. By the second shot, it was as if the bullets were automatically locking onto their targets.


    The sixth shot had been a ricochet, taking down a Maelstrom member hiding behind cover. Karl had tested his abilities, and they did not disappoint.


    As he reloaded, he felt no remorse. If anything, he was satisfied to see the chaos unfold. These people had interrupted his breakfast. For that, they deserved to die.


    Taking cover behind a trash can, Karl felt an odd sense of camaraderie with the garbage surrounding him.


    The recoil of the kinetic weapon was stronger than he''d expected. Even with both hands on the grip, the shock left his palms numb. But the numbness was a minor inconvenience; his mind was already adapting to compensate.


    I need to work on my shooting posture, Karl mused, peering over the edge of his cover. And evasion techniques. Can''t rely on luck forever.


    The battlefield was a mess. Both the Maelstrom Gang and Sixth Street had taken heavy losses, but the tables had turned with Karl''s intervention. As his gunfire subsided, the last of the Maelstrom members collapsed.


    Thirty bodies littered the ground. Only Oliver remained standing among the Sixth Street squad.


    Karl lowered his weapon, his anger cooling as he surveyed the scene.


    The fight was over. The matter had been resolved.

 Chapter 5

    Oliver panted heavily, staring at the lifeless bodies scattered across the ground. He could hardly believe he had survived the firefight. Bullets had whizzed past his head countless times, and luck had been the only thing keeping him alive.


    But he knew survival hadn''t been solely his doing. If it weren''t for the unexpected help, he would have been lying among the corpses, just another victim of the Maelstrom Gang''s relentless assault.


    "There''s still one alive," a young voice called out.


    Oliver froze, leaning weakly against a piece of cover. His eyes darted toward the sound, where he spotted a figure approaching. The voice matched the face¡ªan Eastern Asian man, probably no older than eighteen or nineteen.


    What the hell? Oliver thought. This kid looks like he just walked out of Arasaka Academy. It wasn''t uncommon for students to end up in the chaos of Night City, but someone this young in a gang conflict was unusual.


    In the Sixth Street Gang, no one under 20 was allowed to join. Veterans hated rookies slowing them down, and Oliver couldn''t help but wonder how someone this inexperienced had survived unscathed.


    The young man¡ªKarl, as Oliver would later learn¡ªmoved with confidence, stepping over the bodies without hesitation. His sharp eyes scanned the aftermath of the battle as if cataloging the scene. When he reached Oliver, he raised his Lexington pistol and pointed it directly at his head.


    "Name," Karl demanded, his voice calm and emotionless.


    "Oliver," he replied, too drained to resist.


    "Age?"


    "Twenty-four."


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    "Gang?"


    "Sixth Street."


    "Purpose?"


    Oliver hesitated for a moment but knew lying wasn''t an option. "We came to track down stolen goods. We thought the Maelstrom Gang took them, but things went south."


    Karl studied him for a moment before speaking. "Hand it over."


    "What?"


    "Your gun."


    Oliver blinked, confused, but ultimately handed over his weapon. He wasn''t in a position to argue.


    Karl took the gun without another word and began sifting through the bodies. He crouched by the fallen Maelstrom members, carefully inspecting their belongings and pocketing anything valuable. It was a meticulous process¡ªhe even checked inside their boots and under their clothes.


    Oliver watched in growing unease. Is this guy a scavenger? he wondered.


    In Night City, scavengers were the lowest of the low¡ªdespicable criminals who stripped people of everything, from their possessions to their organs. Karl''s methodical looting reminded Oliver of those organ-harvesting predators.


    But as he watched, Oliver realized something. Karl wasn''t interested in prosthetics or cyberware. He wasn''t cutting bodies open or taking limbs. No, this was just... looting.


    "Fourteen," Karl muttered to himself as he stuffed euros and pistols into a bag he had picked up earlier.


    The calm efficiency with which Karl worked unnerved Oliver. This wasn''t the behavior of a gang member or a scavenger. This guy was different¡ªcold, precise, and completely unbothered by the carnage around him.


    Finally, Oliver couldn''t stay silent. He stood and approached cautiously.


    "Uh, hey... If we don''t get out of here, the NCPD is going to show up. You know how they are¡ªthey''ll shoot first and ask questions later."


    Karl paused, glancing at him over his shoulder. "We?" he echoed. "I''m not part of your gang. I''m just a civilian who couldn''t eat in peace thanks to you."


    Oliver suppressed a laugh. Civilian? he thought. Who''s he trying to fool?


    No civilian could use a standard Lexington to take down more than a dozen Maelstrom members. These lunatics enhanced their heads with cyberware, making headshots notoriously difficult. But Karl had done it with ease, sending bullets precisely where they needed to go.


    Oliver''s gut told him Karl wasn''t just any "civilian." He was likely a mercenary¡ªor a lone wolf.


    As the distant wail of sirens grew louder, Oliver decided to take a chance. "Look," he began, "consider this a thank-you for saving my life. You''re right¡ªwe interrupted your meal. How about I treat you to something nearby? A good meal and a chance to wash up?"


    Karl''s face, streaked with dried blood, gave him a moment of pause.


    "Eat," Karl said simply, slinging the bag over his shoulder.


    "You''ll come?" Oliver asked, slightly relieved.


    "But it has to be vegetarian," Karl added.


    Oliver blinked. A vegetarian? This guy kills people without flinching, but he''s a vegetarian?


    Suppressing his confusion, Oliver quickly responded, "Sure, there''s a Chinese place nearby. They''ll have vegetarian options."


    Before leaving, Oliver glanced back at the fallen members of his gang. His teammates¡ªall dead. He was the only survivor.


    He sighed heavily, knowing he would have to report everything to his father. The Sixth Street Gang would demand answers, and Oliver would need to explain why he was the only one who made it out alive.


    But that could wait. For now, he needed to ensure this strange, deadly "civilian" didn''t change his mind. A meal was the least he could offer the man who saved his life.

 Chapter 6

    "What? You don''t have a chip receiver, an operating system installed, or even a mobile phone?"


    Inside the restaurant, Oliver stared at Karl in disbelief, his eyes wide behind his glasses. He looked at Karl as if he were some sort of anomaly.


    Oliver had intended to repay Karl for saving his life by transferring some money from his account. However, Karl casually revealed that he didn''t have an online account, no prosthetics installed, and not even a basic operating system.


    "Not even homeless people are like this anymore," Oliver said, his tone dripping with incredulity. "Even monks, who refuse prosthetic enhancements, usually have some external receiver or at least a mobile phone to collect donations. What are you¡ªa purebred human?"


    "It''s not that," Karl replied. "Let''s just say my previous environment didn''t expose me to these things. It''s a long story. Do you know where I can get an operating system installed?"


    "Of course! Any ripperdoc can handle that for you. If you want to add prosthetics later, that''s no problem either. It''s basic stuff. I''m just shocked you''ve never come across it before."


    "I want to find a ripperdoc now," Karl said, sipping his drink after finishing his cold noodles. The overly sweet cola wasn''t to his liking.


    "Alright, give me a second," Oliver replied, his eyes flickering with the telltale glow of an internal display. "I''ll check for nearby clinics. If we were in Santo Domingo, I could name at least four or five good ones. But here in Watson... oh, there''s one! Victor¡ªVictor! I think I''ve heard of him. His clinic''s less than a hundred meters from here. Want to check it out?"


    "Victor?" Karl repeated, already familiar with the name.


    Victor was a well-known ripperdoc in Little China. According to the data Karl recalled, Victor had been an underground doctor in the past but was highly skilled.


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    Ah, an old acquaintance, Karl thought, recalling that Victor was the ripperdoc for V, the protagonist of Cyberpunk 2077.


    "Let''s go," Karl said, standing abruptly.


    "Hold on, you don''t even know the way!" Oliver exclaimed, quickly catching up. He walked alongside Karl, leading him to Victor''s clinic.


    As they walked, Oliver chattered away. "Don''t worry about the cost. My sister''s a ripperdoc, so I know the market rates for prosthetics and systems. Your cash is more than enough for a Militech-grade operating system, with plenty left over for upgrades. If Victor charges too much, we''ll just walk away. If it comes to that, I can take you to my sister. She''s fair."


    Karl remained silent for a while before asking, "Do you always talk this much?"


    "Hey, you saved my life, and I feel like we get along. To be honest, I''ve only been with the Sixth Street Gang for a week, and it''s been suffocating. All their military-style rules and strict structure¡ªit''s exhausting. Hanging out with you feels much easier."


    "You''re not hitting on me, are you?" Karl asked dryly.


    "What? No! My family''s as traditional as they come. I''m straight as an arrow. I''ve had two ex-girlfriends, thank you very much."


    Clearly, Oliver had been bottling up his frustrations. Now that he was free from his gangmates¡ªalbeit under grim circumstances¡ªhe couldn''t stop talking.


    "Oh, man," Oliver continued. "I''m gonna catch so much heat when I get back to the gang. I''ve already reported what happened, but I''m the only survivor, and the families of the dead are going to want answers. Worse, the higher-ups will probably kick me out to save face. They won''t kill me, though¡ªmy dad''s got some pull. But I wouldn''t mind leaving. Honestly, I''m tired of the Sixth Street Gang. This might be my chance to get out and start fresh."


    "Even if it wasn''t your fault, they''d still kick you out?" Karl asked, raising an eyebrow.


    "Our lieutenant was a coward," Oliver explained, his tone bitter. "Died without doing a damn thing, but the gang''s gotta appease his uncle¡ªWill Cannon, one of our senior members. Politics, you know? It''s a mess."


    "Sounds like a nightmare," Karl said bluntly.


    "It is," Oliver sighed, before brightening a little. "Hey, how about we team up? I''m gonna be broke soon, so maybe we could do something together¡ªlike become mercenaries?"


    "I think one meal more than repays your life debt," Karl said flatly.


    "Yeah, but still¡ªthink about it. You''re good with a gun, and I''ve got local connections. We could make a solid team!"


    Karl considered it for a moment. "I don''t mind. A local guide would make missions easier."


    "Great! It''s settled. We''ll form a sharpshooter team. You handle the heavy lifting, and I''ll handle the logistics¡ªand maybe scavenge some loot while we''re at it."


    "I think your shooting skills are decent," Karl remarked.


    "Nowhere near yours," Oliver admitted with a grin. Then, as if realizing something, he added, "By the way, I''ve been calling you ''bro,'' but I don''t even know your name. What should I call you?"


    "Karl," he said simply. "Last name K, Just call me Karl. Or," he added thoughtfully, "you can use my action code name. Might be safer that way."


    "Oh, like Johnny Silverhand or Morgan Blackhand? Yeah, mercs need cool names. What''s yours?"


    "K," Karl said after a moment of thought.


    "K?"


    "It''s simple. It comes from my name, Karl. Just call me that."


    "Got it," Oliver said, nodding.


    Karl smiled faintly to himself. While "K" seemed straightforward, it held another layer of meaning


    And in Night City, having a title like that could mean everything.

 Chapter 7

    Following the directions provided, Karl and Oliver walked through a narrow alley with an iron gate and arrived at a basement-turned-prosthetic clinic. Inside, a middle-aged man with dark hair sat in front of a computer, watching a boxing match. Karl greeted him politely.


    "Excuse me. Hello."


    The man turned at the sound of Karl''s voice, his sharp features showing mild surprise. He wore glasses, and his calm demeanor hinted at his expertise.


    "A polite guest? That''s a rarity in this city," the man remarked. His eyes briefly assessed Oliver before lingering on Karl.


    "You''re unmodified," he noted, instantly recognizing that Karl had no prosthetic enhancements.


    "Planning to install your first one?"


    "Something like that," Karl replied.


    Oliver stepped forward, speaking on Karl''s behalf. "Doctor, what types of operating systems do you have, and what''s the price range?"


    Victor, the prosthetic doctor, leaned back in his chair. "I have a parallel-line operating system from Militech, which costs 5,000 Euros, and a Seocho Electronics Type-1, priced at 7,500 Euros."


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    Hearing the price, Oliver''s face twitched. "Doc, you''re saying these are brand new, right?"


    Victor raised an eyebrow. "I''m not a shady back-alley ripperdoc or a scavenger. Everything here is genuine and brand new." He picked up a certificate from his desk, confirming his credentials.


    Oliver sighed, his mind racing. He had just over 1,400 Euros to his name¡ªnot nearly enough. Most rippers in the city sold second-hand or outdated parts at inflated prices, but Victor''s insistence on genuine goods suggested a level of professionalism. That assurance alone made Oliver want to get the upgrade done here.


    He quickly messaged his sister: "Sis, can you send me 5K? Need it urgently."


    A moment later, her reply came: "Where are you? You''re not in Santo Domingo, are you?"


    Before he could respond, his account balance updated. She had sent him the money.


    "Thank you! I''ll explain later. Love you!"


    "You''re only sweet when you want something. Just stay safe, okay?"


    "Got it!"


    Turning to Karl, Oliver was about to share the good news, but he noticed Karl already counting out his eddies. The total was 3,200¡ªstill short of the required amount.


    "Wait here, Doctor Victor," Karl said, placing the money on the counter. "I''ll return with the rest."


    He turned to leave, but both Victor and Oliver stopped him.


    "Hold on, Karl," Oliver said.


    "Relax, young man," Victor added with a smirk. "This is enough. I''ll cut you a deal¡ª3,000 Euros for the Militech system. Take back the extra 200."


    "Wait, you can negotiate?" Oliver blurted out, visibly shocked.


    Victor chuckled. "Of course. I''m curious why you didn''t try bargaining in the first place."


    "I¡­ didn''t realize you could haggle with prosthetic doctors," Oliver admitted sheepishly, transferring the extra money back to his sister.


    Victor stood up, studying Karl closely. "How old are you?" he asked.


    "Eighteen," Karl replied. "And no, I''ve never undergone surgery before."


    "A purebred," Victor mused. "This will be your first time, then. The procedure might take a while, and you''ll need some time to adapt afterward. Do you want to stay awake during the operation, or would you prefer full anesthesia?"


    Karl considered the offer. Experiencing the procedure might be a unique opportunity. "I''ll stay awake."


    "Bold choice," Victor said with a nod. "Prepare yourself. In a few hours, you''ll have a new lease on life."


    Ten minutes later, Karl lay on a specialized operating table as Victor began preparing his equipment. The operation was about to start.


    For Karl, this was the first step in embracing a new, cyber-enhanced world.

 Chapter 8

    "The operation is over. Okay, get up. The anesthesia will linger for a while, but don''t move too much."


    After hearing Victor''s words, Karl touched his spine and slowly sat up from the operating table.


    "How do you feel now?"


    Oliver, who had been watching the procedure for hours but remained silent to avoid interrupting, finally broke his silence. He immediately approached, curiosity evident on his face. "It took me a long time to get used to it myself. Are you adapting?"


    "I''d say it''s more tolerable than I expected."


    Karl responded, realizing that with just a thought, he could now connect to the local servers of various companies.


    "I''ve removed the background programs left behind by the company''s sales department. The access network I''ve installed gives you some basic functions¡ªthings like enhancing computing power or aiding in technical tasks. Just be careful about what you add. Some things can make you vulnerable to hackers," Victor warned, flexing his fingers after the long operation. He had performed the surgery manually, and though machines had assisted, his own arms had done much of the work. He was feeling the strain.


    "You should create a private account now. Then, all your money can be stored securely. Unless someone eliminates you or hacks your system, no one can access your funds."


    Victor glanced at the bag of dirty money. "And if you plan on adding more modifications in the future, I recommend paying online. It''s hard to launder cash these days."


    When Victor mentioned laundering money, Karl couldn''t help but picture a gangster delivering the same line. It was hard to reconcile this middle-aged, handsome man, who looked every bit the respectable professional, with the skilled surgeon he clearly was.


    "I''ll keep that in mind. But if you''re working on someone else''s system, can you take money from their accounts?"


    "You can hack into a deceased person''s private system."


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    Oliver chimed in, "If you''d had this access network earlier, we might''ve made it out of our last job with full payment."


    "Then we''ll be better prepared next time."


    Karl moved toward the bag he had stored his gun in before surgery. He unzipped it, retrieved Oliver''s gun, and tossed it to him.


    Oliver caught the pistol with a grin. "Oh, my sweet Nova, you''re back! Ready to get back to work, K?"


    The gun was a Dala Polytechnic DR-5 Nova¡ªa reliable, if somewhat basic, revolver. "Easy to break, easy to fix. A must-have for everyone."


    "If you''ve got no money, you''ve gotta work."


    After pocketing the 200 euros Victor handed him, Karl hefted his bag. "I need to find a gun shop, sell some of this stuff cheap, and buy a few rounds."


    "You looking for work already?" Victor asked, spinning his chair around from the boxing match he had resumed watching after the surgery.


    "Your prosthetics have no built-in protection. If you''re heading out, make sure to buy some body armor at the gun shop. It might not stop bullets, but it could save your life in a pinch."


    "Body armor, got it. Thanks for the tip."


    Karl found it strange to hear about buying body armor. He remembered how it used to be illegal to sell in the United States before he ended up in this dystopian future. But Night City was a different beast altogether.


    "No problem. You''re one of the few polite young men left in Night City."


    Victor turned back to his screen, and the sound of the boxing match filled the clinic again. Karl and Oliver stepped out, with Karl pulling the iron folding door shut behind them.


    Victor was indeed a good guy. In a place like this, it was rare to find someone who wasn''t obsessed with money and even offered discounts. Plus, Victor was a talented prosthetic surgeon. Karl made a mental note to return if he ever needed repairs or upgrades in the future.


    In Night City, gun shops were easier to find than convenience stores. After a few steps from Victor''s clinic, they came across one. The bag of weapons didn''t fetch much¡ªonly 2,500 euros¡ªbut considering they were scavenged on the street, Karl wasn''t too upset. The shop owner was kind enough to throw in some bullets and a gun holster, so it worked out. After completing the transaction and seeing the money added to his account, Karl couldn''t help but marvel at how seamless the process was.


    "Beep."


