"The sandstorm's brutal—aaaah!"
"Stop whining, Karl! You're the one who didn't want to get squished in the middle. You chose the roof—so just stay up there and hold on tight. Don't fall off!"
Crushed between V and Jackie in the car, Oliver—finally getting a taste of Karl's usual misery—was starting to lose his patience at Karl screaming above them.
They were already sweaty from fixing the car, now stuck shoulder to shoulder, and to top it off, Karl was howling like a banshee from the roof. It was getting to him.
"But it's really bad up here!"
Karl covered his face with one arm to block the blowing sand. His mouth already felt full of grit. Eventually, he stopped yelling and laid flat against the roof. "I hate all two-seaters!"
V's ride was built on the base frame of a Thorton Galena GA40XT—a Nomad favorite. But by the time V got his hands on it, it was just a stripped chassis. After lots of modding and salvaged parts, he gave the car a new name: Viper.
Thorton Galena GA40XT "Viper."
The car clattered like hell when it moved, but it wasn't slow. Karl barely got a few complaints out before getting a mouthful of sand for his trouble.
Jackie sighed at Karl's latest round of whining.
"You've said that like a hundred times, Karl."
He shook his head. "We're almost there anyway. Once we stir things up with the Animals in Pacifica, you'll have no shortage of rides. Worst case, we drive one of theirs home."
"Yeah, but the problem is we don't even know where their turf is yet."
"Didn't T-BUG give you Mr. Hands' number? You didn't call him yet?"
"You guys dragged me out of bed before I was even awake. I had breakfast in the damn car. And out here in the Badlands, the signal's trash—how was I supposed to call him?"
"Well, fine. Just wait till we're closer to Pacifica, then call. Won't take long to talk to a fixer."
Karl pulled out his phone—and hey, signal bars.
"Signal's back. I'll call him now."
He tapped a few times on the screen to dial.
Sure, voice commands worked, but there was something old-school about punching it in manually. He liked the feeling.
Ring ring—click.
The call connected.
Before Karl could say a word, a voice came through:
"KK, right? This is Hands. Welcome to Pacifica."
"…Huh?"
Karl raised an eyebrow at the processed voice on the other end. "Mr. Hands, pretty sure I'm the one who called you. How'd you know it was me?"
"Same question could be turned around, KK. But since we're both in the biz, no harm laying it out. That new number of yours? It's already made the rounds. I've had your name tagged for a while—been expecting you to show up in Pacifica. Didn't think you'd call me first, though."
There was a trace of excitement in his voice. "The famous KK, in Pacifica. You here for a gig? I've got plenty—messy, complicated, and very well-paid."
"I don't mind work, but we're already mid-job. Let's skip the fluff, Mr. Hands. I need the current location of the Animals' temporary west-side boss—goes by Wildwoman. Name your price."
"The Animals, huh? Looks like they picked the wrong fight."
Hands caught the drift, but didn't press. Asking too many questions about a merc's active contract was the fastest way to piss off another fixer. Hands wasn't afraid of trouble—but he wasn't looking for it either.
Since this was a straight intel exchange, that made things simple.
"Give me a few minutes," he said. "Need to dig it up."
"You can get intel that fast? No wonder you're the top fixer in Pacifica."
"You flatter me. Compared to the legendary KK, I'm just a local guy."
After some mutual back-patting, a file came through.
"All the data's in the attachment. I can only confirm it's accurate as of seven hours ago. If things have changed, you'll have to adjust accordingly."
"Got it."
Karl scanned the file, then said, "What's the fee? I'll transfer it now."
"No need."
Hands echoed what Dakota Smith from the Badlands once told him. "I'd rather the KK crew remember me next time you've got some spare bandwidth. I've got a few tough contracts that could use a team like yours."
Another fixer playing the favor card instead of charging eddies.
Karl wasn't sure if it made them clever—or if they just knew he had a soft spot for that kind of ask. Either way, it worked. It made him more likely to take their gigs.
"Fair enough. You've got something that fits? Hit me up."
After ending the call, Karl turned to Jackie and Oliver.
"Remember what we used to say? Once we got famous, fixers would come looking for us—not the other way around. Sound familiar?"
"Sure do," Jackie said. "Now look at us. Fame just means more work. Those days where we could finish a gig, grab a drink, screw around for a few days... might be long gone."
"Don't be dramatic, Jackie."
Oliver, practically being crushed between the other two, grunted. "Back when we were taking small jobs, Karl's work rate was insane. We barely had days off then either. Honestly? Now that we're doing high-tier stuff, word gets around fast. We actually get more downtime between gigs. It's easier than before!"
"Easier, huh?"
"Think about it. We've got more free time now than ever. Plus, since we're known, fixers don't even bother us with low-end jobs anymore."
Jack glanced at Oliver—whose face looked like it was being pancaked—and shifted over to give him some space.
"Fair point."
"Contracts…"
V, who had been quietly driving, finally joined the conversation, more curious about the work itself.
"These gigs you guys take… really that profitable?"
"Anything under fifty thousand eddies? Don't even bother calling us," Oliver said, part brag, part truth.
V's grip on the steering wheel tightened instinctively.
"F-Fifty thousand eddies?"
"Yup. Anything less doesn't even make the cut anymore."
"You guys don't hold back, huh."
From the roof, Karl chimed in, "Honestly, if the job's cool, I'd take something for 10 or 20K."
"Ten or twenty… and that's just acceptable?"
V took a deep breath.
For some reason, he suddenly felt a little tempted by Karl's old pitch to become a merc.
So being a merc… actually paid like this?
If it brought in that kind of money… maybe the clan could—
(End of Chapter)
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