"Something wrong, Karl?" V had turned to chat with Karl, only to notice that Karl's attention wasn't on him. Following his line of sight, V
"Something wrong, Karl?"
V had turned to chat with Karl, only to notice that Karl's attention wasn't on him. Following his line of sight, V also noticed the four mercs sitting down across from Dexter DeShawn.
"Dexter DeShawn…"
Seeing the four merc-looking individuals take a seat with Dexter, V looked puzzled. "Is he gearing up to start handing out gigs again? Those four mercs don't look familiar at all—I've never seen them."
"You've never seen them?"
Jack, who had also turned his head due to the others' reactions, looked surprised. "V, you're the one in our squad who takes on the most gigs. Out of ten mercs at Afterlife, you've probably seen nine. And you don't recognize those four?"
"Come on," Oliver chimed in, "Even if V runs nonstop gigs, he can't possibly know every merc in Night City. It's a city with an official population of seven million. Not knowing a few mercs is totally normal."
Still, as he looked again, Oliver frowned. "But then again, those four clearly have solid gear and a competent aura about them—and none of us, not even V, has heard of them? That's rare. Where the hell did Dexter dig them up?"
In a city of seven million, it wasn't strange for mercs to be strangers. But add the condition that they were actually capable? Then it became something worth noting.
Most mercs in Night City were burned-out outsiders, self-styled street punks, or corpo rejects. Only those who refused to stay down and were willing to risk a bullet to the skull tried to become mercs. And of them, only one in a hundred survived long enough to make a name. Getting picked up by a bottom-feeder fixer was already hard enough—becoming a regular at Afterlife? That was like winning the lottery.
Which meant that for top-tier mercs like Karl's KK Squad, most faces in their league were already familiar. Sometimes during gigs, when rival crews realized they were up against KK Squad, they'd back off on the spot—either out of respect or the plain understanding that they were outmatched.
So for four capable-looking mercs to appear out of nowhere? That was... weird.
"Karl, how long did it take us to build our rep and get into Afterlife?"
Oliver already had a bad feeling but asked casually.
"Two to three weeks, give or take," Karl replied. "But those four... they're probably stronger than we were back then."
"When exactly are you talking about?"
"When we went up against Lieutenant James Norris."
"Damn. That good, huh? Then Dexter really pulled in some serious firepower."
Karl's evaluation seemed to pique Oliver's curiosity. He kept glancing back at the four mercs—and the more he looked, the stranger they seemed.
Because their posture was... way too rigid.
They sat perfectly upright, faces emotionless. Despite the chaos of Afterlife's bar, Oliver could occasionally catch fragments of their conversation with Dexter. Their voices were calm and soft—no shouting, no emotional spikes.
"Sitting so stiff, not a single harsh word? These rookies are too disciplined."
"Maybe they're just polite," Karl said, turning his head. "I mean, I'm not exactly the rude type, right?"
"Polite? You?" Oliver smirked. "You're polite in the most sarcastic way possible."
He turned back. "So, what's your take?"
"Curious."
"Of course," Jack sighed. "Your curiosity is what makes you the most dangerous member of the crew."
"I know," Karl replied, casually pulling out his phone.
"I'm already checking their profiles."
Opening up someone's data just out of curiosity—back in the old days, that would've been frowned upon. In 2077?
Yeah, it's straight-up illegal.
Privacy laws in Night City were strict. The InfoSec Act had harsh punishments for unauthorized access. If Karl got caught, he'd lose his little "Model Citizen" badge real fast.
That's why he logged in using Mr. Johnson's credentials to access the NCPD database.
Meanwhile, Johnson—busy at his desk—noticed a sudden login to the department's personnel files under his ID. He paused, then sighed.
"That kid…"
Seeing the verification code used, he shook his head and let it slide. He was the Deputy Commissioner, after all. He had clearance.
Thanks to Johnson's leniency, Karl quickly finished a facial scan and cross-referenced it with recent city entries. The results came back soon enough.
"Out-of-towners."
The way he said it had the tone of a Night City native, despite Karl not being one.
"Found their info through Border Control. Entered the city just this morning."
"Any registration details?" Yory asked. That morning sounded familiar.
"Nope. Listed as nomads. But the tribe they claimed to be from? Disbanded a month ago."
"So the records basically lead nowhere," Yory muttered. "Nomads are already hard to track. If the tribe dissolved, there's no way to verify them unless we find someone who used to be in that group—and even then, we'd have to make sure they're not lying. Otherwise, we can't confirm who these four really are."
"Any activity logs?"
"I pulled some footage from streetcams—no signs of them approaching the cordoned zones or any Tyger Claws safehouses," Karl said. "So probably not connected to them. But—"
"Your sweet tea's here."
"Thanks, Claire."
Karl smiled at Claire as she dropped off his drink and went to fetch some fries. Then he added quietly:
"But I don't buy that they're nomads. Their skin's way too fair, their behavior is too polished, and their hands don't show a single callus from long-distance driving."
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🔥🦾 CYBERPUNK: THE RELENTLESS 🦾🔥
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