    Oliver, waiting as Karl finished the deal, suddenly noticed 1,250 euros had been transferred to his account. He immediately understood what had happened and looked at Karl.


    "We''ll split everything 50-50 from here on out," Karl said before Oliver could object. "If we''re gonna be partners, it only makes sense. No need to make a big deal out of every little transaction."


    Karl''s message was clear: they were mercenaries now. When the big jobs came, they''d divide the rewards based on effort. No need to overcomplicate things.


    Oliver didn''t argue. Instead, he sighed. "This... this is the first money I''ve ever earned for myself. Before, I lived off my father and sister. I even got kicked out of a gang in under a week. Making my own money¡ªit feels surreal."


    "You must''ve lived pretty well before, huh?" Karl observed, tossing some extra bullets to Oliver.


    As they stepped outside, Karl glanced up at the overcast sky. "So, how do we find work now?"


    "Fixer?" Oliver suggested.


    A quick flash of information entered Karl''s mind. Fixer: the go-between for mercenaries and clients. Sure, they took a cut of the profits, but they also handled all the paperwork and logistics. It made sense to find one, but there was one problem...


    "Do you know any fixer?"


    "I wasn''t exactly planning on becoming a mercenary, so... no."


    The two stared at each other for a moment, realizing they were stuck in a paradox. They needed a Fixer to get work, but to attract a Fixer, they needed a reputation¡ªand to build a reputation, they needed work.


    On their first day as a mercenary team, Karl and Oliver found themselves at a frustrating standstill.

 Chapter 9

    "Well, I got kicked out, just as expected."


    It was the second day since his arrival, and Karl had woken up in a hotel room in the Watson District. He received a message from Oliver, who had rushed back to Santo Domingo the night before.


    "What do you mean?" Karl asked, washing his face as he stared at his young reflection in the mirror.


    "What do you think? I can''t go back to Santo Domingo anymore. I''m officially kicked out. I''ll be in the Watson District soon. Let''s meet at the restaurant in front of your hotel. You go ahead and order first. I''ll have a steak¡ªten euros."


    "You really know how to live it up," Karl replied.


    Lacking a toothbrush or toothpaste, Karl improvised by scrubbing his teeth with his finger and some water. He rinsed his mouth, silently promising himself that he''d rent a decent apartment soon. This hotel was far from ideal.


    He left the room and, since he''d already paid the night before, made his way to the restaurant across the street. On his way, he was nearly hit by a beat-up car. Karl''s calm demeanor kept him from pulling his gun and teaching the driver a lesson. After all, this wasn''t Gotham; there was no need to be so aggressive.


    Karl ordered Oliver''s steak and opted for some cold Chinese noodles for himself. He figured it would take longer for him to get used to insect-based protein than adjusting to the life of a mercenary. While waiting for the food, he grabbed a drink from the vending machine.


    Yesterday''s soda had been harsh on his teeth, so today he went for a different kind: Siris Classic Cola. The packaging gave off serious patriotic vibes¡ªred and white stripes with blue stars. It screamed "America."


    Karl took a sip, and his eyes lit up. He had to admit, Siris Cola was much better than yesterday''s drink. Nothing quite like an American cola in America.


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    "Oh, you''re drinking Siris Cola too! I love that stuff," Oliver said as he joined Karl at the table. He grabbed his own bottle of Siris Cola from the vending machine before sitting down. "In the Sixth Street Gang, we''ve got this funny saying: Siris Cola is the ''Patriot''s Cola.'' Drinking anything else is almost offensive. Even if you''re holding another drink, you''re supposed to salute it when you walk by."


    "What a drink," Karl muttered. The marketing was clearly working wonders. Despite not being part of the U.S., Night City residents still clung to a certain sense of patriotism. Then again, the Sixth Street Gang was founded by American veterans, so it made sense.


    "So, what''s the plan today? Any leads on a fixer?"


    "Nope." Oliver shrugged but offered a suggestion. "But my dad used to say, ''If you''re gonna do something, do it right. Don''t give up halfway.'' He also mentioned that the Wild coyote Bar in Heywood is a place to check out. People there are always looking to hire mercenaries, so we might pick up a job."


    Karl''s mind processed the info about Heywood. The district had a stark divide between its wealthy northern areas and its dangerous southern slums. Still, it had its own unique charm.


    The food arrived.


    "I thought the Valentino Gang and the Sixth Street Gang don''t get along. Isn''t Heywood their turf?"


    "Eh, it''s fine, Chewchew. I''m not with the Sixth Street Gang anymore, and besides, lots of us have personal relationships with people in the Valentino Gang. We''ll be okay as long as we play nice," Oliver said, taking a hearty bite of his steak. "Mmm, this steak is fantastic¡ªso juicy and tender."


    Watching Oliver chew and talk with his mouth full, bits of steak juice flying around, Karl cringed and leaned away. The sight of meat juice reminded him of biting into a bug and having it burst in his mouth. Not the most appetizing thought.


    "Alright, if it''s safe, let''s head there after we eat. What''s the best way to get there¡ªsubway?"


    "Don''t worry about that. I drove here, and everything I own is in the car." Oliver pointed out the window to a black car parked nearby.


    "It''s a Quartz EC-L R275. My sister gave it to me for my 20th birthday. It''s reliable, durable, and affordable. I know the roads around Heywood pretty well, so we can take my car."


    Oliver paused for a moment and added with a grin, "It''s a two-seater, and aside from my ex-girlfriend, you''re the first person of the same sex to ride in it."


    "I should be honored," Karl said dryly. He wasn''t particularly knowledgeable about cars in this era, so he didn''t dwell on it. He quickly finished his cold noodles, though he was getting tired of eating them. It was tasty, but after three meals in a row, he was ready for something else.


    "Oh, speaking of thanks," Oliver said suddenly, "I stashed two Norkota D5 Copperhead kinetic assault rifles in the trunk. In case we run into heavy fire, we''ll have plenty of firepower."


    Norkota D5 Copperhead: the modern equivalent of the AK-47¡ªreliable, powerful, and cheap. It''s the assault rifle of choice in this era.


    "An assault rifle? The recoil might throw me off completely," Karl said with a chuckle.


    "Then just raise it up to your head and spray bullets," Oliver replied, polishing off his steak.


    "You ready to head out, K?"


    "Let''s roll, Oliver."

 Chapter 10

    The Wild coyote Bar in the Haywood Valley area wasn''t hard to find. In a neighborhood dominated by judicial buildings like city hall, the mayor''s office, the courts, and NCPD headquarters, a bar so out of place was hard to miss.


    After parking on the side of the road, Oliver hesitated about whether to put on the body armor he bought yesterday. He''d grown up in a neighborhood governed by the Sixth Street Gang, and as a former member of that gang, he still felt uneasy. Even though many members of the Sixth Street Gang were secretly on good terms with the Valentino Gang, he couldn''t shake the feeling of unease. After all, they were now entering a Valentino-controlled area, and old affiliations could still get him in trouble.


    While Oliver hesitated, Karl had already slipped on his body armor with practiced efficiency.


    Seeing Oliver''s indecision, Karl gave him a strange look. "What are you waiting for? We''re going to look for work, and without proper protective gear or body armor, we''ll look like amateurs. If I were the employer, I''d think you''re an idiot."


    Oliver realized Karl was right. His old gang mentality was influencing his judgment. Back in Santo Domingo, he never had to be on high alert because the Sixth Street Gang controlled the entire area. But now, as an unemployed mercenary, he had to think differently. Mercenaries needed to show off their best equipment to impress potential employers.


    They weren''t legendary mercenaries who could walk into a room, armed with nothing but a pistol, and still complete missions with ease. They had to prove their worth, not just rely on their reputation.


    After strapping on his bulletproof vest and holstering his Nova revolver, Oliver made sure the gun was visible for easy access, like he''d seen in the movies. He had no idea that Karl, standing beside him, had far less mental drama while strapping on his Lexington. Karl also hesitated for a moment before deciding not to bring the Copperhead assault rifle from the car. It was, after all, just a bar¡ªthey didn''t need to look too threatening.


    Once they were ready, the two of them headed into the bar, catching the curious glances of Valentino gang members lingering outside.


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    Inside, the lighting was much dimmer than outside. There were no neon GG cards like those scattered on the streets. The bar was lit mainly by fluorescent lights, and the mood was surprisingly calm. If it weren''t for the patrons drinking in small groups, the place might have looked closed.


    Behind the bar stood an older woman with gray hair, wearing a leather jacket. Despite her age, she was full of energy, and if not for her hair, it would''ve been hard to guess how old she was.


    "Oh, two new faces," the woman called out as she spotted Karl and Oliver walking in. "You''re a bit early, but you''re welcome here. What''ll you have?"


    "Mrs. Wells¡ªcan I get another bottle of blues vodka?" A voice from a distant table interrupted before they could answer.


    "No, Ernesto, you''ve already had a bottle today. If you''ve got plans tonight, I''d suggest sobering up at the bar," she responded sternly.


    "Come on, I''m waiting for Jack to come back so we can have a drink."


    "Jack can''t either," Mrs. Wells shot back.


    The name "Jack" caught Karl''s attention. Could she mean that Jack? Jack Wells? He remembered Jack from the demo as V''s good friend and partner. But then again, it could just be a common name. Still, he couldn''t help but wonder.


    Mrs. Wells turned back to them. "So, what''ll it be, kids?"


    "I''ll take a bottle of Brother''s Lager," Oliver quickly ordered, picking a low-alcohol beer that wouldn''t affect the mission.


    "Alright, a lager. And you?" she asked, turning to Karl.


    After a brief glance at the menu, Karl noticed something that looked like it had Chinese characters on it. "I''ll have a cup of sweet tea and some French fries."


    Mrs. Wells raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Find yourselves a seat, and I''ll bring it over in a bit."


    As she turned to prepare their order, Oliver pulled Karl toward a corner table where they could watch the entrance.


    "You''re ordering non-alcoholic drinks at a bar, along with fries? I wish I had your confidence," Oliver teased. Though he''d ordered beer, he preferred beverages himself. He just didn''t want to seem out of place.


    Karl shrugged. "I''ll share the fries with you."


    "Deal. I''ll eat yours first, then order more if I''m still hungry. I love fries," Oliver said.


    "I just hope they''re made from real potatoes," Karl muttered, half-joking.


    While they waited, they took stock of the bar''s patrons. Most were regular drinkers, but a few looked like mercenaries, sporting bulletproof vests or visible prosthetics and weapons at their sides. It seemed Oliver''s father had been right¡ªthis was a place to find work, though the majority here looked like low-level mercs, just like them.


    Oliver lowered his voice, "You know, fixer are just like mercs. The top ones get the big corporate jobs, while the rest handle smaller neighborhood disputes. But mercs without even low-level fixer? They''re pretty screwed."


    Little did Oliver realize, he and Karl were now in that exact category.


    Karl, half-listening, suddenly noticed a figure stepping through the entrance. The man was tall, blocking the light from outside. He had a black braid, obvious prosthetic modifications on both sides of his face, and his leather jacket was open, revealing a chest full of tattoos.


    This guy looked familiar¡ªtoo familiar.


    It was Jack Wells.

 Chapter 11

    "Jack, come and have a drink with us."


    Jack Wells had just walked into the Wild coyote Bar when a Valentino gang member, who had been sitting there drinking, stood up and extended a hand to invite Jack over.


    Before Jack could respond, Mrs. Wells, holding a plate, interjected: "Jack, you came just in time. Come help me deliver these to the two guests over there."


    "I know, Mom."


    Jack Wells, just back home, found himself conscripted into helping out at the bar. He shot an apologetic glance at his friend and took the plate from his mother. Steadily balancing it, he walked over to the two guests, Karl and Oliver, setting the plate down before joining them.


    "What do you call me, brother?"


    Jack Wells, in person, stood in front of them. For Karl, who had already met Victor, the sight of Jack was unremarkable.


    "Karl," he said, taking a sip of the sweet tea in front of him. "You can call me K."


    "This sweet tea tastes like iced black tea," he added.


    "Oliver," the other guest said, raising his bottle of iced beer toward Jack in greeting. "You can call me Oliver. I just heard you earlier, let''s drink together. I don''t mind making new friends."


    "That''s perfect."


    Jack had come into the bar partly out of concern for his mother''s establishment, seeing unfamiliar mercenaries, but now he realized these two weren''t as dangerous as he had assumed. Without hesitation, he accepted Oliver''s invitation.


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    Jack headed to the bar, procured a bottle of beer from his mother (despite her nagging), and cut a plate of Spanish ham slices. On his way back, he apologized to the Valentino who had invited him earlier: "Sorry, brother, I''m busy today, but I''ll catch up next time."


    "Next time, for sure!"


    "Of course!"


    Jack returned to the table, placed the ham slices down, and took a hearty gulp of beer.


    "Let''s eat some ham together. Judging by your looks, are you two mercenaries?"


    "The team was just formed yesterday," Karl replied, eating a crisp French fry. "We haven''t taken any jobs yet. We heard we might find something here at the Wild coyote Bar, so we showed up early."


    "The team was just formed yesterday?" Jack''s eyebrows raised. "By the look of you two, I''d guess someone''s guiding you from behind."


    "Yeah, a prosthetic doctor named Victor. Great guy," Oliver replied casually, clearly trusting Jack''s friendly demeanor.


    Karl, however, noticed Jack''s subtle probing. The seemingly straightforward man had skillfully coaxed information from Oliver. Still, it was nothing to hide, so Karl focused on finishing his fries.


    The fries were perfectly fried¡ªcrispy and flavorful. The only downside was the lack of condiments like salt, ketchup, or even mayonnaise.


    "Victor?"


    Jack perked up at the mention of a familiar name. "You mean Victor from Watson?"


    "Yeah, you know him?"


    "Of course, brother! We go way back."


    Jack''s smile widened. Any friends of Victor were friends of his. With his suspicions eased, Jack felt a newfound camaraderie with the pair.


    They chatted about Victor and other lighthearted topics before Jack mentioned his own situation: "I''m a mercenary too, just starting out. I''ve done a few small jobs so far. I do know a fixer, but I want to prove myself first before going to him. I''d rather earn tasks based on my strength than rely on connections."


    "Jack, you''ve got ambition. Not like me¡ªI''ve always leaned on my dad and sister. If not for Karl, I wouldn''t have figured out how to strike out on my own," Oliver admitted.


    Meanwhile, Jack noticed Karl''s nearly empty plate and asked with a proud smile: "Karl, how do you like the fries? My mom fries them herself. I''ve been eating these since I was a kid and never get tired of them."


    "They''re great," Karl admitted, "but they''d be even better with a little ketchup."


    Jack laughed. "I think so too, but my mom''s a purist¡ªshe loves the original flavor."


    Jack seemed ready to rope Karl into convincing Mrs. Wells about condiments, but their attention shifted when a new guest entered the bar.


    "The one in a suit and tie¡ªthat''s a corpo dog," Oliver muttered under his breath.


    Just as he said, the newcomer was a well-dressed corporate employee. Despite her polished appearance, her arrogant demeanor marred any charm she might have had.


    "Keep your voice down, or we''ll get bitten," Jack added in a low tone, smirking at Oliver''s comment.


    "She''s looking this way," Karl remarked coolly, causing Jack and Oliver to straighten up. They watched as the corporate employee strode toward their table, her sharp heels clicking loudly against the floor.


    ''Could she have overheard us?'' Oliver wondered nervously, his gaze flicking toward her.

 Chapter 12

    Oliver and Jack thought the company dog had heard them and was about to come over to bite them, but the company dog stopped in front of Karl and stared at his face for a few seconds.


    Karl''s face was indeed a handsome one, but in this era, if you wanted a handsome or beautiful face, you could find any prosthetic doctor to do it. Naturally, it was impossible for Karl''s face to attract this company dog. What she noticed was Karl himself.


    "I saw the surveillance in Little Chinatown in the Watson District yesterday. You took out 16 members of the Maelstrom Gang by yourself, didn''t you?"


    What had happened yesterday was known today. Surveillance in the cyberpunk world was extremely meticulous.


    Thinking to himself, Karl couldn''t figure out the reason for this company dog''s interest. Even if there was something wrong with taking out the gang members, it should have been the NCPD''s business.


    But there was one thing he needed to correct.


    "It wasn''t just me. My friends helped me."


    As he said this, Karl pointed at Oliver.


    But the company dog didn''t even glance at Oliver. She stood in front of Karl and folded her arms. The thing on her chest, modified or not, was pressed down by the company uniform. Under her folded arms, it formed a considerable arc.


    "I''ve seen the surveillance. I''m not blind. I know who was the main force. Don''t worry, I''m not with the NCPD, I''m not some vigilante with a misplaced sense of justice, and I''m not a relative or friend of the garbage you killed. I have something for you to do. The reward is 100,000 euros. Interested?"


    "100,000 euros?"


    As expected, Karl was instantly attracted by the number. But he quickly came to his senses. "So, you''re here to hire us."


    Karl''s expression changed instantly. A smile appeared on his face, and his tone turned enthusiastic.


    "You said you were a guest earlier. Miss... company employee, please sit down. Let''s talk about it in detail. As long as it''s within our capabilities, we can handle it for you."


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    The company dog had become a client, so Karl temporarily set aside his prejudice.


    Oliver and Jack exchanged glances, both showing a hint of contempt for Karl in their eyes. But they acted quickly, standing up to make room for Karl and the company employee to chat.


    If you have a job for us, just say so earlier. We''re all family here¡ªwhy be polite?


    100,000 euros. For a low-level mercenary, that was more money than they could typically earn in a year.


    The company employee glanced at Jack and Oliver but seemed displeased by the seats they had kindly vacated. She didn''t seem willing to sit in a seat previously occupied by the two mercenaries. She looked around and found an empty chair next to Karl. Although it wasn''t particularly clean, at least no one had sat there before she arrived. She chose that one and sat down.


    After sitting, she pulled out a data chip and handed it to Karl.


    Karl took the chip, inserted it into the access port he had just modified yesterday, and read its contents, which appeared in his field of vision.


    After a few seconds of scanning, Karl removed the chip and handed it back to her.


    "What do you think?"


    "What''s your name?"


