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"Targets neutralized. Nice work on this one—job's done."
After receiving the footage from Mann and Brown, Karl messaged them:
"Mission complete. When are you guys coming to the Afterlife for a drink? My treat."
"Might take a few days," Mann replied.
"We just took out some Arasaka assets—we need to lie low for a bit. But once things settle, we're there for that drink."
"Just give me a heads-up when you're on the way. I'll book the whole place."
Ending the exchange, Karl watched as Kenichiro's vehicle disappeared into the distance.
He couldn't help but worry—would Chiyome, riding with him, start another fight mid-trip?
…Hopefully not.
Given the current circumstances, it'd be stupid.
Karl shook his head and stopped thinking about it. Whatever happened between those two, Hanako could handle it. It wasn't his business anymore.
Then a call came in.
"Karl, everything handled on your end? Need us as backup?"
It was Jackie.
"All clear," Karl replied.
"Mann and Brown wrapped it up quick. This gig's done."
"Guess we ran over for nothing, huh?"
That was Oliver now. Despite the words, he sounded relaxed.
"So what now? You need a pickup?"
"I'm outside the Afterlife."
"The Afterlife?" Oliver muttered.
"Why the hell did Kenichiro drop you there?"
"He didn't. I asked him to. I've got a meeting with a fixer."
"Fixer? Is this about another job?"
"Just a quick sit-down. Face-to-face. Might lead to something, might not. You guys want to show up too?"
"Who's the fixer?"
"Old Captain—Muammar Reyes."
"That guy? He's only recently started as a fixer, right? I thought he was still dealing with low-end street gigs. How the hell is he meeting you at the Afterlife already? Don't tell me he's got something huge lined up."
"No idea. That's why I'm meeting him. So—you coming, or leaving the negotiating to me like always?"
"Two minutes. We're almost there."
Karl could hear the Thorton Hera's engine over the call and just hoped Oliver wouldn't crash the damn thing.
As he waited outside, Karl sent the Old Captain a quick message:
"Two minutes. Almost there."
"Good to hear. I've got piles of eddies and drinks waiting. This gig's gonna blow your mind."
"Let's hope so."
Truth be told, Karl wasn't holding out much hope. The fixer had messaged him asking to drop all other jobs to do his first—which was never a good sign.
Any halfway-decent fixer wouldn't throw around promises of "big money" to a merc crew they hadn't even worked with yet. It sounded like a scam pitch.
Still, Karl was between gigs and had nothing to lose by listening.
If this fixer—more known in Santo Domingo for selling secondhand cars—turned out to be another Farrah D., Karl could just walk out.
No point wasting words on an idiot. Talking to them was already too generous.
"T-BUG, you need eyes on this one?"
"Still working on Ballball. Just update me after the talk."
"If it turns out to be tech-related, I know someone who might help."
Karl thought of V, the nomad.
"A friend I met out in the Badlands. Knows his stuff."
"Oh, from that trip out past the wall? Sure. Send me his contact. I've got a wiring issue I can't figure out. If he's good, I'll pay for remote support. Line should hold, right?"
"He's been drifting around Night City lately, far from his clan. Should be fine. I'll send the number and ping him a heads-up. If there's a fee, I'll chip in—this is squad gear, after all."
"No need. I've got the eddies. And honestly, I'm gonna be the one using Ballball most anyway. I'm calling now. Later."
"Let me know if anything changes."
Karl hung up.
V had already responded with an OK hand emoji. That was taken care of.
Just then, Jackie and Oliver arrived.
"Let's go. Time to see what this guy's offering," Jackie said as he walked up.
"Worst case? We drink."
"Works for me."
Karl greeted them both, and the three of them headed into the Afterlife.
Their entrance drew plenty of attention—mercs at the bar and corpo suits in the booths turned their heads.
Murmurs rippled around them:
"Black-haired guy, blond with a mustache, and the big dude in Valentino chrome… No way—"
"That's KK, Oliver, and Jackie. The trio that's been making waves lately. Every job they touch? Completed. Zero failures. Client satisfaction off the charts. Remember the story about that Raffen Shiv gang in the Badlands—hundred-man crew wiped out? Word is, they did it."
"I heard it was two hundred. Supposedly, Oliver dropped ten of them with one bullet."
"Please. Three hundred, easy. I know Jackie—used to be a big deal in Valentinos. Guy wrecked Maelstrom crews solo back in the day. Raffen Shiv in busted rides with rusted guns? They're cannon fodder. One hundred each sounds right."
Karl, Oliver, and Jackie ignored the chatter and headed toward the VIP booth where the Old Captain waited.
When the door opened, a man with long black hair and a purple-blue jacket stood to greet them.
"Welcome, welcome. Please—have a seat."
"Old Captain," Karl said, addressing him by his street handle.
He glanced around the room and noticed something odd.
He was alone.
'No bodyguards? Bold.'
With that thought, the trio took their seats.
(End of Chapter)
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