Cyberpunk: 2075

"Jackie, come have a drink with us!"

Jackie Welles had barely stepped into the El Coyote Cojo before the Valentino gang member, who had been pestering Mama Welles for another drink, immediately stood up and waved him over, eager to share a round.

Before Jackie could respond, Mama Welles—carrying a tray—cut in first.

"Jackie, perfect timing. Come help me out and bring these over to those two customers over there."

"Got it, mamá."

Having just come home only to get put to work, Jackie could only give an apologetic look to his friend before smoothly taking the tray from his mother and walking over to Carl and Oliver. He set the plates down in front of them and, without hesitation, took a seat right next to them.

"So, how should I call you, mano?"

Jackie Welles. The real deal, sitting right in front of them.

But for Carl, who had already met Vik, it wasn't as shocking as it might have been otherwise.

"Carl."

Carl took a sip of his tea from the glass. "You can call me KK."

This sweet tea… tasted just like iced tea.

"Oliver."

Oliver raised his cold beer slightly toward Jackie in greeting. "I heard your name earlier—Jackie, right? I don't mind making a new friend over drinks."

"Perfect."

Jackie had initially approached them just to get a read on the unfamiliar mercs hanging around his mom's bar, making sure they weren't trouble. But after talking to them for just a few seconds, he could tell they weren't the dangerous types. His wariness quickly faded, and he accepted Oliver's invitation without a second thought.

Getting up, Jackie walked over to the bar, dodging his mother's nagging as he grabbed a bottle of the same beer Oliver had. On a whim, he also grabbed a plate of sliced jamón ibérico—of unknown origin, but that was just how it was in Night City.

On his way back, he called over to his Valentino friend, "I might have some biz later, so I won't be drinking with you guys today. Gonna chill with these new friends instead."

"Next time, then!"

"Of course!"

Flashing a grin, Jackie dropped the plate of jamón onto the table, plopped back into his seat, and downed a large gulp of beer.

Once he was done, he finally turned his attention back to Carl and Oliver.

"Help yourselves to some ham. By the looks of it, you two are mercs?"

"We just formed a team yesterday. Haven't even taken a job yet," Carl answered while sipping on his iced tea. He popped a fry into his mouth, savoring its crispy, golden texture. Surprisingly good.

"So, you guys are fresh out of the gate?"

Jackie's brows raised slightly in surprise. "From how you're geared up, you don't seem like complete rookies. Someone guiding you?"

Newbie mercs often fail to grasp the importance of weapons and armor. Even in El Coyote Cojo, a bar full of mercs without fixers, many of them had likely walked the razor's edge between life and death multiple times before realizing the necessity of a bulletproof vest or subdermal armor. Too many gonk rookies hit the streets after seeing the legends in action, thinking they could do the same, without any prep whatsoever.

"We did get some help from a ripperdoc named Viktor. He's a real good guy," Oliver said, casually responding to Jackie's friendly yet perceptive questioning.

Sitting beside him, Carl caught on immediately—Jackie wasn't just a big, friendly lug. Beneath his easygoing demeanor, he was sharp as hell. Just a few lines of conversation and Oliver had already given away information.

But it wasn't anything too critical, so Carl simply grabbed a few more fries.

The bar's fries were great—crispy, well-fried—but El Coyote Cojo didn't serve salt, ketchup, or even mayo.

"Viktor?"

Jackie perked up at the name, instantly connecting the dots.

"The one in Watson?"

"Yeah, you know him?"

"Of course, mano! We go way back!"

Jackie's grin widened, the last bit of hesitation melting away. If Vik had helped these guys, they were solid. No need for further testing—these two were the real deal.

With Carl joining in, the conversation naturally flowed toward Vik and his work. Then Jackie shared his own situation.

"I'm kinda in the same boat as you guys. Just started working as a merc not too long ago. I've taken a few gigs already, but nothing too big. I do know a fixer, but I don't wanna rely on that connection just yet. Gotta build myself up first, prove I can get work based on skill—not just who I know."

"Man, Jackie, you got ambition. Not like me—always relying on my old man and sister. And if Carl hadn't been around, I wouldn't have even known how to get started on my own," Oliver admitted.

Oliver glanced at Carl's plate and noticed something—Carl was almost done with his fries.

Jackie had noticed too. With a bit of pride, he asked, "So, Carl, how're the fries? My mamá makes 'em. I've been eating these since I was a kid—never got tired of 'em, not even with tortilla chips on the side."

"They're solid. But I think a bit of ketchup would make them even better."

"¡Exactamente! I keep telling her that, but she won't budge. She likes 'em plain."

Jackie looked like he was about to drag Carl over to his mom to get a second opinion, but before he could act, the bar's entrance swung open.

Newcomers.

"Corporate suits," Oliver muttered, lowering his voice.

And just as he said, a woman in a pristine business suit stepped in. She had makeup on, was almost attractive—but her haughty expression completely ruined it.

"Keep it down, mano, or the corpo mutt might bite," Jackie whispered with a smirk full of mockery.

No one in Night City really liked corpos. They strutted around, looking down on everyone while kissing the boots of those above them.

"She's looking our way," Carl said flatly.

Jackie and Oliver immediately looked up.

The sound of high heels clicked sharply against the bar floor as the corpo woman—expression unreadable—marched straight toward them.

'The hell? She hear us? What kind of cyberware's she packin'?'