    Karl''s tone was more serious this time. The job was doable.


    "You don''t need to know my name. Just complete the task. Let me know if you can do it."


    "Of course. But how do I send you proof of completion?"


    "Call this number and send me a photo. Don''t call me unnecessarily¡ªI''m very busy."


    The company employee transmitted the contact information to Karl and transferred 30,000 euros to him.


    "This is a deposit, an advance payment. Don''t think about running away with the money unless you''re not afraid of me using the remaining amount to buy your life."


    After giving her warning, the company employee stood up. She moved briskly and walked out in high heels. From the moment she entered the Wild coyote Bar to the moment she left, she hadn''t spoken a word to anyone else or even glanced at them.


    "Karl, what''s the deal?"


    Oliver, understanding that Karl had just accepted a mission, asked curiously.


    "I''m sorry I accepted the mission without asking you first."


    "It''s okay, buddy. Don''t sweat the small stuff. Honestly, it''s pretty awesome. Someone came to us with a mission this quickly. I''m thrilled."


    Oliver was still curious. "So, what''s the mission?"


    "Wait a moment."


    Raising his hand to signal Oliver to hold off, Karl turned to Jack, who was observing them, and said, "Jack, since you''re working solo now, want to join us on this mission?"


    "Me? Can I?"


    Jack understood that any mission brought by a company employee would likely have a significant reward. He didn''t expect Karl to invite him to join in on such a lucrative opportunity.


    "The more, the merrier."


    Karl smiled. "So, are you in?"


    "Brother, of course, I''m in."


    Seemingly moved by Karl''s smile, Jack agreed without hesitation. He didn''t even ask about the mission details or the reward. His trust was wholehearted.


    "Alright, let''s split the deposit first."


    Oliver and Jack''s eyes lit up. They hadn''t even started the mission, but Karl had already decided to share the 10,000 euros each.


    "My god, that''s a generous deposit. What''s the mission about, brother?"


    "It''s not a mission that compromises conscience or involves anything disgusting."


    As Jack marveled, Karl outlined the task briefly:


    "Go to a Maelstrom Gang site in the Watson District, where 20 people are stationed. Find a box the gang stole from the company, destroy it, and take a photo of the remains as proof."


    "So, this company girl has something to hide," Jack mused, guessing the box might contain sensitive materials.


    "It''s probably blackmail material. Isn''t that how it usually goes in Japanese movies?" Oliver suggested knowingly.


    But Karl pondered the connections. The Maelstrom Gang had previously robbed the Sixth Street Gang. Now, this company employee who saw him fighting the Maelstrom Gang had come to him for help. Was there a link, or was the Maelstrom Gang simply on a spree of robberies?


    There wasn''t enough information to know. It wasn''t worth overthinking.


    What mattered now was¡ª


    "Shall we go?"


    "After we finish eating."


    Oliver and Jack stuffed their mouths with ham slices.


    Well, the kind made from questionable raw materials.

 Chapter 13

    Since they were about to take on the Maelstrom Gang, preparations were essential. The first priority: getting Jack some body armor.


    "I thought you''d at least have bulletproof inserts in your jacket," Oliver said as they walked into the weapons shop. "You could just zip it up when needed. But you''re telling me you don''t even own body armor?"


    Even inside the weapons shop, Oliver couldn''t wrap his head around Jack''s recklessness. Victor, the shopkeeper, had probably reminded Jack countless times about this in the past. It was baffling for someone like Jack¡ªan experienced mercenary¡ªto ignore basic safety precautions.


    "Don''t be ridiculous," Karl chimed in, equally annoyed. "If this were a game, sure, maybe you''d go for style over protection. But this is real life, Jack. No one''s impressed, and you''re just asking for trouble."


    Jack shrugged, unfazed. If this were a game, he might have understood the appeal of prioritizing appearance. But this wasn''t a game, and Jack wasn''t exactly sporting the kind of armor Karl or Oliver expected.


    Still, Karl decided not to lecture further. Even basic body armor could make the difference between life and death, especially against kinetic weapons. With the Maelstrom Gang using standard-grade firearms, armor would give Jack a fighting chance if something went wrong.


    Jack finally caved. "Alright, alright, that''s why I''m here with you, isn''t it?"


    His plan had been to save up for subdermal armor and skip the intermediate step of buying body armor. But every time he had enough money, he spent it on other things¡ªbike parts, books, or gadgets. As a result, the subdermal armor plan had remained on hold.


    "Fine, I''ll get body armor," Jack grumbled. "But, K, don''t you think you should upgrade your gun too?"


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    Jack gestured at the pistol holstered on Karl''s hip. "That Lexington is the standard issue for low-ranking cops. It won''t even scratch subdermal armor."


    "A low-grade pistol for low-grade mercenaries¡ªsounds perfect for us," Karl said with a smirk.


    Jack wasn''t amused. "Come on, even the Constitution Military Industry pistols you picked up from those dead gangsters are better than that."


    Karl didn''t see the point in upgrading. His Lexington pistol served its purpose: portability and close-range firepower. If he needed more punch, he''d switch to his Copperhead assault rifle. Gang fights rarely called for full armor coverage, so a well-placed shot would get the job done.


    The trio stocked up on ammunition and equipment at the weapons shop before piling into Oliver''s car. They headed toward the Maelstrom Gang''s base, located in an industrial area in northern Watson.


    This area, once bustling with activity, had turned into a grim residential district for factory workers. These workers labored long hours for meager wages, grateful for any job that could keep their families alive. The factories cared more about maintenance costs than human lives, treating their workforce as expendable.


    "It''s all so messed up," Karl muttered as he stared out the window. "These people are grateful for scraps, while their bosses treat them like dirt. But what can you do?"


    He shook his head. If a job required him to kill a factory boss, Karl would do it without hesitation. But mercenary work wasn''t about fixing the system¡ªit was about survival.


    The industrial zone''s harsh conditions explained why so many locals joined gangs like the Maelstrom Gang. As brutal as gang life could be, it offered more opportunities than factory work ever would.


    "It''s ironic," Karl mused. "Gangs probably offer better promotions than these factories."


    Oliver nodded. "You''re not wrong. The Sixth Street Gang was originally formed to fight corporate oppression after the war. But now? They''re just another gang collecting protection fees. When I was a kid, I never imagined it''d end up like this."


    "It''s hilarious how gangs that fought corporations end up acting just like them," Jack said with a laugh. Then he paused, realizing something. "Wait a minute. Oliver, you used to be with the Sixth Street Gang?"


    "Until yesterday. I got kicked out this morning," Oliver replied, smirking.


    "That''s wild," Jack said. "I used to run with the Valentinos before going solo. Now look at us¡ªtwo ex-gangsters teaming up."


    "Wait, you were with the Valentinos?" Oliver looked surprised. Then it clicked. Jack''s family was in the Valentino territory, so it made sense.


    "After this job, we''ll have a drink to celebrate leaving the gangs behind," Jack suggested.


    Karl shook his head. "You''re making it sound like we''re planning a heist or something."


    Just then, the car''s navigation system announced, "The target is 50 meters away."


    "Showtime," Karl said, cracking his knuckles. "Let''s gear up."


    As the industrial zone came into view, Karl''s eyes focused on the rundown factory that housed the Maelstrom Gang. He tightened his grip on his weapon, feeling a rush of anticipation.


    "Ready for this?" Oliver asked.


    Karl smirked. "Let''s get to work."

 Chapter 14

    "Fuck the Sixth Street Gang, you bastards!"


    After throwing a string of obscenities into the comms, the Devil ended the call with a sharp motion.


    As a mid-level operative in the Maelstrom Gang, the Devil rarely let her emotions get the better of her, but today was different. Rage boiled within her¡ªunrelenting and blinding.


    Her younger brother had been killed the day before, in their own territory¡ªWatson District. Shot in broad daylight by someone from the Sixth Street Gang, the attack was as calculated as it was brutal. The gunman hadn''t even bothered to cover his tracks. One precise bullet had bypassed the prosthetics on her brother''s face, connecting the seams between the hardware at the back of his head and the facial implants. That single shot tore through his skull, splitting his face grotesquely in two.


    When the NCPD begrudgingly informed the family, they couldn''t even identify her brother''s face. Parts of his prosthetics had already been scavenged, leaving a nightmarish shell of what had once been her sibling.


    The Devil, notorious for her temper and sharp instincts, couldn''t shake the suffocating grief. Revenge was inevitable.


    Yet, when she planned to rally her crew and strike back at the Sixth Street Gang, orders came down from above: "Control yourself. Don''t stir up trouble."


    Control herself?


    She scoffed bitterly at the suggestion.


    "If it was your brother who died, would you control yourself?" she muttered.


    She couldn''t let this go. The Sixth Street Gang''s days were numbered, and she''d already found her target. Only one member of the gang involved in her brother''s murder was still alive¡ªa man named Oliver. The rumor was he''d been kicked out of the gang, but that didn''t matter. Today, Oliver would die.


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    "I told you to stop running around," she murmured bitterly to herself, staring at the remnants of her brother''s face. "You wanted to prove yourself, and now look at you. I don''t even know where to bury what''s left of you."


    The Devil and her brother had grown up together, bonded by tragedy. Their father had died when they were young, and their mother passed away shortly after, overworked and underpaid in a factory. The Devil had joined the Maelstrom Gang out of necessity, carving out a path that allowed her to provide for both of them. Over the years, she had earned the trust of her boss, Brick, and secured a position of respect.


    She had tried to steer her brother away from the gang, urging him to pursue an honest life. But he was stubborn. He didn''t want to be seen as a burden, so he joined the gang and formed his own small crew.


    Now he was gone, and all the Devil had left was grief¡ªand rage.


    "I don''t care if I lose my mind and end up as a cyberpsycho. I''ll still make sure that bastard Oliver joins my brother in the ground," she whispered.


    Her thoughts were interrupted by the door crashing open. One of her subordinates stumbled in, panic written across his face.


    "Boss, three people are here! We can''t stop them!"


    "Three people?" she echoed, incredulous. "We''ve got more than 20 in this factory, and you can''t stop three?"


    Grabbing her Crusher kinetic energy shotgun, she growled, "Perfect timing. I''ll turn them into paste before I go find the Sixth Street Gang."


    Despite her anger, she wasn''t reckless. She ordered her subordinate to alert the others while she headed to the surveillance station. The screens showed three figures moving through the factory. One face made her six prosthetic eyes flash red in fury.


    It was him.


    Blond-haired. Mustached. Oliver.


    She recognized him instantly. She''d spent the entire night memorizing his face and files. Now, he was here, walking right into her domain.


    She didn''t bother looking at the other feeds. With a bloodthirsty grin, she rushed out the door, ready to hunt.


    Oliver had no idea he was walking into a death trap.


    Pinned behind cover, he peeked out occasionally, firing bursts from his Copperhead rifle. The Maelstrom Gang''s firepower was overwhelming, far beyond anything he had encountered before. Gunfire roared continuously, leaving him with few chances to return fire.


    "K, think of something!" Oliver shouted at Karl, who was crouched nearby. "If they get close enough to lob grenades, we''re screwed!"


    "Relax," Karl replied calmly, analyzing the situation.


    Karl was methodical and prepared, never rushing into a fight without a plan.


    "I''ve calibrated the Copperhead," he said. "I just need an opening."


    Turning to Jack, Karl added, "Create a distraction for me."


    "On it."


    Jack did the unthinkable. Without hesitation, he broke cover and charged toward Oliver''s position, drawing the Maelstrom Gang''s fire.


    "Are you insane?!" Oliver yelled as bullets zipped past Jack. Two of them struck him¡ªone in the arm, another in the thigh¡ªbut Jack didn''t falter. He dove into cover beside Oliver.


    "Now, Karl!" Jack shouted.


    "You''re a maniac, Jack," Karl muttered, standing up from cover.


    With the Copperhead rifle steady in his hands, he aimed at the distracted Maelstrom Gang members.


    "Seven targets. Fourteen rounds. More than enough," he said, pulling the trigger with precision.


    The chaos of the battlefield was about to reach a boiling point.

 Chapter 15

    The Copperhead assault rifle, capable of firing up to 640 rounds per minute, was wielded with deadly precision in Karl''s hands. Every bullet he fired found its intended target with ruthless accuracy.


    One shot to the head and one to the heart. Each of the seven Maelstrom Gang members was "rewarded" with two bullets. In just two seconds, not a single enemy was left standing before Karl and his two companions.


    "Awesome, mano!" Jack exclaimed, grinning despite his injuries. "Your shooting skills are insane!"


    Jack, ignoring the gunshot wounds on his arm and thigh, tried to stand and check if any of the Maelstrom Gang members were still alive.


    "Jack, take it easy," Oliver said, grabbing his arm to steady him. He inspected Jack''s wounds and exhaled with relief. The bullets hadn''t hit any vital areas. "You''re bleeding out here. If you keep pushing, you''ll lose more blood than you can afford."


    Jack waved him off with a grin. "I''m fine! Worth it, as long as we got the job done. You''ve been hyping up Karl''s skills all this time. Now I see what you meant."


    "You''re a lunatic," Karl muttered, shaking his head. He was genuinely baffled by how Jack could joke after being shot. "If their aim had been a bit better, you''d be dead."


    "Don''t worry, K," Jack said with a shrug. "I protected my head and had my vest on. I wouldn''t risk it if I wasn''t sure."


    "We need to get you better armor after this job," Oliver said. He felt a pang of guilt for being less useful in the fight. "I need to install some prosthetics myself soon. Watching you two handle everything while I just tag along makes me feel like dead weight."


    "Your shooting is solid, Oliver," Karl interjected. "With some targeting enhancements, you''d do great with a sniper rifle. Support us from a distance."


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    "But my shooting isn''t as good as yours, K," Oliver replied.


    "That''s why I''m telling you to stick to a sniper rifle," Karl said with a smirk, hefting his Copperhead. "Leave this beast to me. Close-quarters combat is more my thing."


    "Oliver could be our medic," Jack chimed in. "Look how good he is at patching people up."


    Oliver shrugged. "My sister''s a prosthetic doctor. I''ve picked up a thing or two from her."


    His gaze shifted to a nearby surveillance camera, his expression hardening. "We need to move. This place is crawling with cameras. The rest of the Maelstrom Gang will be on us any second now."


    "Let''s hit another spot and take out a few more," Karl said. He scavenged grenades from the fallen enemies. "Once we''ve thinned their numbers, we''ll leave one alive to interrogate. If I knew how to hack, or if we had a hacker on the team, this mission would be so much easier. We could block the cameras, grab the employer''s box, and leave without all this noise."


    "You''re only thinking about making your life easier," Oliver replied, shaking his head.


    Despite his complaints, Oliver helped Jack move, smashing the nearest camera with his pistol.


    ---


    When the leader of the Maelstrom Gang, the Devil, arrived at the scene, all she found were the lifeless bodies of her seven comrades.


    "Worthless idiots," she spat, seething with rage. "They couldn''t even hold them off for a few minutes."


    "Boss, there''s blood over here!" one of her men called out, pointing to a faint trail.


    The Devil''s six prosthetic eyes glinted as she followed the blood trail. "This way," she ordered. Her men, weapons at the ready, followed her down the passage.


    Moments later, as they turned a corner¡ª


    BOOM!


    A grenade exploded, engulfing the leading gang member in a fireball. Those further back were hurled to the ground by the shockwave, their limbs mangled. One landed at the Devil''s feet, missing an arm.


    "Damn it! It''s a trap!" she growled.


    ---


    The explosion''s echo hadn''t faded when Karl, holding his Lexington pistol, turned back to assess the damage.


    Jack''s injuries had just been bandaged by Oliver, so there was no way the blood trail was from him. The blood had come from the piece of cloth Karl had soaked in the pool of blood near the Maelstrom Gang''s corpses. He had used it to create a false trail, wringing it out every few steps to lure the gang into the trap Oliver had set.


    Oliver''s experience with the Sixth Street Gang had taught him how to make simple but effective booby traps.


    "Oliver, stay with Jack. I''ll handle the rest," Karl instructed, moving toward the aftermath of the explosion.


    The Devil''s crew had dwindled. Seven had died in the first firefight, and the grenade had taken out most of the others. Now, only four gang members remained, including the Devil herself.


    Karl''s Lexington barked in the narrow hallway, taking down three of them in rapid succession. He only realized he needed a survivor after the last one fell.


    The Devil, however, wasn''t so easy to kill. A bullet aimed at her head struck metal and ricocheted off with a loud clang.


    "Just my luck," Karl muttered, realizing she was heavily augmented. His mind flashed to Jack''s earlier comment:


    "The Lexington can''t even penetrate the cheapest subdermal armor."


    The Devil turned her red cybernetic eyes on Karl, rage radiating off her as she leveled her shotgun.

 Chapter 16

    "Chubby!"


    The demon glared at the black-haired young man who appeared at the corner and, without hesitation, raised the Crusher kinetic shotgun in her hand.


    PONG!


    A deafening roar echoed as the bullets collided with the steel walls of the channel, producing a sharp, metallic buzz. The impact reverberated through the factory, making the entire structure tremble.


    Steel is one of the best conductors of sound, and the vibrations traveled far, reaching every corner of the building. Naturally, the noise alerted Karl, who had just realized his pistol was useless against the opponent at such close range. Swearing under his breath, he turned and bolted.


    "Damn it! That was a shotgun! I should''ve known when I saw it aimed at me."


    Karl cursed as he ran, the sound of heavy, deliberate footsteps growing louder behind him. Regret filled his mind; he hadn''t run fast enough.


    All he wanted was to finish the job cleanly. Instead, he ran into a Maelstrom Gang member armed with a shotgun and subdermal armor in a narrow passage. The thought of dying flashed through Karl''s mind.


    The earlier trap Oliver set had exhausted all their grenades. Karl now wished he had kept one, even just as a backup.


    The others weren''t far from the passage. After a few steps, Karl spotted Jack and Oliver¡ªone helping the other as they scrambled away. They must have heard the cacophony of metal-on-metal from the passage and guessed what had happened.


    "Run!"


