Dexter DeShawn. As far as fixers went, Karl never had all that deep an impression of the man. To be honest, his crew had only escorted him o
Dexter DeShawn. As far as fixers went, Karl never had all that deep an impression of the man. To be honest, his crew had only escorted him once—back when Karl had snuck back into Night City—and that was it. The only other thing he remembered was that back in the day, T-Bug used to pull jobs from Dexter frequently, at least until he screwed up the whole Voodoo Boys situation and skipped town.
Karl recalled Dexter was supposed to be laying low for a while, rebuilding his rep from scratch. So what the hell was he doing showing up at Afterlife so openly now?
That thought flashed through Karl's mind—then clarity hit.
Laying low? My ass.
Back then, Dexter had botched a gig with the Voodoo Boys and fled Night City in disgrace. He'd even hired Karl's crew for protection because the Voodoo Boys were still gunning for him. But now the Voodoo Boys were dead. Their turf had been taken over by the NCPD and Mr. Hands. With all his enemies buried six feet under, what reason did he have to stay in hiding?
If your debt collectors are all dead, why wouldn't you walk around like you own the place?
Karl stared at him, lounging on the couch with his legs crossed, puffing thick cigar smoke into the air. The image was ridiculous.
Talk about timing. This guy really waited for the perfect moment to crawl back out from under his rock. Dexter DeShawn clearly wanted back in the game.
Still, Karl didn't pay him much mind. He'd already told every fixer that his crew wasn't taking contracts at the moment—not even from Old Captain or the Priest, and they were practically family. Dexter, who barely had any history with them, didn't stand a chance.
The team glanced around—most of the booths were full—so they settled at the bar.
"Claire, give us something to wet our whistles," Oliver said as he sat down.
Claire had just finished serving another customer. She turned toward the voice—one that sounded slightly altered and unfamiliar—but the tone had a weirdly familiar rhythm to it. She looked at the speaker, a young blond man she definitely didn't recognize.
Claire blinked but didn't say anything snarky like "Who the hell are you?" Instead, she smiled and walked over. "What can I get you?"
"Start with five orders of fries," Oliver replied.
"Fries?" Claire echoed.
It was a small thing, but that particular snack had been a regular order from a certain crew. She scanned the five of them. Not the familiar four, though. She hesitated for a second, then tried to probe: "Any dipping sauces?"
"Ketchup, salt and pepper, yogurt sauce, mayo…" Oliver said, before glancing at Yori.
"Just ketchup for me," Yori added.
"Alright, two orders with ketchup. And make sure it's made with real tomatoes, none of that synthetic crap. We'll cover the cost."
That kind of sauce request… that way of speaking…
Claire felt a ping of recognition.
As the bartender at Afterlife, especially one as sharp as her, Claire had a knack for remembering voices, attitudes, habits. Something about this group was setting off all kinds of bells in her head. She decided to try one last test.
"Anything to drink?"
"No alcohol today," Oliver said. "But get that guy"—he pointed at Karl—"a sweet tea."
"Make it with purified water ice cubes, and fresh mint leaves," he added.
A sweet tea with such a specific request? That was something young folks—or kids, really—tended to order. The refined ingredients only made it more obvious.
Claire's eyes lit up in realization.
She knew who they were.
Of course. That tone, those details—it was unmistakably them.
Her smile softened, more genuine now. "Got it. It'll be right out. Anything else?"
Seeing the look on her face, Karl knew she had figured them out. He asked, "Where's Rogue? Haven't seen her tonight. With so many people here, I figured she'd make an appearance."
"These folks probably aren't enough to bring Rogue out," Claire said with a teasing smile. "But if it were you, or maybe Brown or Maman, she might just show up."
"She might?" Karl asked, raising a brow. "With all that chaos going on in Japantown today, she's still dealing out gigs?"
"Rogue does more than pass out jobs," Claire replied, giving him a wink. "She's Rogue, after all."
So it's not fixer business then?
Karl immediately thought of Rogue's other identity—
Hanako Arasaka.
Could Rogue be at Arasaka Tower right now, meeting with Hanako?
Maybe the true power behind Arasaka's American branch had caught a whiff of something brewing. Maybe she wanted to start getting intel from the street level. Considering her past as a detective—and her legendary rep—it wasn't such a stretch. It felt straight out of a Holmes story.
Wouldn't be surprised if she already knew Saburo Arasaka was headed for Night City. Hell, she might already have the files laid out on her desk.
Before Karl could go deeper into that thought, the bar doors opened again.
Another group stepped into Afterlife.
They looked young—probably even younger than Oliver. But their gear and cyberware? Top-tier.
Karl scanned the lead guy and immediately noticed traces of heavy subdermal armor under the skin. His arms were clearly bulked up beyond normal—sleeves couldn't even hide it. Must've been packing gorilla arms.
One of the others moved with a feline grace. That posture, the way his steps rolled—definitely lynx-paw implants.
Subdermal armor and gorilla arms… paired with stealth-enhancing lynx-paw mods? That combo didn't make sense. It was like a brute trying to tiptoe through a china shop. Or a bodybuilder charging into battle on a scooter.
Then Karl spotted the skinny one in the back.
A monowire?
That was rare. Most mercs didn't bother with them. Unless you were a netrunner, monowires were way too mentally draining. A katana or brute strength usually got the job done faster and easier. Karl was one of the few known mercs who still used one effectively.
Seeing someone else wielding one—especially someone who looked competent—was enough to catch Karl's interest.
He watched as the four-person merc crew walked straight up to Dexter DeShawn.
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🔥🦾 CYBERPUNK: THE RELENTLESS 🦾🔥
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