[TN: Last chapter of the week,see y'all next week]
The mercs who got killed weren't nobodies.
Most of them left behind wreckage that Bryce could dig through—just enough scraps to ID them through the NetWatch database.
Back in their own cities, these guys were top-tier—the kind of names that come up first when someone with money asks a fixer for "the best."
But from their activity logs, Leo could tell: they'd either just made a name for themselves, or they'd been laying low for too long.
They were at that dangerous in-between stage. Too proud to take small gigs. Eager to land one big score to coast into retirement.
That kind of mindset demanded more firepower. Riskier jobs. Bolder moves.
But in smaller cities? Info's scarce. Pay's garbage. Major operations basically mean open warfare—the worst kind of contract. High risk, low reward, and no one comes to pick up your body when it's over.
In big cities, though, corps kept things tight. So tight that on the surface, it looked like everything was peaceful.
No shootouts. No bloodbaths. Just... quiet deaths. All up and down the food chain.
That level of restriction meant a mess for the fixer. The mercs doing the actual fighting? Not as important. Not yet, anyway.
But these were the kind of people trying to prove themselves. Trying to be irreplaceable legends—solos so dangerous they could tip the scale in a corporate war. World-class mercs.
Opportunities like that didn't come often.
Cities like Night City—rich, but hopelessly behind on security? There weren't many of those left in the world. And right now? Night City was absolutely crawling with "accidents."
If there's one place to chase that kind of break, it's here.
Bryce didn't say much about the dead. He just updated their status in the database and moved on.
His attention turned to the three survivors, starting with the couple David caught.
"Lucas 'Turbo' Weber. Anna 'Cannon' Bauer. These two are famous in the unlimited-speed underground racing circuit—two-time consecutive champs.
They've been off the radar for nearly a year now. Looks like they turned up in Night City.
Anne was flagged as a former ACPA operator. And Lucas, a fighter pilot?"
Between the two, Anna looked bulkier, built like an exosuit soldier. Lucas was more average by comparison, though still stacked by normal standards.
The kind of wounds they took? Most people would be dead on the spot from internal bleeding or organ failure. Only the heavily cyberized could survive that, like the Maelstrom boys.
But those guys were walking horror shows—permanently in pain, barely human in shape or mind.
These two were different. Their cyberware was top-tier, but still kept a humanoid form, refined.
That lined up with NetWatch's intel: they were probably the real deal. Operators of extreme machinery. Their mods weren't freelance—they were corporate, designed to keep them alive under serious combat conditions.
Bryce crouched down beside Lucas. The two locked eyes—well, three eyes between them. Lucas had lost one.
Because of a hardware lock, Lucas couldn't speak. He just stared back.
Then—
Click!
Bryce suddenly reached into Lucas's shattered torso and ripped out a cable.
Holding it up, he explained, "Yup. Fighter pilot. ESA runs a neural-link program for pilots—lets them control the plane with their thoughts.
Expensive stuff. Each of these systems is supposed to serve for forty years. He's a deserter, but the cyberware still works.
He probably doesn't even know how much data this thing leaks."
Lucas's expression changed the second Bryce mentioned his military record and yanked that cable.
Despair.
He knew what came next—he was going back into service.
"Hold up," Leo grabbed Bryce's arm. "I don't remember this job listing the ESA as a client."
"Technically," Bryce said, "this is a standard NetWatch data acquisition. We're not giving anything to ESA—at least not voluntarily."
In other words, only NetWatch knew a high-value deserter was in Night City.
If ESA ever found out, they'd have to approach NetWatch and buy the data. Which—given Lucas's status—probably wouldn't happen.
Leo let go of his hand, then released the lock on Lucas's cyberware, maybe to hear what the man had to say before Bryce started digging.
The second the restriction dropped, Lucas let out a strained growl: "Let us go! I've got insurance—I can pay!"
Leo patted his shoulder.
"Buddy, if NetWatch is already knocking, do you really think anyone is gonna honor your policy?
What'd you buy, Trauma Team? Got a platinum plan?"
Lucas shook his head bitterly. "No… Who the hell can afford that?"
"Then why come to Night City?"
Lucas glanced at the unconscious Anna and answered mechanically, "Why else? Same as everyone—make money, spend it. Gotta chase a dream, right?"
But before he could say anything else, Bryce unplugged from Lucas and moved on to Anna.
Lucas snapped.
"Get away from her!"
Bryce didn't even flinch. He just pulled a cable from her body, too.
Leo cut in, "Easy, man. It's just data. Though yeah—this shady company mutt might leave a backdoor in there.
If you want, I'll clean it out for you. No charge."
That made Bryce pause. But he didn't argue—he just kept working.
Lucas glared at Leo, voice ragged through his cybernetic throat: "You can promise that? In front of this company mutt?"
Leo crossed his arms and shrugged. "Let's talk first.
So you used to be ESA, and she's...?"
Leo had served too. He'd seen soldiers like Mitch and Scorpion from Aldecaldos serve in the Unification War as tank operators.
But ACPA pilots and fighter jocks? Way more sensitive. And in Europe? They cracked down on rogue mercs way harder than the NUSA ever did.
Still—what's the point of lying now? NetWatch already had a cord plugged into his brain.
Lucas hesitated… then gave up. He was already screwed. What was there to hide?
"…Yeah. Yeah! I was a pilot! Anna ran ACPA! Happy now?! Why the hell does this shit keep following us?!
We came to Night City, and it's still the same crap?!"
"Chill out," Leo cut in again. Honestly, the guy was acting off.
"Let me explain something. You got caught because you were street racing—and my rookie blew your car up."
Leo pulled out his gun, Yinglong. Flipped open the folding handle. The barrel started to hum and spin.
"What, you thought flying a jet and piloting ACPA made you some kind of hotshot?
You think you're a braindance star? That everyone begging for your autograph?
Don't overreact. Just answer the questions. Got it?"
With every word, Leo bopped Lucas on the face with the spinning barrel. The friction buzzed on his skin.
Lucas's expression shifted fast. He was clearly unstable—but not totally unhinged.
Leo caught the change. He pressed the barrel into Lucas's mouth.
"Hey. You hear me? Why aren't you talking? Huh?! Speak."
CLICK CLICK CLICK—
The barrel spun against Lucas's teeth, grinding out a harsh, mechanical chatter.
The pressure—the sheer tension—finally broke through.
Lucas started to think like a normal person again. But—
How the hell was he supposed to talk with a gun in his mouth?
Yinglong wasn't huge, but it was enough to mess with his cybernetic voicebox. All he could do was mumble.
"If you get it, just nod. Stop acting like some ride-or-die couple.
If you're ready to die? Fine. But plenty of other people aren't.
Night City's full of hotheaded nobodies like you. You're not special.
Understand?"
Lucas's love-addled brain finally rebooted. The crazy in his eyes faded. He nodded like a terrified chicken.
One eye said it all:
Ask your questions, boss. I'm all ears.
"Good. Finally some sense." Leo holstered his gun. Bryce pulled his plug out, too.
In a private comm channel, Leo muttered to Bryce: Still works, huh?
"Which corp hired you?"
Lucas took a breath. "EBM. Maybe IEC. But we weren't hired directly.
We were contacted by a... fixer. He came here with us to Night City—wasn't a big name."
Leo narrowed his eyes. "Name?"
"Masamune," Lucas answered. "Weird name. Think he's Japanese. We just called him Masamune."