    Karl shouted as he slid to a stop, stuffing the Lexington pistol into his gun bag. Picking up the Copperhead assault rifle he had left leaning against the wall earlier, he cursed himself for dismissing it before.


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    I take back all the things I said about you being too long or unwieldy. Now, do your thing.


    Although awkward in a corner, the assault rifle was perfect for firing in a straight line down a passage.


    Jack and Oliver didn''t need further convincing. With Karl shouting, they quickly hobbled away. Meanwhile, Karl opened fire, sending a barrage of bullets straight down the passage.


    The demon hesitated. While she could ignore Lexington''s bullets thanks to her subdermal armor, Copperhead rounds were another story. Forced to retreat behind cover, she fumed as she watched her prey escape: the blonde man who killed her brother, and the one suppressing her with gunfire.


    Her anger boiled.


    "I don''t believe you''ve got unlimited bullets, kid. Just wait¡ªyou and that bastard Oliver are both dead!"


    The demon reached down and grabbed a Jade Ring pistol from her fallen subordinate. Now armed with the Crusher in one hand and the pistol in the other, she waited for the Copperhead''s relentless fire to cease before charging out to tear Karl apart.


    ---


    "Oliver, why did she call you by name?" Jack asked, panting as they ran. "Does she know you?"


    "How the hell would I know?" Oliver groaned. "I only got to Watson District yesterday. I''ve never even seen her before."


    "You two, shut up and run faster!" Karl barked from behind, firing off more rounds. "I''m almost out of ammo!"


    Their chatter ceased, and the two pressed on, sensing the gravity of the situation. Karl didn''t panic easily, so if he was this agitated, their pursuer had to be exceptionally dangerous.


    I shouldn''t have started this fight here, Karl thought grimly, the lesson burning itself into his mind.


    The Copperhead''s fire abruptly stopped.


    ---


    The demon smirked, assuming Karl had finally run out of bullets. She leaned cautiously around the corner to check.


    CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!


    Gunfire erupted again, tearing through her exposed body. Three bullets ripped into her, creating gruesome holes.


    Karl''s heart sank. The Copperhead rounds shouldn''t have been able to cause such devastating injuries unless... that wasn''t her real body.


    Second lesson, Karl thought bitterly, discarding the empty Copperhead. Drawing his Lexington pistol, he fired a few more shots for cover as he retreated.


    ---


    The demon froze. She had underestimated him again, her synthetic body jolting as the rounds hit. Rage bubbled to the surface.


    "You tricked me... twice!" she growled.


    She stomped back behind the corner, furious. As the gunfire continued, she paused, something dawning on her.


    Wait a second. The sound...


    The realization hit like a sledgehammer. That unmistakable, buzzing report¡ªthe Lexington.


    "Damn it, Lexington?! You used that to fool me?!"


    Unable to control her fury, the demon charged out, weapons blazing. By the time she reached the end of the passage, all she could see was Karl''s back disappearing into the distance.


    "Bastard!"


    Her artificial eyes glowed blood-red in the dim passage, illuminating the walls like a hellish beacon.


    ---


    This wasn''t about strategy anymore. It was personal.


    Her augmented limbs whirred at maximum speed, her spine''s neural connections operating at full capacity. The machine driving her body pushed her forward faster than before, her mind focused solely on killing her targets.


    Kill!


    Fueled by rage and humiliation, the demon ignored the risks. Even if Copperhead fire hit her, she was determined to tear Karl apart. This mission wasn''t over until she left him in pieces.

 Chapter 17

    After Karl dashed around the corner at the end of the passage, he found himself in a sprawling warehouse filled with machinery and equipment. It resembled a canning workshop. In the distance, Oliver and Jack had already positioned themselves behind a steel manufacturing table for cover. Seeing Karl approach, they waved at him frantically.


    Oliver held his Nova in hand, while Jack gripped the Copperhead, borrowed from Oliver. Both had their weapons trained on the corner Karl had just rounded, ready to take down the Maelstrom ganger pursuing him. Despite their preparedness, neither Oliver nor Jack had any idea what Karl had just encountered.


    "That ganger has subdermal armor! My Lexington is useless against her!" Karl shouted as he closed the distance between them.


    Hearing this, Jack groaned. "I told you to upgrade your gun!"


    "I''m regretting it now!" Karl snapped back, frustration evident in his voice. He knew Jack was right¡ªhe should have swapped his Lexington for something with more stopping power. Accuracy alone couldn''t make up for raw firepower. Lesson learned.


    As Karl sprinted toward Oliver and Jack, the echo of heavy, rapid footsteps reverberated from the passage behind him. The Maelstrom ganger was catching up.


    "Damn it, how is she so fast? I had a two-second head start!"


    Realizing he wouldn''t make it to Oliver and Jack''s position in time, Karl scanned his surroundings for an alternative. His eyes landed on a massive trash can brimming with discarded steel and equipment.


    "Guess I have a thing for trash," he muttered before diving behind it.


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    The moment the Maelstrom ganger emerged from the passage, her glowing red prosthetic eyes locked onto Karl''s retreating figure. She charged forward without hesitation, but Oliver and Jack opened fire simultaneously.


    A hailstorm of bullets from the Nova and Copperhead hammered the ganger, but her subdermal armor absorbed the impacts with unnerving efficiency. Undeterred, she barreled toward Oliver, clearly intent on taking him down.


    "Cabr¨®n! She''s coming straight at us!" Jack swore. "That''s a Crusher she''s carrying. If she gets close enough, this cover won''t save us!"


    Oliver cursed under his breath, his frustration mounting. "How much did she pay for that armor? Is this the latest model or something?"


    Despite the relentless gunfire, the ganger''s pace never faltered. The kinetic rounds barely slowed her down, their impact force dissipated by her armor. In mere seconds, she was within lethal range of the shotgun.


    Tossing aside her empty pistol, the ganger raised the Crusher with both hands, aiming squarely at Oliver and Jack. A second later, she would obliterate their cover¡ªand them along with it.


    But Karl wasn''t about to let that happen.


    Hiding behind the trash can wasn''t an act of desperation; it was a calculated move. By disappearing from the ganger''s line of sight, Karl had bought himself the element of surprise. Climbing onto the trash can, he timed his jump perfectly, launching himself toward her.


    The Maelstrom ganger''s enhanced hearing picked up the sound of his descent, but with her attention locked on her targets, there was no time to react.


    Karl, weighing roughly 70 kilograms, slammed into her from above, sending both of them crashing to the ground. Even with her heavy cybernetics, the impact was enough to topple her.


    However, the fight was far from over.


    Before Karl could fully recover, the ganger''s armored fist connected with his face, the blow sending him reeling. Blood gushed from his shattered nose, and his vision blurred, but he didn''t let go of his resolve.


    "Get off me!" she snarled, landing another devastating punch.


    Karl''s head snapped back from the impact, and for a moment, his thoughts scattered. But despite the pain, he spotted an opening. Her right hand, the one gripping the Crusher, was pinned beneath his thigh.


    Oliver and Jack had abandoned their cover, rushing to help Karl. To avoid friendly fire, they had discarded their guns and were preparing to tackle the ganger directly. But Karl wasn''t about to leave things to chance.


    Through sheer determination, he raised his Lexington and fired point-blank at her exposed fingers.


    The ganger''s subdermal armor protected most of her body, but not her fingers. The bullets shattered the bones in her hand, forcing her to release the Crusher.


    Karl, battered and bloody, grinned through the pain. "Nice to meet you, lady."


    Her six prosthetic eyes whirred and focused on him, registering the loss of her weapon.


    "See you next time," Karl said, aiming the Crusher directly at her.


    The massive shotgun roared, ending the fight in an instant.

 Chapter 18

    Seeing the face full of prosthetic eyes explode in front of him, Karl shook his head, swayed, and leaned heavily to one side.


    "Hey, are you okay, K?" Oliver asked, rushing over faster than Jack to catch Karl before he fell.


    Looking at Karl''s bloodied, swollen face, Oliver grimaced. "Wow, your face looks like a blooming flower. A bloody one."


    "Almost died," Karl muttered, his voice strained. His face throbbed with pain, and his hands felt like they''d been dislocated. The Crusher''s recoil was no joke¡ªjust one shot had left his hands numb.


    "Come on, let''s get you up," Jack said, arriving to help. He took one look at Karl''s crooked nose and broken cheek and sighed. "Hold still. This is gonna hurt."


    Before Karl could protest, Jack grabbed his nose and snapped it back into place with a sharp crack.


    "ARGH!" Karl shouted, reeling from the pain. "Damn it, Jack! Couldn''t you have given me a second to prepare?"


    "No time for that," Jack replied with an annoyingly calm grin. "Better to get it over with quickly. How''s it feel now?"


    Karl groaned but nodded reluctantly. "Better. It''s just pain now¡ªno throbbing."


    His eyes flicked to the fallen Maelstrom ganger, her body a bloody mess on the ground. "Judging by her armor, she might''ve been one of the bosses around here. Regular grunts don''t get subdermal plating strong enough to tank Copperhead rounds. At least we can take a breather now."


    "No wonder she had a 100,000 euro bounty," Jack muttered. "I thought we were taking out some low-level corpo dog, but she turned out to be a nightmare. That subdermal armor''s gotta be worth at least 30,000 euros."


    "Doesn''t matter," Oliver said. "We''re almost done here. All that''s left is to find the box and destroy it. Then we''ll get the remaining 70,000 euros. After that, we can finally afford subdermal protectors for ourselves."


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    Karl patted Jack on the shoulder. "Yeah, but first, we''re going straight to Old Wei''s for treatment. My face needs fixing."


    "Fine by me," Jack agreed, picking up scattered guns and equipment along the way. "Might as well make some extra cash selling these."


    Oliver retrieved the Crusher from the ground and inspected it. "We should also check the bodies of the other Maelstrom gangers. If their private accounts aren''t too damaged, we could siphon some cash from them."


    "That''s a big if," Karl said, shrugging. "I shot most of them in the head."


    He smirked slightly, despite the pain. "By the way, Oliver, why was that woman so dead-set on killing you? Romantic debt, maybe?"


    "Beats me," Oliver muttered, shrugging. "She''s dead now, so it doesn''t matter. If she were alive, maybe we could''ve found a hacker to dig through her memories."


    As they bantered, the trio worked quickly. Jack, limping from an earlier injury, scavenged weapons, while Karl and Oliver searched for a computer to locate the box.


    Eventually, Karl found a computer on the factory''s first floor. Though it didn''t contain any direct mission details, it revealed something interesting: records of the Maelstrom gang''s recent activities.


    "They hit Kabuki yesterday," Karl muttered, recalling a news report he''d overheard. The Maelstrom gang had also robbed Oliver''s Sixth Street contacts of weapon shipments and intercepted the corporate box they were now after. The records painted a clear picture.


    "They''re gearing up for something big," Karl thought. "But that''s none of my business."


    He disconnected from the terminal and shot it with his Lexington, watching as the bullets shredded the screen.


    "Still not enough stopping power," he muttered. "I really need a better gun."


    When Karl rejoined Oliver and Jack, the box was already waiting for him. It matched the description perfectly: a sleek black container adorned with a distinctive red flower pattern.


    Karl dialed their employer, who answered almost instantly.


    "How''s the mission?" the voice asked.


    "We''ve got the box. Do you need verification?" Karl replied.


    "Describe it."


    Karl gave a detailed description of the box''s design and markings.


    "That''s the one," the employer confirmed. "Destroy it."


    Karl nodded to Oliver, who connected the room''s surveillance to his access point and began recording. Jack secured several grenades to the box, set it in a corner, and pulled the pins.


    The trio retreated as the grenades exploded, reducing the box to ashes. For a brief moment before the detonation, Karl thought he saw data chips inside the container, but the blast obliterated everything.


    Oliver disconnected the surveillance feed and sent the video to Karl, who forwarded it to their employer.


    Seconds later, a message popped up on Karl''s phone.


    "You''ve done well. Your discretion is appreciated. Payment sent."


    Karl''s account dinged, showing a deposit of 70,000 euros.


    "Well?" Oliver asked, his curiosity piqued.


    "It''s in the account," Karl confirmed. He transferred 23,300 euros each to Oliver and Jack, keeping the remaining 100 euros for himself.


    "There''s still 100 euros left. Let''s treat ourselves to dinner," Karl suggested.


    "I know a good place," Jack said. "But 100 euros might not cut it. I can chip in more."


    "Don''t bother. This one''s on me," Karl said with a grin.


    With that, the mission was complete. Their reward: 100,000 euros and a much-needed break from the chaos of Night City.

 Chapter 19

    "Did you land a big job this time?"


    In victor prosthetic clinic, victor asked casually while treating Jack''s wounds.


    "That''s right. I nearly lost my life out there on the company''s mission," Jack replied. "We sold the guns and other stuff. Each of us got about 40,000 euros after everything was split up. The Maelstrom Gang couldn''t sell the Crusher shotgun at a decent price, so we decided to keep it."


    "You''re lucky you made it back alive," victor said, pulling out a bucket of suturing tools. He pressed the device onto Jack''s hand, and with a click, the wound was sealed. After finishing the final touches, victor patted Jack''s intact arm, stepped back, and sat down in his chair. "All done. Take some pneumatic syringes with you on your way out. Next time you find yourself in trouble like this, injecting yourself first will make things a lot easier."


    "How much for the treatment and the syringes?" Jack asked.


    "Consider it a celebration for completing a big job¡ªthis one''s on the house," victor said with a casual wave. He then turned his attention to the boxing match streaming on his computer, signaling that the conversation was over.


    "Thanks, victor. I''ll bring you some food and drinks later. We can celebrate properly then," Jack said, rolling his shoulder to test his mobility. Finding he could move freely, he turned to Karl and Oliver, who were waiting nearby. "Alright, time to celebrate the success of this mission."


    "Got any restaurant recommendations?" Oliver asked. "I''m not too familiar with Watson District."


    "There''s a solid Japanese place over in Kabuki," Jack replied, glancing at Karl. "What do you think?"


    "Japanese food?" Karl hesitated before nodding. "Sure, why not. Haven''t had any in a while. But Kabuki? Isn''t that area mostly just entertainment and shady businesses? Are there really good restaurants there?"


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    "People have to eat, even if they''re tired from partying," Jack said confidently. "Trust me, the food there is great¡ªthough I can''t say it''s exactly authentic Japanese cuisine."


    With Jack''s firm recommendation, the three piled into Oliver''s car and headed toward Kabuki. Along the way, they chatted about how they planned to spend their hard-earned 40,000 .


    Forty thousand euros was more than most people in Night City could dream of. Even among mercenaries, few managed to save that much. Most barely scraped by, spending their commissions as quickly as they earned them. It wasn''t uncommon for mercs to be worse off than some gang members, struggling to afford even basic equipment upgrades.


    "I''m putting aside ten grand for a car or motorcycle," Jack said. "The other thirty will go toward some subdermal armor. One of those Maelstrom psychos had armor that could shrug off a Copperhead. Once I get some proper upgrades, I''ll be unstoppable."


    Jack didn''t consider scavenging armor from the dead, even though it would have been cheaper. As a proud Mexican, he respected the dead too much to defile their bodies, unlike scavenger gangs. Plus, second-hand cyberware rarely fit properly without extensive adjustments, and poorly calibrated implants could lead to cyberpsychosis¡ªa risk Jack wasn''t willing to take.


    Cyberpsychosis was a condition caused by the disconnect between a human''s mind and their augmented body. It often resulted in madness and violence, making cyberpsychotics a nightmare for even the NCPD to handle. In such cases, specialized teams were called in to neutralize the threat. Jack wasn''t about to risk becoming one of those statistics.


    Curious about Jack''s plans, Oliver asked, "What kind of car are you thinking about for ten grand? That''s only enough for a basic second-hand model."


    "As long as it has four seats, I''m good," Jack replied, shifting uncomfortably in the cramped passenger seat. "At least it''ll have more room than this thing."


    "This thing," Oliver retorted, "is a sports car worth 29,000 Euros. It''s meant for picking up girls, not cramming in two grown men."


    "You''re using this trash to pick up girls?" Jack laughed.


    "Santo Domingo girls appreciate down-to-earth guys," Oliver shot back.


    "Sure, if by ''down-to-earth'' you mean rough from all the sandstorms," Jack teased. "Girls from Heywood are the real deal¡ªfiery, passionate, and loyal."


    "Please. Heywood girls are so fast that they''re in and out of your car before you''ve even started it."


    "Alright, you two, knock it off," Karl interrupted, squeezed uncomfortably between them in the back seat. "Let''s stick to the topic. Oliver, how are you planning to spend your share?"


    "First thing, I''m renting an apartment," Oliver said. "Sleeping in my car or in hotels isn''t cutting it anymore. After that, I''ll upgrade my implants. You can''t survive in this business without proper augments. Maybe I''ll specialize¡ªbecome a team doctor or a sniper."


    "Got a place in mind?" Jack asked.


    "Yeah, thinking about a super-skyscraper in Little China. The rent''s reasonable, and there are cheap eats nearby. Convenient."


    "I know that place," Oliver said, glancing at Karl. "Karl, what about you? Got a plan?"


    "I might check out the same building," Karl replied. "It''s close, so it makes sense. As for the rest of the money, I''m not sure yet. I''ll probably invest in a new pistol. My Lexington isn''t cutting it anymore."


    As they continued their banter, the car''s navigation system guided them through the neon-lit streets to their destination.


    It was time to celebrate.

 Chapter 20

    What should the signboard of a Japanese food restaurant say?


    Sashimi, sushi, tempura?


    In 2075, while these traditional Japanese dishes could still be synthesized from bizarre materials, their appearance and taste had deviated so much from the original that they could no longer be considered signature items. On most menus in Night City''s Japanese restaurants, one dish reigned supreme as the most popular option:


    Yakitori.


    Made from synthetic meat, the "chicken skewers" bore little resemblance to their pre-pandemic predecessors. When they arrived at the table, Jack eagerly ordered twenty skewers, which looked more like glazed meatballs than traditional chicken. He enthusiastically encouraged Oliver and Karl to try them.


