Cyberpunk: 2075

Since they were about to take on Maelstrom, proper preparation was a must.

Like, for instance, getting a bulletproof vest for the guy walking around with his chest exposed—Jackie.

"I figured at the very least, your jacket had some armored plates inside, so you could just zip it up when needed. But now you're telling me that not only do you not have subdermal armor, you also don't even wear a bulletproof vest?"

Even after stepping inside the weapons shop, Oliver still couldn't wrap his head around Jackie's reckless approach. Vik had given them safety tips after barely knowing them—there was no way Jackie, an old friend, hadn't heard the same speech a dozen times. And yet, as a merc, knowing the importance of armor, he still ran around completely unprotected.

"Man, that's just insane."

Carl chimed in, also baffled at Jackie's utter disregard for safety. In a video game, sure, it made sense—characters usually wore the flashiest, most revealing outfits for style points. But there were two problems with that logic: first, Jackie was a guy. Second, this wasn't a game—it was real life.

Carl wasn't familiar with the game's exact storyline, but something told him Jackie was gonna regret this habit sooner or later.

A bulletproof vest wasn't as effective as subdermal armor—it wouldn't stop high-caliber rounds or specialized weapons—but against standard kinetic firearms, it was good enough. For example, Carl's Lexington, which he found fairly reliable—if someone was wearing a vest, even a direct hit wouldn't penetrate too deep. It'd buy them enough time to get to a ripperdoc.

"Which is exactly why I came with you guys."

Jackie didn't seem too fazed. Still, since both of his new teammates were adamant about it, he tagged along. His original plan was to save up for subdermal armor and skip the vest altogether. But, well, that had been his plan for a while.

Every time he saved up some eddies, he ended up spending them on other things—motorcycle parts, books, whatever caught his interest. Subdermal armor just kept getting pushed down the list.

"But speaking of gear, KK—you sure you don't wanna swap out that gun?"

Jackie gestured toward Carl's waist. "The Lexington's basically a cop gun. NCPD hands 'em out to bottom-tier beat cops 'cause of budget cuts and corruption. This thing can't even punch through low-end subdermal armor."

"A low-tier gun for a low-tier merc. Sounds about right, don't you think?"

Carl didn't really care. When they looted weapons from Maelstrom and 6th Street, most of them were either in terrible condition from poor maintenance or had been modified to hell and back, making them completely unreliable for anyone else. But a few were still in decent shape—like the Constitution Arms Unity. It packed a solid punch with its 12-round mag and was all-around reliable.

But Carl felt comfortable with the Lexington.

If he ever needed more firepower, well, that's what the Copperhead was for.

Handguns were meant for mobility and rapid close-range shots—he wasn't looking for raw stopping power in a sidearm.

And even in a worst-case scenario where he had to rely on his pistol, Carl was confident he could put rounds through exposed areas and land hits where it counted. It wasn't like Maelstrom goons were walking around with full-body armor.

With their gear stocked up and ammo loaded, the three of them piled into Oliver's car and headed toward their target.

Their destination?

An industrial zone in the northern part of Watson.

This place used to be a thriving economic hub, a major employer in the city. Back then, officials described it as a bustling district, brimming with life and opportunity.

Now?

It was just another slum, a crumbling home for the city's disposable workforce.

They worked grueling 17-hour shifts in fully automated factories, scraping by on meager wages. They never stopped to think that the cost of repairing a machine was higher than a human life. Instead, they just kept grinding, grateful to their corporate overlords for giving them a job in the first place—terrified of getting fired, of losing everything.

Who could blame them?

The bosses saw them as expendable, yet they still had to be thankful for the scraps they got. If they didn't have work, their whole family would starve.

If Carl had to sum it up, he could only say: That's just how it is.

What else could he do?

Be happy about it? Happy that he didn't have to break his back for a corporation just to feed his family? Or relieved that he didn't even have a family to support, like some kind of cyberpunk Batman? That'd be one hell of a messed-up joke.

Anyway, it's not like he had a contract to take out a corpo exec—so for now, he'd wait. But if that kind of job ever came up? Carl wouldn't mind doing it.

Would it change anything for those factory workers?

Probably not.

But he wasn't a revolutionary. He was just a merc.

Come to think of it, maybe that's exactly why Maelstrom kept growing in numbers. Even if gang life was brutal, dangerous, and batshit insane, it was still better than wasting away in a factory. Maybe a lot of those recruits had seen their parents work themselves to death and decided they'd rather take their chances making a name for themselves in the underworld.

"If you think about it, gangs probably have better career advancement than some of these places."

Carl threw the thought out there, sparking a conversation between him, Oliver, and Jackie as they drove toward the job site.

"That kinda reminds me of why the 6th Street gang was formed in the first place," Oliver said. "Back in the day, the founders couldn't take the corpo oppression after the war, so they banded together to fight back. But, man… things changed a lot. When I was a kid, I never imagined 6th Street would end up like every other gang—shaking down civilians for protection money, playing politics, and running on connections and favors."

"A gang that started out fighting corpos… ends up becoming one," Jackie mused. "That's some real irony for you."

Then something clicked for him. "Wait, hold up—Oliver, you used to roll with 6th Street?"

"Technically, I was still in the gang yesterday. They kicked me out this morning."

Oliver went on to explain how he met Carl, recounting the events that led up to them forming a team.

"Our client found KK because of the security footage from that shootout."

"Nah, that's not what caught my attention," Jackie said, shaking his head. "I just realized something—weird coincidence, but I used to run with the Valentinos before I went solo. Now here we are, ex-members of two rival gangs, teaming up as mercs."

"Wait, you were in the Valentinos?"

This time, it was Oliver's turn to be surprised. But it only took a second to process—Jackie's family lived in Heywood, and the Valentinos in the bar knew him well. Made perfect sense.

"Guess that calls for a drink after the job's done," Oliver said. "Celebrate leaving gang life behind."

"Why does it sound like we just pulled off a big heist?"

Carl chuckled, but before the conversation could continue, the GPS chimed in.

"Target is 50 meters ahead."

"We're here. Grab your gear."

As the rundown factory loomed closer, Carl could feel the anticipation building inside him.

This was going to be fun.