[Calling: Mr. Hands]
After relentless attempts, the line finally clicks through.
"Mr. Hands. Finally finished being busy?"
Liam grits his teeth against the pain.
He doesn't dare imagine how much blood he would've lost if it had been his original arm. Thankfully, the synthetic vessels in his severed cyberlimb have auto-constricted, keeping him from bleeding out on the spot.
A small mercy of modern technology—he could still walk a few more steps.
"Impressive work. Truly." Mr. Hands gives a light applause, expression composed, as if none of this concerns him. "With your talent, you'd thrive here. But Hansen requires everyone involved with this shipment to keep quiet. I trust you understand."
Understand? I'll give you something to understand.
Liam's felt a surge of cold fury. He'd given this man far too much respect.
"I understand your mother was a whore!" Pain forces the words through clenched teeth. "Wade Bleecker. You think no one knows?"
For the first time, Mr. Hands falls silent.
"Bet you're wondering how I know your real name, huh? Corporate lapdog."
A cruel smile spreads across Liam's blood-streaked face.
The roles had shifted. He was no longer the prey; he was the lion staring down a fat, complacent bull.
In his previous life, Liam had memorized every deep-lore detail of this city's major players. He hadn't wanted to play this card so early—he'd hoped to grow slowly, to find his footing in this neon nightmare—but when people start trying to erase you, you stop playing by the rules. He didn't care about "legends" or "rewards" anymore. With one arm gone and his blood cooling in the dirt, Liam just wanted to live.
Across the holographic link, Hands' breathing became noticeably heavy.
These secrets were supposed to be buried. No one else knew his weak points. No one.
And now this bleeding, stubborn young man is peeling him open.
Fear creeps in.
But Liam isn't the type to swing once and stop.
He keeps going.
"Petrochem executive. You climbed high, didn't you? Should I tell Hansen there's a rebranded corpo dog sleeping inside his own kennel?"
"You're planning to cash out in Pacifica. Got yourself a family, even. In this world, you want a peaceful retirement…"
"Are you prepared for the fallout?"
Mr. Hands' expression finally hardens.
He once casually called this young merc a "lion."
Now the rock he lifted has crushed his own foot.
Still, he refuses to yield.
"Young man, the past means nothing. You think threatening me makes you significant?"
Liam almost laughed. This guy had been playing Fixer for too long; he actually thought they were having a negotiation between equals.
A Fixer with a Corporate background like Hands was a complicated beast: part Hansen's lapdog, part independent broker, part ghost. To his admirers, he was a master of the game; to Liam, he was just a weed that bent whichever way the wind blew.
"I think I know about your little projects," Liam said, dropping the real hammer. "The two officers under Hansen you've been grooming. Let's see... Jago? Bennett? How do you think the Colonel would feel if he knew you were rigging the vote for his successor, praying for the day he gets his throat slit? How long do you think you'd last in the Sapphire Doghouse then?"
"You thought you could be the secret King of Dogtown, didn't you?"
"And... I bet you've been making plenty of calls to Havana, haven't you?"
The psychological walls Hands had spent years building were collapsing. The mastermind who prided himself on seeing through everyone had finally been seen through himself.
"Friend, that's enough—"
"Who the hell is your friend?!" Liam snaps. "You've got two choices."
"Option one: march yourself to Hansen and repeat every word I just told you. Let's see how the warlord handles it."
"Option two: walk out of your little Sapphire nest, remember your place, and figure out how to make Hansen stop this operation."
"And on top of that? You figure out how I stay alive."
"I've copied your files. Multiple backups. Maybe a few netrunners have them too. My life's tied to that data. If I die, it lands on Hansen's desk."
"So. Plenty of choices, right?"
Liam's eyes were bloodshot, his voice strained to the breaking point. He was at his limit, but the rush of the retribution was better than any combat stimulant.
Damn… that felt good.
For the first time, Liam truly understood how satisfying revenge could be.
As for whether Hansen would remain the fixer of Pacifica afterward, whether it would disrupt anything—
He didn't care.
If this brutal world lost a fixer, so what?
Even if the whole storyline unraveled… what did that have to do with him?
Mr. Hands had always been composed.
Today, that composure shattered.
He had been completely exposed.
"Calm down, friend. Tell me your location. My people will pick you up immediately. I guarantee your safety."
Liam burst out laughing.
"Pick me up? Are you stupid? Send me a few routes out of Dogtown. One hundred thousand eurodollars. And if Hansen or your people chase me even once, your files go public instantly."
The money was for new chrome and reconstructive surgery. As for the exit routes, Liam had no intention of using them. Like the "archived files," they were just smoke and mirrors.
In Night City, the honest man is the first one in the furnace. He wasn't leaving; he was going to stay in Dogtown and keep a phantom eye on Hands.
Hands nodded slowly. Within seconds, a notification pinged: 100,000 eurodollars had been wired to Liam's account. Not a cent less.
The Fixer's face was like stone. "Once you leave Dogtown, don't come back."
Liam grinned through bloodstained teeth.
"Maybe. You're angry right now, thinking about how to screw me in Night City. But I like to travel. Who knows? Maybe I'll pay you a visit someday."
"Later."
The call ended.
And Liam finally collapsed.
The quiet night wind.
The searing pain.
Distant Barghest loudspeakers.
The colonel's speech.
AV engines humming overhead.
All of it tore at his nerves.
Dropping to his knees, Liam used the last of his strength to contact a ripperdoc whose info he'd gotten from the stadium black market. He was ready to pay extra for pickup service.
Rustle.
The sound of dry grass being brushed aside reached his ears.
Liam head was too heavy to lift. He stayed hunched over his flickering HUD, listening to the footsteps
A pair of polished, Corporate-issue high heels appeared in the dirt in front of him. Above them, slim ankles peered out from beneath charcoal-grey slacks.
Again? Seriously?
Another one. A suit. A woman.
Liam was beyond exhausted. He forced his head up, squinting through the blood and sweat.
She's actually pretty hot, he thought vaguely.
Whatever. He'd gotten his revenge. If he had to die, at least he'd be looking at a high-end Corporate "executioner" before the lights went out. He could live with that.
"Who are you?" he rasped.
His eyes rolled back, and the world went black.
The woman frowned slightly as she looked at him sprawled on the ground.
"Damn. You're in that condition and still walking?"
She reached down. The patterns of cyberware glinted beneath her suit sleeve as she lifted him effortlessly with one hand.
"Can you hear me? Stay awake."
She patted his cheek.
Liam's consciousness was already fading. He might have nodded.
"Shit. You're about to flatline."
She paused.
"I'm with Arasaka Counter-Intelligence. My name is—"
"V."