    While Karl hesitated, trying to figure out whether the skewers were safe to eat, Oliver had already grabbed one in each hand, devouring them with gusto. He seemed to be enjoying himself, much to Karl''s confusion.


    Finally, Karl convinced himself that even if the skewers were made from insects, he''d have to adapt sooner or later. Picking one up, he bit into a meatball and chewed slowly.


    "Ugh¡­"


    He immediately spat it out.


    It wasn''t about wasting food¡ªKarl''s body outright rejected the skewer. His lips and teeth tingled with discomfort, his stomach churned, and every instinct screamed that this was inedible.


    If Karl had to describe it, he would call it "terrible" with two words, "unbearably terrible" with three, and "an absolute disaster" with four. The taste reminded him of the cheap, sawdust-laden sausages he''d been forced to eat as a child¡ªfull of starchy fillers that even stray dogs might avoid. The overpowering seasoning only made it worse, combining the tang of soy sauce with a bizarrely acidic aftertaste.


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    Jack and Oliver stopped mid-bite, alarmed by Karl''s reaction.


    "Is it poisonous?" Oliver asked nervously, holding his half-eaten skewer.


    Karl shook his head, trying to wipe the taste from his mouth. "No, it''s just awful."


    "Awful?"


    Jack and Oliver stared at Karl''s uneaten skewer. Something didn''t add up. The skewers looked identical. Why would Karl think they tasted bad when both Jack and Oliver had been enjoying them?


    To test the theory, Jack picked up Karl''s rejected skewer and took a bite. His face instantly twisted into confusion.


    "This is¡­ fine? Isn''t it fine?"


    Oliver, not fully convinced, took the skewer from Jack and bit into it. After a few moments of chewing, his expression mirrored Jack''s.


    "It''s not bad. What are you talking about?"


    Karl sighed, realizing the issue wasn''t the food but his standards. Jack and Oliver had grown used to the highly-processed, flavor-masked synthetic food of Night City. But for Karl, who had grown up eating real meat, the synthetic approximation was revolting.


    "Compared to real chicken skewers, these taste like garbage," Karl said bluntly.


    "Real chicken?" Oliver raised an eyebrow. "You do know poultry meat has been illegal in Night City ever since the Bird Flu pandemic, right? If you want to taste real chicken, you''ll have to hit the black market. It costs a fortune."


    Jack''s jaw dropped. "Wait, Karl¡ªyou''ve actually had real chicken? Like, from an actual bird?"


    "Of course I have," Karl said. "That''s why I can tell you these synthetic skewers are awful. I''m done with this¡ªget me something else."


    Now convinced that Karl had lived an entirely different lifestyle before, Oliver leaned back in his chair. "You must''ve been some kind of corporate kid. Eating real meat in this city is a luxury most people can''t even imagine."


    "Does this look like a corporate lifestyle to you?" Karl gestured to himself, amused. "I''m carrying a second-hand Lexington pistol. Hardly screams ''wealthy heir.''"


    Still, Karl waved down the waitress and ordered something else. But it soon became clear that nothing would satisfy him. Each new dish he tried¡ªfried pork cutlets, sushi, sashimi, Japanese curry¡ªended with the same verdict: inedible. Jack and Oliver ended up eating the leftovers, piling their plates high with food Karl rejected.


    "Stop, Karl!" Oliver finally said, his stomach aching from the sheer volume of food. "You''ve almost ordered the entire menu. Can''t you find one thing you like?"


    Karl sighed, looking genuinely exasperated. "I can''t help it. None of this is edible. I swear, if it weren''t for the cold noodles I had a couple of days ago, I''d have starved."


    "I''m seriously starting to wonder where you grew up," Jack said, rubbing his round belly. "You''ve had real chicken, pork, beef, and fish. Were you living on some utopian farm or something?"


    "Something like that," Karl replied vaguely, eyeing the tea rice that had just been placed on the table.


    Thankfully, the tea rice didn''t disappoint. Karl finally found something he could eat, though it was vegetarian and devoid of any synthetic meat.


    As he chewed, Karl felt a sense of resignation. If this was what Night City''s food culture had become, he might have no choice but to embrace a fully vegetarian diet.

 Chapter 21

    Brain dance wreath


    "BDs? What is that?"


    After dinner, as Karl, Oliver, and Jack explored the apartment, Karl couldn''t help but be curious about the word they kept mentioning.


    "Is it something like " Karl asked, mispronouncing a relic term from his past.


    "What are you even talking about? Treasure?" Oliver chuckled. "Brain dance wreath is brain dance wreath."


    Seeing Karl''s confusion, Oliver patiently explained. Under his explanation, Karl got a general idea of what brain dance wreath referred to.


    Simply put, brain dance wreath was like an advanced VR experience. Using a special device, it transcribed the personal experiences of the recorder into a digital format. When viewed, the device transmitted the recorder''s sensations directly to the viewer''s nervous system. This made it possible for the viewer to feel everything the recorder experienced¡ªwhether it was pain or pleasure¡ªfully and vividly, as if they were living through it themselves.


    brain dance wreath had become the most popular form of entertainment in this era. In 2075, brain dance wreath monitors were as ubiquitous in households as smartphones were in the past.


    "That sounds interesting. I''d like to try it," Karl said.


    "Alright. Let''s stop by a store and grab a head-mounted device display for you to try when we get back," Jack offered.


    Jack and Oliver, now used to Karl''s curiosity about modern technology, changed direction and headed straight for a brain dance wreath store.


    The Store


    The price of a personal head-mounted Mewtwo display wasn''t prohibitive. A brand-new unit cost only 1,000 euros, and it came preloaded with several of the world''s most popular brain dance wreath recordings.


    "Make My Heart Beat, Soul of Light, Gate of the Sword Coast¡­ Why are they all games?" Oliver muttered as he browsed the selection of bundled recordings.


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    "I think they throw in games because they don''t sell well," Jack remarked. "Honestly, walking through Night City might be more exciting than these."


    "I think The Old Man and the Sea looks good," Jack added, pointing to a specific brain dance wreath recording on the shelf.


    "Hemingway''s The Old Man and the Sea?" Karl asked, intrigued.


    Jack''s face lit up. "You''ve read Hemingway?"


    "Of course. It''s a masterpiece."


    "Masterpiece?" Oliver frowned, looking utterly lost. He was the only one among them unfamiliar with the story. "What''s it about?"


    "To put it simply, it''s about an old man fishing," Karl replied.


    "Fishing?" Oliver raised an eyebrow. "The sea near Night City is so polluted now that fishing is practically a myth. I don''t think I''d feel any connection to it."


    "The theme is more profound than just fishing," Karl countered. He picked up the The Old Man and the Sea BD, which cost fifty euros. He was curious about how such a literary classic would translate into a Mewtwo experience.


    The Black Shelf


    Karl''s attention shifted to a corner of the store where a shelf painted with ominous black-red streaks caught his eye.


    "What are those?" he asked.


    "Those are the more intense ones," Oliver explained. "You know, blood and¡­ other adult stuff."


    "How intense?" Karl asked, inspecting the shelf.


    Oliver shrugged. "Since these are sold openly, they''re probably not Black Market BD. Expect something like a bullet tearing through someone''s chest."


    Karl picked up one titled My Years in the Trauma Team. The description promised an intense experience of a Trauma Team operative''s missions¡ªgunfights, emergency rescues, and gang encounters.


    Interesting.


    Though this genre was more expensive, priced at seventy euros each, it was well within Karl''s budget. With over 40,000 euros on hand, Karl decided to splurge. He bought all three episodes of My Years in the Trauma Team for a discounted price of 200 euros.


    In addition, Karl picked up recordings like A Mercenary''s Battle Record, The Fighting Champion''s Journey, and The End of the Samurai. These cost 180 euros in total.


    "Karl, are you really buying so much at once?" Oliver exclaimed, stunned as Karl casually spent over 1,400 euros.


    "Didn''t you say BD lets you feel everything? I have something I want to verify," Karl said cryptically.


    Karl''s curiosity wasn''t just about experiencing this new form of entertainment. He wanted to test if these recordings could help him absorb skills¡ªmedical expertise, firearms handling, boxing, and swordsmanship. If the sensations could be internalized, this could be a valuable training tool.


    Jack, though not fully understanding Karl''s intent, shrugged and picked out a few recordings for himself. Meanwhile, Oliver hesitated but eventually caved, buying one of the racier BD recordings he''d been eyeing for a while.


    Robbery


    The mood in the store shifted suddenly when the door burst open, and three masked men armed with Lexington pistols stormed in.


    "Don''t move! This is a robbery!"


    Karl raised his hands, keeping calm. While he was confident he could take out the robbers if needed, he decided to avoid unnecessary danger. Jack and Oliver, also accustomed to Night City''s chaos, exchanged a look and raised their hands as well.


    The robbers moved quickly, focusing on the cash register. The shopkeeper, trembling, handed over 700 euros. Fortunately for him, the robbers ignored the pricier head-mounted BD displays, likely because these devices required professional hacking to bypass their serial locks.


    The robbery lasted less than two minutes. After grabbing cash and a few BD films, the robbers bolted out the door.


    "Classic Night City," Karl muttered.


    The shopkeeper let out a sigh of relief, grateful the damage hadn''t been worse. But before he could recover, a series of gunshots rang out from outside. Moments later, the store door was smashed open again, and one of the robbers'' lifeless bodies tumbled inside, blood pooling around it.


    "It seems the fun isn''t over yet," Karl remarked, pulling out his own Lexington in sync with Jack and Oliver.


    This was Night City, after all.i

 Chapter 22

    Let''s Start, 2075


    "Boss, hold onto those things for now. We''ll come back to get them later."


    Karl stepped toward the door. He didn''t know exactly what was happening outside, but Oliver''s car was parked nearby. If it was damaged, they might have to carry their newly purchased gear back on foot¡ªa thought Karl didn''t relish.


    Looking out through the shattered door, Karl saw the street in chaos. A hulking man with yellow hair, sunglasses, and a crew cut was wielding a Militech MK.31 Heavy Machine Gun, unloading a relentless barrage of bullets at a truck stalled on the road.


    Nearby, two familiar hooded bodies lay sprawled across the street, euros scattered around them. Bullet holes riddled their torsos. The robbers who had recently stormed the Mewtwo store had clearly met a brutal, random fate.


    "What the hell is going on?"


    Jack joined Karl at the door, only to recoil when he caught sight of the chaos. "Heavy machine guns? What is this mess?"


    "My car!" Oliver shouted, his face twisted in anguish. He pointed at the visible dent in his car door, likely the result of stray gunfire. "That was my sister''s birthday gift to me!"


    "And? Are you planning to kill both sides over a dent?" Karl asked. His left hand grazed the grenade he''d taken off the Maelstrom gang a while ago.


    "I''m not going that far!" Oliver retorted. "I''m pissed, sure, but they''re armed to the teeth. Let''s just get out of here."


    Karl scoffed. Too radical? Compared to the mercs he had worked with in the past¡ªwho often took out entire families for petty offenses¡ªKarl felt downright conservative.


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    Outside, the gunfight escalated. The truck crew retaliated, firing at the yellow-haired man. However, they were unaware of a flanking group that was creeping up behind their vehicle.


    The first of these attackers, a man with a black mohawk, fired an Arasaka Copperhead with mechanical precision. At his side, a petite girl with pale skin, green pigtails, and a pink M-76E Omaha pistol joined in, unleashing a hail of bullets. Within seconds, the truck''s defenders collapsed in a heap, their weapons silenced.


    "All clear!" the girl shouted toward the yellow-haired man.


    "Rebecca," the man called back, nodding in acknowledgment. He then turned to the mohawk-wearing shooter. "Pilar, grab what we need, and let''s move!"


    "Got it," Pilar replied as he rushed to the back of the truck.


    Jack, watching from the doorway, muttered, "Looks like mercenaries, just like us."


    "Then there''s nothing more to see," Karl said, turning away and gathering his things. "Oliver, are we fixing your car or heading to the apartment?"


    "It''s fine. I''ll deal with the dent later. Let''s get to the apartment first," Oliver replied, shaking off his earlier frustration.


    As they packed up, the BD store owner dashed outside, frantically retrieving the scattered euros from the dead robbers. He cursed under his breath as he counted his recovered losses.


    Once everything was loaded into Oliver''s car, the group set off for the towering super-skyscraper. As they passed the scene of the shootout, Mann, the yellow-haired man, cast a glance in their direction. His interest, however, was fleeting, and he quickly returned to directing his team.


    Karl, seated in the passenger seat, observed Mann as they drove by. That guy''s subdermal armor is insane. Taking all that fire without flinching... impressive.


    The thought lingered briefly before fading. For Karl, this was just another day in Night City.


    The rest of the drive to the skyscraper was uneventful. Upon arrival, they contacted the apartment manager to finalize their lease.


    The skyscraper apartments were company-owned, and the manager, while professional, operated with the strictness of an old-school landlord. After reviewing a laundry list of rules and fees, Karl and Oliver both secured units¡ªKarl on the fourth floor and Oliver on the fifth¡ªfor €1,000 per month. Oliver had hoped to be Karl''s neighbor, but only one unit on the fourth floor was available.


    The apartments came fully furnished, but the catch was clear: every amenity came with a price.


    "Private phone: €10 activation fee, then €0.75 per minute," Karl read from the manual. "TV: €50 deposit and €1 per hour of use. They even have vending machines in the rooms. Talk about milking us dry."


    Karl walked over to the vending machine and spent €15 on three small colas. He tossed one to Jack and another to Oliver before cracking open his own can. He wasn''t a fan of the brand''s overly sweet flavor, but it was the only option available.


    "What do you think of the place, Karl?" Jack asked, sprawled across the couch like a contented cat.


    "It''s livable."


    "Just livable?" Oliver frowned. "I haven''t lived in a better place since going independent at eighteen."


    "How old are you now?"


    "Twenty-four. Didn''t I tell you that when we first met?"


    "I forgot."


    Six years on your own, and this is your best? Oliver thought. What a rough life.


    Karl, however, felt no pride in his current accommodations. For him, this was just a step forward in his new life in 2075.


    As he watched his companions lounge around, Karl took another sip of his cola.


    His journey in this cyberpunk world was only beginning.


    "Gulp."


    "So sweet."

 Chapter 23

    "So boring."


    Karl sat at the bar in the Wild Coyote, grumbling to Mrs. Wells, Jack''s mother. "No commissions coming through, Mrs. Wells. If this keeps up, we''ll starve."


    "There''s no need to rush, Karl," Mrs. Wells replied with a kind smile, placing a plate of French fries in front of him. "Isn''t it nice to have some downtime? Try these¡ªmy latest recipe."


    "Oh, is this the salt-and-pepper fries I suggested?"


    At the mention of food, Karl perked up, his earlier frustration forgotten. Watching this transformation, Oliver and Jack, seated further down the bar, exchanged exasperated glances.


    Their team had been operating for a week now, completing five missions. In that time, Oliver and Jack had gained a clear understanding of Karl''s personality. If they had to describe him in a single word, it would be something Karl had taught them in Mandarin: restless.


    Karl wasn''t the type to stir up unnecessary trouble, but he couldn''t stand being idle. Unlike most mercenaries, who would take days or weeks off between jobs, Karl was constantly itching to accept the next mission¡ªeven before finishing the current one. He operated like a machine, relentless in his pursuit of work.


    This trait had its advantages. Thanks to Karl''s relentless drive, Oliver and Jack had improved their skills and padded their wallets considerably. Still, they were only human and needed rest, which is why they had dragged Karl to the bar to unwind.


    "Quit sulking and have a drink," Oliver said, raising his glass toward Jack.


    "Knowing Karl, he''ll start another mission as soon as our reputation is high enough to attract bigger clients," Jack replied with a sigh. "But do you really think all these small jobs will make us famous enough to attract fixer?"


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    "You want a big job, don''t you? Like our first one?"


    "Of course. Imagine pulling in €30,000 or €40,000 in one go. That''d make the risk worthwhile."


    Jack''s casual mention of death earned him a sharp glare from Mrs. Wells.


    "Jack!" she scolded.


    "Sorry, Mom," Jack mumbled, embarrassed. He had grown accustomed to making such remarks around Karl and Oliver, forgetting that his mother wouldn''t appreciate them.


    "It''s best not to talk like that, Jack," Oliver added.


    At that moment, Oliver''s phone buzzed. It was his sister, letting him know she''d finally returned to Night City after repeated delays. She wanted to meet up.


    "I''ve got to go," Oliver said, standing and downing the rest of his drink. "See you later, Karl, Jack, Mrs. Wells."


    He left quickly, eager to catch up with his sister. Since being kicked out of the Sixth Street Gang, Oliver couldn''t return to Santo Domingo without risking trouble. But his sister had no such restrictions, and he planned to treat her to dinner in the Watson District.


    Not long after Oliver left, Jack''s phone buzzed. His girlfriend, Misty¡ªwho also happened to be his landlord¡ªwanted to go shopping. Jack sent Karl a quick message explaining his departure before giving his mother a vague excuse and slipping out. Jack''s mother preferred his ex-girlfriend, so he avoided mentioning Misty whenever possible.


    Within minutes, Karl was the only one left of the trio, still munching on fries at the bar.


    What could he do?


    One teammate had gone to see family, and the other was on a date. Karl had no such distractions. With a resigned sigh, he finished his fries and decided to head home to study hacking or watch brain dance wreath tutorials. At least those activities were productive.


    "Thanks for the food, Mrs. Wells," Karl said as he left the bar.


    Walking the streets of Heywood, Karl realized a glaring problem¡ªOliver, their driver, was gone. How was he supposed to get back to Watson District?


    Subway? he wondered. I''ve never taken it before.


    He shook his head. Better call a taxi.


    Just as he was about to hail one, his phone rang. The caller ID made him pause. It was a familiar client¡ªthe same corporate type who had insisted his number would only be used once.


    "Hello?" Karl answered.


    "I have a mission," the client said curtly. "I need someone to act as a bodyguard during negotiations. €50,000 for the job. Meet me at the Motel in Watson District in one hour."


    Before Karl could respond, the client hung up.


