Cyberpunk: The Relentless

"No doubt about it—you guys did one hell of a job."

Father let his men take Sato Kazuo away—both to deliver him to the grieving son for revenge and to extract the truth about why he murdered the boy's father.

Then, he stepped forward and gave Jack a big bear hug.

At first glance, Father looked like nothing more than a kind old man—his face marked with obvious age spots.

No one passing him on the street would ever suspect that this elderly man was actually the most powerful fixer in all of Heywood.

After hugging Jack, Father turned his gaze to Karl.

"This job's wrapped up—so take this as a little personal bonus from me."

'Beep.'

Karl glanced at his account balance.

90,000 eddies.

"Jesus."

Karl had to admit—Father was one generous motherfucker.

The original reward was 60,000 eddies.

Father just dropped an extra 50% on top of that—out of his own pocket.

Now that was a fixer worth respecting.

Unlike that braindead corpo bootlicker, Faraday.

Karl actually liked the way Father did business.

"Anytime you got work, just hit us up."

Taking the money meant a few polite words were in order.

Karl wired 30,000 each to Oliver and Jack, then glanced at his own balance—

990,000 eddies.

He was about to break a million.

But honestly, with his chrome still in its adaptation phase, he didn't even have anything to spend it on.

Karl wasn't into fancy cars, he was satisfied with his apartment, and now that he had real pork, even his food situation was settled.

He literally didn't know what to do with all this cash.

Even if he wanted to hand some over, Jack and Oliver wouldn't take it.

Of course, technically speaking, if he didn't count that random 1 million eddie payout from that Arasaka corpo princess, he was actually still 10,000 in the hole from everything he'd spent—

But that was a lucky break, not something he could count on happening again.

So in the end, there was only one conclusion to make:

More gigs.

Always.

That was Karl's final takeaway from staring at his overflowing account balance.

"Father, we're heading out."

After delivering the target, they didn't linger long in King's Boulevard.

They dropped the Quartz off at a repair shop and switched back to their freshly-repaired Hera.

Destination?

The Afterlife? Lizzie's? A fixer's office?

Nah.

El Coyote Cojo.

Karl hadn't been to Mama Welles' bar since starting school—and even though it had only been three days, he was already craving her homemade fries.

On the way, Karl pinged Maine and the crew with an update.

Karl: "Got Tanaka's route. Just sent it over. Need you guys to set up an ambush and nab him."

Maine: "Received. Don't worry—won't take long with this info."

With two netrunners and one recovering netrunner, Maine's crew had way better tracking skills than Karl's.

Karl: "Then I'll leave it to you. If anything goes sideways, ping me. Also, let me know the second you bag Tanaka."

With that, he ended the call.

Overall?

The whole Militech job had gone off without a hitch.

"Hey, Karl."

Jack spoke up not long after Karl ended the call.

"What's your endgame with all this? What's your goal?"

"Goal?"

"Yeah. Goal. Like, for example—

I became a merc because I want to make a name for myself.

Make eddies, get famous—hell, if I can pull it off, maybe even become one of the legends.

Morgan Blackhand. Weyland the Old Snake. That kinda level.

I want every damn person in Night City to know my name.

But you?

We've been running together for a while now, and I've never seen you show much interest in anything besides food.

So what the hell is it you're actually after?"

"Yeah, I get that feeling too."

Oliver, still gripping the wheel, added:

"For me, it's simple—same as Jack. I want eddies, I want my name out there. I want to rub it in the faces of the fuckers who kicked me out of the 6th Street Gang. One day, I want them crawling back, begging me to take a contract—one I won't even bother looking at.

That's why I became a merc.

But you?

You don't seem to have that kind of hunger."

Turning a corner, Oliver continued:

"Honestly, Karl, sometimes I wonder if you're some kind of monk."

"No, scratch that—those bald fucks still sneak off to watch braindance smut.

They don't have that… calm, that warmth you do.

If I'm being real with you—

Karl, you're different.

You're like the sun.

And I don't mean in some poetic, bullshit way.

I mean it literally—you don't fit in with this city.

You don't belong in Night City."

Jack nodded.

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing—though Oliver's whole 'sun' metaphor is kinda vague."

Jack paused, then said:

"I'll put it in my own words.

Before I met you, Karl, I never imagined someone could smile at everyone—treat every single person like they actually mattered.

And I definitely never thought someone would actually show respect to anyone who could be called 'human.'

Remember the old junk dealer?

In all my 28 years, I've seen plenty of people deal with guys like him.

And you're the only one—the only one—who ever treated him like a person.

Karl blinked.

"Respect?"

"Yeah."

"You mean I just have good manners?"

"Maybe part of it, but it's more than that.

You're too goddamn bright, Karl.

Too warm.

Looking at you, I start to think…

'Damn. Maybe this city isn't so hopeless after all.'

'Maybe people still have something to hold on to.'

You don't belong in Night City because you make people feel like there's still something worth believing in."

Oliver chuckled.

"Yeah, exactly. You're like the daytime sun—clear as day.

Everyone who gets to know you knows exactly what you love, what you hate.

You don't hide a damn thing.

And because of that…

None of us have any clue what you're actually chasing."

Jack nodded again.

"No one's real dream is to be a corpo bootlicker.

No one's real goal is just making eddies and climbing the ranks.

That's not what we're truly after.

Money's just a tool to get where we wanna go.

Karl, when I look at you, I see someone who could walk a golden path to whatever dream you choose.

So tell us—

What's your dream?"

Karl fell silent.

What was his dream?

Come to think of it—

Ever since arriving in 2075, he'd just been rolling with the tide.

Teaming up with Oliver.

Pulling in Jack for gigs.

Running missions back to back.

But he'd never actually stopped to think about what he wanted.

What do I want?

Nothing concrete.

But that's fine.

Dreams are something you chase on the way.

Karl lifted his head.

Even from Heywood, he could see the towering skyline of Night City's City Center.

"Then I guess my dream is—"

Karl smirked.

"Becoming a legend.

Standing at the top.".

.

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