    "Rude," Karl muttered. But €50,000 was €50,000. He wasn''t about to let arrogance stop him from taking the job.


    He decided not to bother Oliver or Jack with the details. Both were busy with personal matters, and Karl didn''t want to interrupt their rare moments of peace. Besides, knowing their protective natures, they might abandon their plans to back him up.


    It''s fine. I''ve got this, Karl thought.


    He flexed his recently modified cybernetic arm. Yesterday''s upgrade had cost him most of his earnings, but it was worth it. Along with the JKE-X2 Kenshin, a tech pistol from Arasaka, he felt more than ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.


    The Kenshin used electromagnetic energy to fire high-speed, all-metal rounds capable of piercing walls and subdermal armor alike. It was an expensive but reliable investment¡ªone Karl was eager to test alongside his new arm modifications.


    With a confident grin, Karl hailed a taxi and headed to the Motel.


    Today''s rest day had turned into a mission day after all.

 Chapter 24

    Why Is It the Maelstrom Gang Again?


    "You''re here."


    "I am."


    Karl suppressed the urge to retort with something dramatic like, "You shouldn''t have come," but he doubted his employer¡ªthe corporate boss¡ªwould appreciate that kind of banter. Instead, he kept it professional after the simple greeting.


    This was Karl''s second encounter with his employer. Their first meeting had been rushed, and he remembered her mostly as commanding and confident. Now, with more time to observe, he took a closer look.


    She appeared to be in her early twenties, with striking features¡ªhigh cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and sharp eyebrows. Her short black hair framed her Latin complexion, a mix of Spanish or Italian heritage. Karl wasn''t great at distinguishing ethnicities, but her face had a classic Southern European sharpness.


    In Night City, such diversity wasn''t unusual. The city was a melting pot of immigrants from every corner of the world. It wasn''t strange to see someone with a strong Latin profile, just as it wouldn''t be surprising to run into someone claiming to be a descendant of ancient Indian warriors¡ªMohawk hairstyles and all.


    Tonight, the employer wasn''t dressed to stand out. She wore plain black clothes, skipped the makeup, and had ditched the formal suit. She blended in well with the street crowd, though her natural beauty caught occasional glances. Still, most people hesitated to approach when they noticed her cold, indifferent demeanor.


    In contrast, Karl''s mercenary attire made him stand out. The occasional passersby gave him curious looks, but he ignored them. The two stood in silence for a while before the employer broke it, perhaps to ease her own tension or fill the awkwardness.


    "My name is Blanca," she said. "Call me that during this mission."


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    Blanca. A simple, common Spanish name meaning "white" or "pure." Karl vaguely recalled a queen of France from the 13th century with the same name. He glanced at Blanca, dressed entirely in black, and thought the name was ironic.


    "For this mission," she continued, "your only job is to protect me. Look less, talk less, and forget anything you might overhear. Can you do that?"


    Karl nodded silently. He wasn''t one to talk much anyway¡ªunlike his teammate Oliver.


    Blanca shifted her weight from one foot to the other, as if trying to manage her nerves. "Here''s the plan. The group we''re meeting has about ten people. If negotiations fail, I''ll signal by brushing my hair. Once you see that, you''re to shoot the person I''m talking to and cover me as we escape. Got it?"


    "Understood."


    Karl mentally filed away the details: ten potential enemies, a signal involving her hair, and a €50,000 payout. Straightforward enough.


    He didn''t bother asking why a corporate employee like Blanca was negotiating alone or why she had to hire a mercenary for protection. Whether it was because she couldn''t trust anyone in her company or this was a personal matter, it didn''t concern him.


    All Karl cared about were the enemy count, whether they could be killed, and the reward amount. The rest was irrelevant.


    As Blanca opened her mouth to add something, a black Sky Hera EC-D I360 pulled up in front of them.


    ---


    The Sky Hera EC-D I360 was an older model¡ªaffordable, durable, and easy to repair. First released in 2023, its over-engineering nearly bankrupted its manufacturer, Sky Hera. The company learned a harsh lesson about making vehicles too reliable. Despite its age, the EC-D I360 remained popular in Night City, with many owners modifying it to keep it street-worthy.


    To Karl, it was a welcome sight. At least it beat squeezing into Oliver''s smaller car, where he was often crammed alongside Jack''s muscular frame.


    The car door opened, its empty backseat facing them, as if inviting them inside. Blanca took a deep breath, clearly recognizing the vehicle.


    "This must be our ride," Karl muttered.


    Blanca walked toward the car, and Karl followed. Once inside, Karl settled into the seat and glanced toward the driver. He immediately noticed something distinctive¡ªeight glowing red cybernetic eyes.


    The driver turned to face them, his heavily modified face now unrecognizable as human.


    Karl sighed internally. Maelstrom Gang. Again.


    The gang''s obsession with extreme body modifications made them grotesquely iconic. Karl had encountered them plenty of times before, and he was getting tired of it.


    Why do I always end up dealing with these psychos? Can''t I get a new type of enemy for once?


    The driver confirmed their identities before starting the car, taking them toward the northern industrial area of the Watson District¡ªthe Maelstrom Gang''s stronghold.


    Karl leaned back, thinking. If they were heading to the gang''s turf, it meant the group likely had leverage over Blanca. Whatever this negotiation was about, the Maelstrom Gang probably held something valuable or incriminating against her.


    But that wasn''t Karl''s problem. His job was simple: keep Blanca alive and earn his €50,000.


    No one asked for his opinion, and he wasn''t about to offer it.

 Chapter 25

    ..You Can Kill Him at Any Time..


    After the Maelstrom gang vehicle carrying Karl and his employer, Blanca, entered the industrial zone in the northern part of Watson District, it didn''t head into a factory as Karl had expected. Instead, it stopped in front of an old apartment building.


    In the past, when the Watson District was still planned to become a major city center, wealthy developers had built apartments on the outskirts of the industrial zone, believing it would separate them from the working-class population. However, as Watson fell into decline, the wealthy gradually abandoned the area to avoid frequent "protection fees" extorted by the Maelstrom gang.


    Now, these once-luxurious apartments housed factory workers. The idea of "living like the rich" had become a cruel irony, yet Karl appreciated this location compared to the cold, steel factories that held some unpleasant memories for him. The sight of the apartments, basking in the hazy sunlight of Night City, made him feel somewhat better.


    Of course, the sunlight wasn''t bright; the city''s pollution ensured a constant haze.


    As the vehicle pulled up, Karl immediately noticed two Maelstrom gang members standing outside the building. They held Saratoga submachine guns, their polished exteriors indicating careful maintenance.


    ---


    [Militech M221 Saratoga]: Initially designed for corporate security, the Saratoga is now a favorite among gang members for its reliability, affordability, and ease of modification. If you spot one of these smaller, sleeker submachine guns on the street, it''s best to steer clear. Saratoga isn''t a cheap, low-power Lexington; it''s a weapon for serious combat.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ---


    Karl''s eyes lingered briefly on the weapons. He appreciated the Saratoga''s design but preferred his first gun, the Lexington, which he had heavily modified and kept at home. Still, the sight of the Saratoga instinctively made him brush his fingers against the Kenshin pistol holstered at his waist.


    He doubted the Maelstrom gang would start shooting indiscriminately¡ªthey weren''t reckless enough to kill their own people along with potential business partners¡ªbut as Blanca''s bodyguard, he had to stay alert.


    The two Maelstrom members shifted aside and lowered their weapons in a show of "welcome."


    "It''s time to get out," Blanca said, opening the door.


    Karl glanced at the silent driver in the front seat, then stepped out of the car. As he did, he heard a faint click.


    It was the sound of a safety switch being turned on.


    Looks like someone''s prepared for things to go south, Karl thought, keeping his expression neutral. He calmly walked to Blanca''s side, accompanying her as they entered the four-story apartment building under the watchful eyes of the Maelstrom gatekeepers.


    Once inside, one of the gatekeepers approached the driver holding the Saratoga.


    "Did they do anything unusual during the ride?"


    "No," the driver replied. "The corpo looked tense, though. My artificial eye scan picked up a spike in her adrenaline levels, but it seemed to be simple nervousness about the negotiations. Nothing suspicious."


    "And the bodyguard? That''s the guy who took out one of our bases before, right?"


    The driver''s red-glowing artificial eyes flickered as he hesitated. "That guy¡­ he didn''t show any nerves the entire ride, even when we drove him straight into our territory. Compared to the usual mercs who nearly piss themselves as soon as they get into the car, he was¡­ calm. Too calm."


    "Too calm? What do you mean?"


    The driver looked uneasy. "I don''t think he cared where he was going because he could kill me at any moment if he wanted to. The entire ride, I felt like my life was in his hands. I didn''t even dare run a red light. Hell, I didn''t even breathe too loudly because I was afraid I''d piss him off. I didn''t take my gun off safety until after he got out of the car."


    The gatekeeper frowned, skeptical. "You''re exaggerating."


    "No, I''m not," the driver insisted, his voice shaking slightly. "If anything, I''m understating it. That guy doesn''t even have subdermal armor¡ªjust a standard bulletproof vest. But I''m telling you, if he wanted to, he could kill all of us in that building without breaking a sweat."


    The gatekeeper glanced toward the apartment building where Karl had disappeared. "There are ten of us in there. Ten guns pointed at him. He couldn''t kill us all."


    But even as he said it, doubt crept into his voice.


    Because when Karl had walked past him earlier and made brief eye contact, he had felt it too¡ªthat strange, instinctive fear.

 Chapter 26

    Corporate Intrigue


    The negotiation took place on the fourth floor. Perhaps corpos had an inexplicable obsession with being "on top." Even for something as mundane as negotiations, the top floor was the preferred location.


    The room was guarded by ten Maelstrom gang members, clearly brought in as security. Among them was another corpo¡ªa young man in his late twenties, wearing a tailored suit and polished boots. Unlike Blanca, who had dressed plainly and tried her best to hide her nerves, this corpo oozed the stereotypical arrogance of a Night City executive.


    He wore a smug expression, his nose perpetually tilted upward, and his gaze carried a thinly veiled contempt. Everything about him screamed punchable.


    A guy who deserves a beating, Karl thought as he evaluated the man at the far end of the conference table. Compared to this egotistical corpo, Blanca at least had some redeeming qualities¡ªher looks, for one.


    "Sit down, Blanca," the man said casually, his tone as condescending as his expression.


    Blanca hesitated, her emotions barely concealed, before she took a seat opposite him.


    "Juanito¡­" she muttered, her voice heavy with frustration.


    "Relax, Blanca," Juanito replied with an air of mock reassurance. "This is just a discussion¡ªa minor matter that both of us can agree on, right?"


    "Minor?" Blanca''s expression darkened. She clenched her fists but held back her anger. "Tell me what you want so I can give it to you and be done with this."


    Juanito smirked, leaning back in his chair with practiced ease. "Nothing unreasonable," he said with an exaggerated shrug. "After all, you took good care of me when I worked under you."


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    The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable, and Karl immediately picked up on the underlying tension between them. Corporate politics¡ªdog eats dog, Karl thought.


    While the two corpo adversaries traded thinly veiled insults, Karl''s attention shifted to the room itself. The negotiation space was about 120 square meters, connected to adjacent rooms via thin walls. He discreetly noted the positions of all the Maelstrom gang members and their weapons.


    Contrary to the intel provided by his employer, there were eleven gang members here, not ten. Including the driver and gate guards, that made a total of fourteen. However, the discrepancy wasn''t enough to throw off Karl''s plan. He''d handled worse odds.


    The Maelstrom members, meanwhile, were sizing up Karl. Dressed in standard body armor with only a pistol at his side, he looked like a typical street merc¡ªa young one at that, barely seventeen or eighteen by appearance.


    Most of the gang underestimated him. They''d heard rumors about a legendary merc who had taken out one of their bases, but they didn''t recognize Karl as that man. Information in the gang was fragmented, and these members were disposable hires from a higher-up. To them, Karl was just another kid trying to make a name for himself.


    Back at the table, the conversation had escalated.


    "I want you to hand over all your assets," Juanito said, his voice dripping with venom. "Resign voluntarily and leave the company. Oh, and by ''assets,'' I mean everything¡ªincluding the funds for your garage."


    Blanca slammed her hands against the peeling surface of the table and stood up, trembling with barely restrained fury. "That''s impossible! What you''ve uncovered isn''t worth even half of that."


    Juanito chuckled, his smirk widening. "Oh, Blanca, do you really think you can bargain with me? You destroyed the evidence of your little backdoor deal with the Maelstrom gang, but I don''t need it. I already have everything I need¡ªand more. You didn''t get this chance on your own. I orchestrated it. I contacted the Maelstrom gang and set this all up."


    His words struck Blanca like a slap.


    "You?!"


    "Yes, me. I''m the one who gave you this ''opportunity,'' Blanca. Did you really think you were clever enough to outmaneuver me?" Juanito sneered. "You only got ahead because you graduated from a better school. In every other way, you''re inferior to me."


    "You''ve been plotting against me this entire time?" Blanca''s voice trembled, though now it was from anger rather than fear.


    "Of course," Juanito said with a smirk. "And don''t even think about recording this conversation. I''ve had my Maelstrom friends set up jammers. Nothing from this room will reach your precious corporate HQ."


    Blanca''s rage seemed to boil over for a moment before it abruptly vanished. She sat back down, her expression eerily calm.


    "We can renegotiate if you relax your terms," she said coldly.


    "Renegotiate?" Juanito laughed. "Blanca, I''m not here to negotiate. I''m here to inform you. The terms are final. Oh, and I''m enjoying this¡ªa little revenge on the side, seeing you like this. It''s refreshing."


    Juanito leaned back, laughing heartily.


    "Are you happy?" Blanca asked suddenly, her voice quiet but cutting.


    Juanito froze, confused by the unexpected question. "What?"


    Blanca reached under the table and drew a sleek handgun, pointing it directly at Juanito''s forehead.


    "Stupid," she muttered. "In corporate games, you don''t forget the real rules: always bring a gun."


    Bang.


    The shot echoed through the room.


    Juanito''s smirk vanished forever.

 Chapter 27

    Before the gunshot rang out, Blanca had casually flicked her hair, a seemingly insignificant gesture. However, when she pulled out her gun and shot the corpo sitting across from her, Karl was still caught off guard.


    He hadn''t expected his employer to act so decisively.


    What if the target had been holding vital evidence against her? Blanca didn''t care. She just killed him outright.


    It seemed she had mastered the unspoken rule of corporate survival¡ªuse force when reason fails. Watching her, Karl grudgingly admitted that Juanito, for all his smugness, was no match for Blanca''s ruthlessness. Perhaps there really was a reason she had risen higher in the corporate ladder than him.


    As the initial shock of Blanca''s action wore off, Karl''s instincts kicked in.


    The employer had fired first, so naturally, it was his turn to follow up.


    While drawing his weapon, Karl had a sudden realization. Blanca''s earlier intel about there being "ten enemies" hadn''t been a miscalculation after all. She had likely intended to kill Juanito all along and only sat through his endless provocations to pinpoint the leak in her operation.


    As Juanito''s lifeless body slumped to the floor, the Maelstrom gang members began to react, reaching for their weapons. They had assumed their numbers and readiness would easily handle any threat. Their mistake was underestimating Karl.


    He was faster.


    Karl''s hand blurred as he pulled his Kenshin pistol, a sleek, custom-modified weapon. He''d been binging SuperDream action flicks in his downtime lately, and one particular movie, The Big Fist, had left a lasting impression. In it, he had studied a technique inspired by traditional American iaijutsu¡ªdrawing and shooting in one fluid motion.


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    The room erupted into chaos.


    Gunfire sounded so rapidly it might have been a single shot. By the time the ringing in Blanca''s ears subsided, seven Maelstrom gang members lay dead, their bodies riddled with bullets.


    The Kenshin, with its twelve-round capacity, still had ammo left, but Karl''s unmodded body couldn''t handle the recoil of seven consecutive shots. His hand went numb, and the pistol slipped from his grasp.


    Though his weapon had fallen, Karl wasn''t finished.


    From his wrists, thin, glowing filaments emerged, snaking out between his index and middle fingers. These were single-molecule lines, razor-thin cutting tools capable of hacking into systems or slicing through steel. Heated to an extreme temperature, they were a favorite among netrunners who needed versatile tools for both combat and infiltration.


    Karl''s hands became a blur as he swung the lines like whips. The remaining three Maelstrom gang members barely had time to react before they froze mid-motion, their attempts to draw their guns cut short.


    With a sharp swish, Karl retracted the single-molecule lines. At the same time, he bent to catch his falling Kenshin pistol.


    Splurt.


    As Karl straightened, blood sprayed from the torsos of the three gang members. Their bodies fell to the ground in pieces¡ªcleanly severed at the waist. The smooth, surgical precision of the cuts was almost grotesque in its efficiency.


    Karl glanced at the blood splattered on his clothes and sighed. "Great. More laundry."


    Unaware of how terrifying he looked, Karl calmly holstered his pistol. Blood still dripped from his face and neck, but he didn''t seem to notice¡ªor care.


    Blanca, meanwhile, sat frozen in her chair, stunned by what she had just witnessed.


    She had prepared herself for a dangerous firefight, expecting injuries, maybe even death. She had thought Karl''s role would be to provide cover while she made her escape. Instead, he had neutralized every threat in mere seconds.


    Her plans, carefully laid out to account for chaos and desperation, now felt almost laughable. She had hired a bodyguard, not a one-man army.


    "Y-You..." she stammered, struggling to reconcile the boyish-looking mercenary she had hired with the blood-soaked killer standing before her.


    But Karl wasn''t done.


    "The threat''s neutralized," he said casually. "There are three more Maelstrom members downstairs. Should I handle them too?"


    Blanca hesitated. "Together?" she asked weakly, though she knew the answer. The lives of Maelstrom gang members weren''t lives she cared about.


    Karl didn''t wait for further confirmation.


    Walking to the window, he aimed his Kenshin at the three gang members stationed outside. They had heard the commotion upstairs and were looking up in confusion. Before they could even react, Karl fired.


    Another sharp burst of gunfire echoed through the night.


    "Solved," Karl said, turning back to Blanca with a bright smile. "Now what?"


    At that moment, Blanca''s datapad pinged with a notification:


    Ding. 50,000 eurodollars have been deposited.


    The sight of Karl, his face still streaked with blood and his neck glistening red, smiling like a child who had just completed a simple chore, sent a shiver down her spine.


    Blanca realized something. She wasn''t afraid of the people who had tried to kill her.


    She was afraid of the person who had just saved her.

 Chapter 28

    ..Bills and Waste...


    "You''d better wipe your face first."


    After hesitating for a moment, Blanca handed Karl a handkerchief. "You can''t walk around looking like that."


    "What do I look like?" Karl asked, as he glanced around the room, searching for glass shards. He finally found a reflective surface, staring at his own image in the mirror. His face darkened. "I was wondering why my face felt sticky."


    He used the handkerchief to clean off the blood and grime. Once finished, he handed it back to Blanca.


    "Thanks."


    ''Would a normal person really wipe blood off their face with someone else''s handkerchief and then hand it back without a second thought?'' Blanca grimaced, but considering how well Karl had handled the situation, she took the blood-stained cloth back without complaining. She watched as Karl began sifting through the belongings of the dead Maelstrom gang members.


    "What are you doing?"


    "Looking for money, guns¡ªanything I can sell." Karl spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.


    Blanca stared at him, bemused. Mercenaries, she realized, have different priorities. Meanwhile, she was from a wealthy background and wouldn''t think twice about leaving money on the ground.


    Karl spent the next ten minutes searching the bodies for valuables. Satisfied with his haul, the two of them finally headed downstairs. There was no reason to linger any longer.


    At the entrance, Karl rifled through the possessions of the three dead men outside, then examined the car that had brought them. Unfortunately, he couldn''t do much with it. Modern vehicles were equipped with advanced security and authentication procedures. Without proper hacking tools¡ªwhich Karl had yet to master¡ªhe had no way to steal the car.


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    "Need a ride?" Karl offered, as a show of goodwill for how efficiently Blanca had paid him.


    "No, my car''s here," Blanca replied.


    Karl watched as her prosthetic eyes flickered. Moments later, a sleek ''Villefort Curtis V5000 Courage'' drove up automatically and stopped in front of them.


    The driver''s door opened. Blanca stepped in but left one foot on the ground. "Want me to give you a lift?"


    For the first time, a small smile played on her lips. "Think of it as an investment in future business."


    Karl considered it but declined. "I''ll walk."


    Blanca didn''t insist. She waved goodbye, sat back in the driver''s seat, and closed the door. Karl stood and watched as the car disappeared into the distance.


    A few minutes later, he sighed. "That car must''ve cost at least 370,000 euros. I really should be charging more."


    Fifty thousand euros had seemed like a good paycheck at first, but compared to Blanca''s luxury car, it suddenly felt inadequate.


    "Next time, I''ll ask for more."


    With bags slung over his shoulder, Karl began walking south through Watson District. As he walked, he found himself daydreaming. His thoughts wandered to a recent advertisement he''d seen for space travel.


    ''Want to fly among the stars? Want to set foot on the moon? It no longer takes 10 million euros to land on the moon. You don''t even need 1 million. Now, with just 250,000 euros, you can embark on a three-day, two-night lunar tour¡­''


    Lunar travel? The idea sparked Karl''s curiosity. He wasn''t opposed to the idea of exploring space, but then he saw the fine print: settling on the moon required additional fees and paperwork, totaling 5 million euros.


    And that didn''t include the cost of a house. Karl did some digging and found the price for a home on the moon: 100 million euros.


    One hundred million.


    He quickly did the math. He''d need to complete 2,000 jobs like Blanca''s to make that kind of money. Assuming each job involved killing ten people, that meant killing 20,000 people. Not even the entire Maelstrom gang would be enough to reach that goal. It made more sense to try negotiating with a corporate exec instead.


    Luckily, Karl wasn''t planning on settling on the moon. A trip to the stars, however, might still be worth it one day. But the corporate ads he saw warning about the "safety and freedom" of space settlements made him skeptical. It seemed like no matter where you went, corporations still held all the power.


    Whether bound by Earth''s gravity or floating free in space, people remained under the control of forces brighter than the neon lights of Night City.


    As he approached the southern part of Watson District, Karl''s mind turned back to more immediate concerns: his money. After selling most of the weapons he''d collected¡ªexcept for two Saratoga submachine guns¡ªKarl''s bank account had swelled to nearly 60,000 euros.


    He decided to give one of the submachine guns to his friend Jack. Maybe he could lend some of his newfound cash to others in his circle, too. Karl''s thoughts grew bolder, more extravagant, now that he had some extra money in his pocket.


    He walked into a street-side restaurant and, feeling flush with cash, ordered a 20-euro rib steak. For the first time, he was willing to splurge.


    In just two minutes, his meal arrived. It wasn''t real steak, though. It was made from worm protein, with a decorative synthetic bone. The presentation was decent, 80% similar to the real thing.


    But the taste?


    Karl grimaced after the first bite.


    "Well, that was a waste of money."

 Chapter 29

    ..New Communications..


    "Bang bang bang."


    "Coming! Who is it?"


    Not long after finishing dinner with his sister, Oliver returned to his apartment to rest. Just as he sat down, there was a knock at the door. Grumbling slightly, Oliver connected to the room''s camera to check who was outside. After confirming the visitor, he quickly walked over and opened the door.


    "Karl? Why do you look so beat up?"


    "I took a private job. Made some money from that last commission for the corporate dog. Thought I''d celebrate by buying some stuff. I also sent a message to Jack. He should be here soon."


    Karl walked into Oliver''s apartment, carrying bags full of food and drinks. After setting them down, he pulled out a piece of steak and handed it to Oliver. "Here, have some steak."


    "I just finished eating, and now you''re offering me steak¡­ Wait, you said you took a private job for the corporate dogs. Why didn''t you tell me or Jack?"


    Oliver took the steak, but then realized what Karl had said. "You went on a job without telling us? You''re working too hard."


    "Yeah, I know, but the employer specifically asked for one person. It was just a bodyguard job."


    "A bodyguard?"


    Oliver scanned Karl for injuries but didn''t see any. "Looks like the negotiations went smoothly."


    "They went pretty well," Karl replied. He wasn''t lying; the employer had no objections, nor did anyone else. It was all smooth sailing.


    "Turn on the TV," Karl said, "I want to see what''s happening around town today."


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    "Not much, I bet," Oliver shrugged. It cost extra to use the TV, but since his friend wanted to watch, he wasn''t going to refuse. As he connected the TV, Oliver¡ªdespite claiming to be full¡ªtook a bite of the steak in his hand.


    "Not bad. Tastes like rib steak. Costs 20 euros a piece. I don''t usually splurge like this."


    "Exactly, can''t waste it," Karl replied.


    "Of course, can''t waste it," Oliver agreed, though he was still feeling full. But then he noticed the steak had some obvious cuts at the corners. "Wait a minute, Karl. You said ''can''t waste''..."


    Oliver suddenly remembered the last time Karl had ordered way too much food at a Japanese restaurant and couldn''t finish it.


    "Don''t tell me you bought more than we can eat again!"


    Oliver stared at the bags of food and drinks in disbelief.


    "No, no," Karl said. "I just didn''t want the steak to go to waste. The rest is mostly snacks¡ªpotato chips, chocolate bars, stuff like that. And don''t worry, it''s all substitute cocoa butter, not the real thing."


    "Well, that''s a relief."


    Oliver quickly finished his steak, and just as he did, Jack arrived. He had stopped by the Wild coyote Bar and brought some fries made by Mrs. Wells.


    "Oh, my favorite!"


    Karl, who loved Mrs. Wells'' fries even more than Jack, eagerly grabbed a large bag and sat on the sofa to eat. Jack smiled and found a seat on the couch, but the moment he sat down, he felt something hard beneath him. Looking down, he realized he had sat on a small submachine gun.


    A Saratoga submachine gun! Karl, where did you get this?"


    "I picked it up after taking out some Maelstrom Gang members. It''s yours."


    "This is one hell of a little gun."


    Jack couldn''t stop admiring the weapon. Then, like Oliver, he processed what Karl had said.


    "Wait, what did you say? You took out the Maelstrom Gang?"


    Karl sighed and explained what had happened, just as he had to Oliver earlier.


    "Was it that same employer again?" Jack asked, pulling the bolt of the submachine gun and listening to the satisfying click.


    "Yeah, it was worth celebrating tonight."


    "My place is big enough for all of us. We can eat, drink, and there are vending machines if we need more. But the only food I have left is burritos¡ªand I doubt Karl would like the meat in them."


    As Oliver spoke, the TV screen shifted from the usual news to a breaking report.


    "Good evening, everyone. This is Gillian Jordan with an emergency report from News 54. Just half an hour ago, a cyberpsycho attack occurred in a restaurant at Kabuki Hall in Watson District. The exact death toll is still unclear, but a counter-terrorist team has been deployed. Residents in and around Kabuki are urged to stay indoors until the situation is resolved."


    "Cyberpsychosis again?" Jack muttered as scenes of gunfire flashed on the screen. "Seems to happen once a month."


    "There are more and more lunatics out there," Oliver said, eyes glued to the broadcast. Then he noticed that Karl had stopped eating his fries.


    Karl was staring at the footage of the restaurant, his brow furrowed.


    "I was just at that restaurant."


    "Wait, Karl, you bought food from that place?" Oliver asked.


    "The packaging is still in the bag. I can''t mistake it for anywhere else."


    "So, if you''d stayed a little longer¡­?" Oliver began.


    Karl nodded. "If I had taken my time, I would''ve run into that cyberpsycho."


    "Guess you''re lucky," Jack said, confused by Karl''s dissatisfaction.


    "Yeah, lucky," Karl muttered. "But I did like the staff there. Too bad we won''t be able to eat there for a while."


    But that''s just life in Night City, in 2075.


    Just as he was thinking this, Karl''s communication device beeped with an incoming call.


    "A spam call?" Karl wondered aloud. Not wanting to be disturbed while eating, he hung up. But the call came through again immediately.


    Figuring it wasn''t spam, Karl answered this time. A calm voice came through on the other end.


    "Karl, right? My name is Faraday. I''ve got a job that might interest you.

 Chapter 30

    ..Scavenger...


    "Is there a job?"


    That was Karl''s first reaction. His second was: "Faraday, who are you?"


    "Faraday?"


    Oliver immediately recognized the name. "I remember. He''s a Fixer who operates in the city center, Watson District, and Santo Domingo. Some members of the Six Street Gang I used to work with have taken his commissions."


    Jack lowered his voice and asked, "How is his level?"


    "A low-level mercenary working with a low-level Fixer."


    Oliver''s response was clear, indicating that Faraday was not highly regarded. But Karl, still on the call, didn''t think much of their opinions. From what he had gathered, Faraday was just a Fixer, which meant he was probably offering a job.


    "Fixer, are you assigning work to me?"


    "An old client of mine recommended your number," Faraday said on the other end. "They said you''re very capable¡­ What do you think? Want to give it a try?"


    "Old customer of the company¡­"


    The only "company dog" Karl knew and was familiar with was Blanca¡ªthe one who had felt Karl''s services were worth recommending.


    "What''s the job? Can you tell me more about it?"


    Karl was always cautious before taking on new work, even after just finishing a big job.


    "It''s a small thing for practice. I need you to save someone from a kidney removal. Don''t treat it like a formal commission. Before I commit to anything bigger, I always like to test the other party''s abilities. Considering the difficulty, the reward won''t be too high¡ªjust 6,000 euros. Do you mind?"


    Six thousand euros¡­


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    Oliver and Jack exchanged uncomfortable glances. They couldn''t shake the feeling that they were being treated like fools.


    Only a naive mercenary would fall for the "test your abilities before the big jobs" routine. In reality, this was just a way for Faraday to get someone to take a dangerous job with little reward, knowing the money would be practically useless in covering the real cost of life.


    But at least Faraday was the first middleman to approach them, and neither Oliver nor Jack was keen to turn down the opportunity. Karl, however, was in charge of accepting tasks and negotiating, so if he thought it was doable, they were in. If not, they''d move on. They just listened and waited for the pay after the work was done.


    "Go to the kidney removal place and save the person," Karl said after thinking it over. "Send me the details. What''s the time frame?"


    "I''ll send you the details right now, and the 1,500-euro deposit will be transferred. As for the timing, it''s up to you. If you want, you can go now. If not, no problem, just go whenever. The client''s minimum expectation is to at least recover a body. The money they''ve given is already the bottom-line price."


    Faraday''s subtext was clear: the client''s money was barely enough to save a body, not a life.


    "I understand. Send it to me first, then I''ll decide whether to take it."


    "Okay, I''m hanging up now."


    Faraday''s indifference was clear. Within seconds of hanging up, Karl received the file. He used the program in his access warehouse to scan it, confirming it was clean of viruses before opening and reading it.


    Jack, who had been munching on potato chips, sighed. "The Fixer found some desperate idiots, gave them money they couldn''t even use to buy prosthetics, and sent them off to fight scavengers with guns. I thought it was all talk, but I didn''t expect to encounter it myself."


    "Yeah, who knew?" Oliver muttered.


    Karl didn''t look up as he finished reading. "I guess this is the kind of crap we''ll deal with. But 6,000 euros isn''t bad for practice."


    He looked over at Oliver and Jack, who were already preparing for the job. "Isn''t today a rare day off?"


    Oliver checked his equipment. "Come on, let''s go finish this quickly so we can get back to eating. Just a little digestion."


    "Don''t you want to rest for a bit?" Karl asked.


    Oliver looked at him with a smirk. "We don''t know how to rest, karl. Besides, we might as well get it over with quickly."


    Jack, his body half turned, added with a middle finger: "You bastard, still asking if we want to rest while we''re heading out to do your dirty work. Let''s go, before someone who spends all their money on a commission ends up coming back in a body bag."


    Karl laughed. "I didn''t know you were so kind, Jack."


    He smiled as he stood up, leaving his bucket of French fries on the table. "But I guess we can''t let those bastards keep doing their disgusting things."


    The group headed downstairs and squeezed into Oliver''s beat-up car.


    "Why do you always complain about my car?" Oliver grumbled. "You can walk back by yourself, karl, if it''s too cramped."


    "I just said something, and you''re overreacting."


    "Bullshit. You just love to complain. If you think it''s too small, you can go ask someone to modify it and see if you can fit into the engine."


    "Okay, okay," Karl said, rolling his eyes. "Just stop talking and let''s get moving. My face is almost touching the window."


    Jack grumbled about the cramped space, but his attention shifted back to the middleman. "Speaking of which, 6,000 euros for this commission¡ªhow much do you think Faraday''s taking?"


    "He treats us like idiots. I bet he''s taking half, at least," Karl said, his mind already calculating.


    Oliver nodded thoughtfully. "I''ve heard the complaints from the Six Street Gang members who''ve worked with Faraday. Apparently, it''s standard for him to take half of the fee."


    "I wouldn''t be surprised if he''s taking more," Jack added, "I suspect this job costs 30,000 or 40,000 euros, and the client probably spent all their money just to get this far. Faraday will be waiting for a corpse to show up next."


    Jack shifted his weight, scooting over to give Karl more space. "karl, where are we headed? Oliver, step on it."


    "The city center," Karl replied, his voice sharp.


    City Center: The corporate hub of Night City, where safety and luxury go hand-in-hand for the elite. To the average person, it''s a paradise, but for those living in the shadows, it''s a place to avoid.


    NCPD Danger Level: Safe

 Chapter 31

    ..ACPA..


    "Who would have thought that in one of the most prosperous areas of Night City, there''s a scavenger''s lair? I always thought this part of the city was safe," Oliver muttered as he stepped out of the car, eyeing the high-rise apartment in front of him. He adjusted his wrist and picked up his Nova revolver.


    "I never believed the official propaganda the moment I hit the street," Jack replied, holding his Saratoga submachine gun. Given his broad, muscular arms, the submachine gun seemed almost comically small, like a child using oversized chopsticks.


    "Everyone has their youth," Jack added with a chuckle.


    After locking the car, Oliver glanced at Karl, who was holding a Kenshin pistol. "What''s the plan, Karl?"


    "It''s on the sixth floor, take the elevator up," Karl responded. "We''ve marked the intermediary''s floor and room number. We''re going in guns blazing. The room has professional hackers monitoring, and there are four scavengers inside. Our target''s still unconscious¡ªhasn''t been his turn yet."


    "Then let''s move," Oliver said.


    The scavengers didn''t concern him. If they were capable, they wouldn''t have ended up in this state. Their prosthetics and weapons were often low-quality, barely better than regular civilians''. Oliver didn''t even know if their bullets would pierce his body armor. Without the tight time constraints, he could easily handle all three of them, even if they fought back.


    Despite being kicked out of the Sixth Street Gang after just a week, Oliver had spent his childhood practicing marksmanship, tactics, and combat with his Sixth Street Gang "dad." He''d honed those skills over time. Even the scavengers didn''t pose much of a threat. Jack and Karl, frontline fighters, would have no problem dealing with them either. The only challenge here was the time crunch. The rest of the mission was easy¡ªdriving here, going up the stairs, and rescuing the target.


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    "My marksmanship seems to have improved again," Oliver said, surveying the four dead scavengers. He spread his arms, facing Karl. "What do you think? Evaluate it?"


    "Three headshots and one heart shot," Karl said, inspecting the scene. "Shooting time: two seconds. Accuracy''s fine, but you could improve your speed."


    "Alright, I''ll go watch some Western movies to practice," Oliver smirked. "Don''t be so serious, Karl. I never realized those movies actually help with training."


    Karl just shook his head and turned to Jack, who was inspecting the target lying on a bed covered in blood and filth. "Is the target okay? Should Oliver take a look?"


    "He''s fine," Jack replied. "Just knocked out from the anesthesia. They might''ve overdone it, though. He probably won''t wake up today."


    After confirming the target was stable, Jack stepped aside to let Oliver handle the next steps.


    Oliver walked over to the bed and observed the target. He was surprised to find a young, brown-haired male who appeared to be around seventeen or eighteen¡ªroughly the same age as Karl.


    "A kid around Karl''s age," Oliver mused. "Hey, Karl, no offense, but this guy really does look young. What''s his name?"


    Karl, flipping through the papers, glanced at the details. "Julio. He''s from Japan Street."


    "Julio? Seems like a pretty common name. What''s the deal? Why target someone for a kidney transplant at this age?"


    Jack looked confused, but Oliver quickly checked the information and confirmed Jack''s earlier guess. "He''s young and doesn''t have any prosthetics, so he''s an easy target. Japan Street''s pretty close to the city center. He was probably just wandering around and got caught."


    "Hopefully, he''ll learn something from this," Jack said, shaking his head.


    He turned to Karl. "So what''s next? Do we contact the fixer?"


    "We''ve already contacted him," Karl replied. "The Fixer''s vehicle will be downstairs soon. We''ll just move Julio into the car, and our part''s done."


    "Sounds like serious business," Jack said. "Everything''s handled by the middleman, and we just do the execution."


    "Yeah, and most of the money gets split," Karl added, as he walked over to the scavenger''s computer. He connected to the access bay and started reviewing the data.


    While scavengers were like cockroaches in Night City¡ªimpossible to wipe out entirely¡ªKarl always liked to check for new strongholds. It never hurt to be thorough. If nothing else, it would give them a sense of fear when they heard their names.


    As he scanned through the files, something caught Karl''s attention.


    "Jack, Oliver, you might want to see this. I found something strange."


    "Strange? What is it?" Jack asked as he and Oliver approached the screen. They peered at the images Karl displayed, trying to make sense of them.


    "What is this?" Jack frowned. The pictures, taken in a dimly lit environment, were blurry, but something about them seemed off.


    "Is that a large machine?" he asked.


    "It''s not a machine," Oliver said, already recognizing what it was. His words shocked both Jack and Karl.


    "This is ACPA."

 Chapter 32

    ..Armor and Value..


    "ACPA?! Are you sure this is ACPA?"


    Jack was quite surprised after hearing what Oliver said because everyone knew what ACPA was.


    ACPA, short for ''Assisted Combat Personnel Armor'', is essentially combat auxiliary armor. To give a more precise description, it''s like armor that has the firepower and protection of an armored vehicle, or even a tank, but can be worn by people. In current BD wreath game terminology, it can also be called ''power armor.''


    "I''m pretty sure, Jack. The Sixth Street Gang has three sets of small-scale riot control ACPAs secretly hidden. I didn''t expect, after the truce agreement between Huangban and Military Technology, that ACPAs wouldn''t be allowed in Night City. But here I am, finding relevant info in a scavenger''s lair. It''s strange."


    "Isn''t ACPA supposed to be restricted?" Karl chimed in, recalling a scene he''d witnessed. "I remember seeing NCPD officers sometimes with a mech beside their vehicles during roadblocks. Isn''t that ACPA?"


    "At best, it''s just an exoskeleton equipped with an ACPA weapon platform," Oliver explained. "Real ACPA far outclasses what you''ve seen¡ªin terms of firepower, armor thickness, and personnel safety. What we see is just an exoskeleton with the shape of an ACPA. It''s more like a walking tank that can plow through anything."


    "That raises another question," Karl said, curling a lock of hair. "If power armor is so powerful, why are companies investing in prosthetics instead? Is there a reason prosthetics are considered better than power armor on the battlefield?"


    "Karl, you really are a bit clueless," Jack said, helping Oliver answer. "Prosthetics relate to the corporate dogs at the top. With prosthetics, they can still look human by replacing hearts and lungs. But if they get into power armor and let machines replace their entire body, they''d look like tin cans, relying on nutrient solutions to survive. It''s not exactly a look they''d go for."


    It reminded Karl of stories about dreadnought veterans being mocked.


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    "And there''s more," Oliver continued. "Controlling ACPA mechs with just a human body is tough because the G-force during movement is immense. The human body might not be able to handle it. ACPAs rely heavily on prosthetic enhancements. Only a person with a strong prosthetic foundation could handle it."


    "I see¡­ but what does G-force mean?" Karl asked.


    "Didn''t you read the BD wreath aviation guide I recommended? Simply put, it''s the acceleration of gravity you experience at high speeds."


    "Well, I haven''t finished it yet, so I didn''t really get that part," Karl admitted, though he started to grasp the connection between prosthetics and ACPA.


    The two technologies weren''t mutually exclusive; they complemented each other, like a spear with a wooden shaft and iron tip. Combined, they became even stronger.


    After clearing up that doubt, another one popped into Karl''s head.


    "But speaking of which, Military Tech and Wasteland don''t allow ACPAs in Night City. Aren''t they afraid a company or a gang like the Sixth Street Gang could hide an ACPA and launch an attack on important people?"


    Oliver explained: "That''s because, although ACPAs are powerful, they''re not invincible against prosthetics. Do you know how much a good ACPA costs? Take the small ACPAs from the Sixth Street Gang¡ªthey''re on the cheaper side, only about 1.4 million euro. But do you know how much it costs to take down an ACPA on the battlefield?"


    "Money?" Karl asked.


    "Exactly. For corporations, human life is cheap¡ªmoney is what matters. I once heard a veteran from the Sixth Street Gang say that on the battlefield, even for a 1.4 million eurobucks light ACPA, you could send in a few veterans equipped with sandevistan and technical weapons. Those veterans are essentially disposable. Do you know how much they cost?"


    sandevistan : A prosthetic system that temporarily enhances human muscles and reflexes to their maximum potential, slowing down external time perception for the user.


    To take down high-value ACPA, all prosthetic-equipped veterans need to do is risk their lives.


    Karl nodded, understanding: "So it''s about cost efficiency, not fairness."


    "Exactly. The corporations only care about money," Oliver replied.


    Karl realized there was no point in asking what it would feel like for a sandevistan-equipped veteran to wear ACPA armor. According to Oliver, anyone using an ACPA must already have significant prosthetic upgrades, and adding the sandevistan would be too dangerous. Mid-battle, they''d likely suffer from cyberpsychosis, killing both allies and enemies without discrimination.


    Every street gangster knew the consequences of overusing prosthetics.


    Their discussion about ACPA armor was cut short as Karl noticed the client''s message¡ªonly one minute until the vehicle arrived downstairs. It was time to move the target. He copied an image of the ACPA armor from the scavenger''s computer, then shot the machine to pieces.


    "We''ll discuss this more over drinks later. Let''s finish this job first," Karl said.


    It was strange that ACPA armor info had appeared in the scavenger''s hideout, but Karl and the others didn''t have enough data to dig deeper. Even if they wanted to, there wasn''t much to uncover.


    "Sure, we''ll chat more later. But before that¡­" Jack glanced at the pile of prosthetics. "I''ll have to call NCPD. Thankfully, there aren''t many bodies here, but seeing all these stripped prosthetics? I''ll be having nightmares tonight."


    Jack''s tone was light, joking. He was tough¡ªsomeone who''d been helped by Valentino, not easily fazed by a few bodies.


    Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Call NCPD? They''ll just confiscate the prosthetics and sell them to shady doctors."


    Despite his words, Oliver still made the call. Compared to scavenger scum, NCPD at least had some limits.


    Though not many.

 Chapter 33

    Escaped Cyberpsychopath


    "This is one thousand and fifteen eurodollars, in addition to the deposit we already split."


    Of the 6,000 eurodollars they earned, each person could receive a total of 2,000. While this was more than what most workers in Night City made in a month, it wasn''t much for mercenaries like Karl, Oliver, and Jack.


    After picking up some drinks and hot food on the way back, the three returned to Oliver''s room to continue their dinner party, which had been interrupted earlier.


    "I''ve done a lot today, and I''m exhausted. I really don''t know how those corpo dogs, working twenty hours a day, keep going."


    Dealing with both the Maelstrom gang and the Scavengers in one day had worn Karl out.


    "I heard some corpos have parts of their brains removed and only need stimulants and other drugs to stay awake and work nonstop," Jack remarked, tossing a drink to Karl.


    "Little Cocoa, love in my heart~"


    "Ugh, don''t gross me out. I hate this cola," Karl said, throwing the bottle back in disgust. His aim was off, and it hit Oliver in the head.


    "Hey!"


    "Sorry, sorry."


    Karl''s body hadn''t undergone much modification yet, so fatigue made him clumsy. Compared to those with mechanical prosthetics, he couldn''t keep up. Even factory workers, if they fell asleep, could rely on the chips in their heads and the prosthetics in their hands to keep working.


    "What time is it?" Oliver asked, rubbing his head.


    Jack, lounging on the sofa with a beer, glanced at the clock. "It''s half past eight. Still early tonight. Want to watch a movie?"


    He grabbed a skewer of chicken covered in sauce, shoving it into his mouth. Chewing the soft meat, he commented, "These chicken skewers taste surprisingly good. Gotta say, besides the ones in Japan Street, these are the best in the city."


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    "Authentic?" Karl looked skeptically at the skewer in Jack''s hand. After a moment of hesitation, he took one, plucked a piece of meat with a toothpick, and put it in his mouth.


    His face twisted in disgust.


    "This doesn''t taste remotely authentic, either in flavor or texture."


    "Not everyone has eaten real chicken like you, Karl. Ninety-nine percent of people in Night City haven''t tasted real meat in ages. So yeah, this is as ''authentic'' as it gets for most folks."


    Jack chewed the synthetic meat with ease, watching Karl struggle to swallow his piece.


    "You''re used to eating real meat, Karl. Synthetic food probably tastes awful to you now. Maybe we can hook you up with some smugglers from the Badlands and get you the real deal?"


    "The price would be steep," Karl mused, nibbling on some fries. He was tempted but unsure.


    "It''s not too bad," Oliver said, leaning back. Born in Santo Domingo, near the Badlands, Oliver was familiar with smuggler markets. "A whole chicken costs around a thousand eurodollars, and a pig about five thousand. Of course, that''s just the price for the meat. Add the smugglers'' commission and transport fees, and even then, there''s no guarantee the meat arrives fresh. But even if it''s dead, they''ll preserve it well enough."


    "A thousand eurodollars for a chicken, five thousand for a pig¡­" Karl calculated in his head. "Seems doable."


    He realized he didn''t find the price too outrageous. A synthetic chicken meal in Night City cost around 18-20 eurodollars, so a fifty-fold markup for the real thing wasn''t that shocking.


    "It''s fine for us, but regular folks couldn''t afford that," Oliver explained. "A month''s salary might get an average worker one real chicken, assuming they manage to navigate the checkpoints and smuggler fees. In the end, real meat costs well over a thousand eurodollars and might still be out of reach."


    "Actually, pork''s easier to get than chicken," Oliver continued. "Poultry is strictly controlled in Night City due to past bird flu outbreaks, and customs charges a fortune. If you really want real meat, I''d suggest going for pork."


    "So how much would it cost for an entire pig?" Karl asked, intrigued. "Including the pig itself."


    "About ten thousand eurodollars, for safe transport."


    Ten thousand eurodollars... Karl had roughly 52,000 eurodollars saved up. The realization hit him¡ªhis hard-earned money could only buy him about five pigs. There weren''t many clients like Blanca who paid so generously.


    "That kind of money could get you a decent prosthetic body," Jack said, stunned by the cost.


    "We''re worth less than pigs when we swap out parts for prosthetics," Oliver remarked, biting into a burrito stuffed with synthetic meat. "So, Karl, want me to reach out to the Badlands contacts for you? If you get used to it, synthetic meat might seem like ''real'' meat soon enough."


    "Oliver, Jack, what about you? No interest in real meat?" Karl asked. As a mercenary, he couldn''t skimp on good food, but he wanted to see if his friends would chip in.


    "I grew up eating synthetic food made from bugs and locusts," Oliver shrugged. "I''m too used to it now. Honestly, if I had real meat, I probably wouldn''t like it as much as you do. So, I''ll pass."


    Jack, however, was interested. "I''ll get some too, Oliver. Could you bring back real corn or something? I''d love to try making tamales with real ingredients."


    Tamales were a traditional Mexican dish, essential for celebrations like Day of the Dead, weddings, and birthdays. They were also one of Jack''s favorites. Most tamales he ate were made from synthetic meat and corn flour, so he wasn''t going to miss the chance to try the real thing.


    "I''ll contact the people over there later and let you know how much it''ll cost."


    Oliver glanced at the TV, where a breaking news report flashed across the screen. It was an update on the Kabuki Cyberpsychosis incident in the Watson District, the same one that had been on when they left earlier.


    "Cyberpsycho missing before the arrival of the trauma unit. Citizens are advised to be cautious."


    Karl and Jack turned to watch the broadcast.


    "Missing?" Jack frowned. "How far is Kabuki from here?"


    "About a thirty-minute walk," Karl replied. He knew the area well, having just walked back from the industrial zone near the Kabuki theater earlier today.

 Chapter 34

    An Ordinary Day?


    "Good morning, Night City!"


    As the familiar voice of Night City announcer Stanley echoed through the room, Karl slowly opened his eyes. He glanced around and noticed Oliver and Jack sprawled across the sofa, empty wine bottles scattered on the floor around them. He, on the other hand, was alone on the bed.


    "Did we leave the TV on all night?"


    Yawning, Karl rubbed his eyes. He hadn''t drunk the night before, but he still felt exhausted after such a busy day. While Oliver and Jack drank, Karl had lain down for a quick rest, thinking he''d join them later. Instead, he''d drifted into a deep sleep almost immediately.


    "Guess I was more tired than I thought."


    Yawning again, Karl decided not to wake Oliver and Jack, who were snoring loudly. He made his way to the bathroom in Oliver''s room¡ªwhich looked just like his own apartment¡ªsplashed water on his face, and brushed his teeth with a bit of water, feeling a little more alert.


    The water in Night City had a strange smell and could only be used for washing. If you wanted to drink it, you had to buy purified water, which cost more than a bottle of wine. Still, you didn''t have much of a choice.


    After buying a bottle of purified water from the vending machine in the room¡ª20 eurodollars, the same price as a synthetic rib steak¡ªKarl rinsed his mouth and then gulped the rest of the bottle down.


    After draining nearly 300 ml of water, Karl felt like the strange aftertaste from yesterday''s food and drinks had finally subsided. He checked his messages but saw that no new tasks had come in from his clients or from Faraday, the fixer.


    "What a slow day," Karl muttered. He glanced at Oliver and Jack, still fast asleep, and resisted the urge to wake them by splashing purified water on their faces. Instead, he decided to grab them breakfast. Before leaving, he grabbed his Kenshin pistol.


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    In Night City, you always had to be prepared.


    Heading down to the first floor, Karl stepped out of the elevator and walked toward the food stall he had spotted on his first day in 2075. It looked about the same as before, though the Chinese food had been replaced with Japanese, and the stall now had a new owner. The stalls and the customers, however, remained unchanged.


    Like cogs in a machine, if one broke down, it was replaced, ensuring the machine kept running. Karl often wondered when that machine would completely collapse, beyond repair.


    At the stall, Karl bought two large sushi platters to go. He also ordered a bowl of ramen¡ªmeatless, greasy, and smelling a bit more off than usual. Sitting in his seat, Karl hoped for a peaceful meal.


    But Night City had other plans. Before the boss could start cooking, gunfire erupted nearby. This time, though, the stall owner was prepared. The moment the shots rang out, he dropped what he was doing and hid under the table.


    "Great," Karl sighed, drawing his Kenshin and looking toward the source of the shots. The last gang that had interrupted his meal¡ªMaelstrom¡ªwere now buried in a graveyard somewhere.


    As he scanned the area, a stray bullet flew toward him. With a flick of his hand, Karl activated his monomolecular wire, slicing the bullet clean in half.


    Karl had seen plenty of BD wreath samurai slice bullets with their katanas. Compared to them, using a monomolecular wire, combined with his ''parallel military tech'' enhancements, made the feat much easier for him. Of course, he wasn''t equipped to face machine-gun fire, but deflecting a stray bullet was child''s play.


    Karl observed the two groups engaged in the shootout. Neither wore any recognizable gang insignias. In other words...


    "Street punks who can''t even join a proper gang."


    Gangs in Night City were selective, and not everyone could get in. These punks were probably so low that even the scavengers wouldn''t take them. Killing them wouldn''t be worth the ammo.


    "This glorious city of lights," Karl muttered, watching the amateurs exchange shots with Lexingtons and cheap, disposable pistols. He felt no desire to engage.


    In his peripheral vision, Karl noticed the NCPD had arrived. While the police might not be able to handle the bigger gangs, they had no trouble cracking down on small-timers like these.


    "NCPD! On the ground!"


    With bravado, the officers pounced on the gangsters, confident in their ability to deal with them. While most of the police carried Lexingtons, there was a notable difference between the NCPD''s Lexingtons and the junk these gangsters used. The cops'' weapons were custom-modified, firing with a satisfying, sharp crack¡ªreminding Karl of the sound of popcorn popping on the street.


    "I haven''t had popcorn in a while... should''ve ordered some when I went to the movies yesterday."


    Within minutes, the gangsters were subdued, and just as Karl''s bowl of steaming ramen was set before him, the action was over.


    Karl glanced around. The stall owner resumed cooking, and the other patrons continued their meals, unfazed by the gunfight. He looked back at the scene of the shootout, less than 100 meters away, then down at his ramen. After a brief pause, he decided it was better not to think too much about it.


    Eating was the priority.


    "Our brave NCPD officers have successfully quelled yet another threat to Night City''s peace!" an official spokesperson broadcasted nearby as Karl slurped down his ramen. The rich broth made his stomach churn.


    "Greasy ramen first thing in the morning... not my best idea."


    Rubbing his stomach, Karl finished his meal and picked up the sushi bags. As he started to head back, he noticed a man staggering near the NCPD''s cordon, behaving oddly. His head was down, his movements jerky.


    Karl''s thoughts flashed to the news from yesterday.


    "The cyberpsycho disappeared before the MaxTac unit could arrive..."