Cyberpunk: 2075

The Maelstrom car carrying Carl and his employer, Blanca, finally entered the Watson Industrial Zone.

But instead of heading toward some dark, steel-smelling factory—like Carl had expected—the driver made a series of sharp turns, weaving through the district before finally stopping in front of an apartment complex.

Back when Watson was still supposed to become another city center, rich people had built luxury apartments on the outskirts of the industrial zone—thinking they could separate themselves from the working-class filth living nearby.

But after Watson collapsed, the rich fled—especially when Maelstrom took over.

They didn't want to deal with the gang's "visits" for mandatory "protection fees."

Now, the only ones left in these apartments were the factory workers—still enjoying the isolation their former rich neighbors had so desperately wanted.

Carl mentally noted all this information but paid more attention to the meeting location itself.

Honestly?

He preferred negotiating here over a factory any day.

Factories were claustrophobic, reeked of metal, and gave him bad memories.

At least in an apartment, you could look out the window and see some sunlight—

…Even if Night City's sun was mostly filtered through layers of smog and pollution.

When the car finally stopped, Carl's eyes immediately locked onto the two Maelstrom gangers standing in front of the building.

Each of them was holding a well-maintained Saratoga SMG.

[Militech M-221 Saratoga]

Originally designed as a corporate security weapon, the Saratoga's signature "clack-clack" sound made it popular among gangers.

Of course, its cheap price and easy modding potential also helped.

If you ever see one of these compact yet deadly SMGs on the streets, it's best to stay the fuck away.

Because unlike Lexington, the Saratoga isn't some low-tier garbage.

Damn. Even my mental notes are starting to dunk on Lexington now.

Both were Militech weapons, after all.

And back in the day, the Lexington and Saratoga were named after aircraft carriers—meant to be sister firearms.

But by 2075, it seemed like one had become a joke, while the other was respected.

Carl had a soft spot for the Lexington, though.

It was his first gun, after all—even if he had replaced it and left it back home.

That said, as much as he felt sentimental, the moment he spotted the Saratogas, his hand instinctively hovered over his Kenshin tech pistol.

Just in case.

These Maelstrom lunatics had zero regard for their own people.

If one of them suddenly decided to go guns blazing, Carl wasn't sure he could shield Blanca in time.

…The chances were low, but as her bodyguard, he had to stay ready for everything.

Luckily, Maelstrom wasn't that insane—at least not today.

The two gunners stepped aside, letting their weapons hang down in a "welcoming" posture.

Carl noted that they didn't block the doorway—

But he also noted how calculated their positioning was.

They were in perfect spots to shoot them in the back the moment things went wrong.

"Time to get out."

Blanca didn't even glance at him as she opened the car door and stepped out.

Carl spared a quick glance at the silent Maelstrom driver in the front seat.

Nothing.

The chrome-eyed psycho didn't react.

Satisfied, Carl followed Blanca—but just as he stepped out—

He heard it.

A small, metallic click.

Gun safety switch disengaged.

The sound came from the driver's seat.

Well, that answers that.

They were already preparing for an ambush.

Carl's expression didn't change as he stepped onto the pavement.

He didn't react.

Didn't even glance back.

Just walked forward calmly, staying at Blanca's side, as the two Maelstrom guards silently watched them enter the apartment complex.

If shit went sideways…

He could kill them all before they even knew what hit them.

As soon as Carl and Blanca disappeared into the apartment complex, one of the Maelstrom guards standing outside approached the driver, still gripping his Saratoga SMG.

"Did they do anything suspicious on the way here?"

The driver, a Maelstrom member with high-ranking privileges and cybernetic scanner eyes, replied with a neutral tone.

"No. That corpo bitch seemed nervous, though. My scanner picked up an adrenaline spike—way above normal levels. But that's just typical pre-negotiation anxiety. Doesn't seem like she's planning to break the deal."

"And the bodyguard?"

The guard's tone changed slightly, his grip on his Saratoga tightening.

"That kid… isn't he the one who took out Maelstrom's 'Demon' and wiped out one of our safehouses?"

The driver's cyber-eyes flashed red at the mention of Carl.

His response came hesitantly, as if he himself couldn't fully believe his own words.

"That kid… From the moment he got in the car to the moment he got out—he never looked nervous. Not even once.

Not when he saw me. Not when he realized we were taking him straight to our turf.

Nothing."

The Maelstrom guard furrowed his brows.

"That doesn't sound like any merc I've ever met."

The driver let out a bitter chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he remembered the ride.

"It's not just that.

I've driven a lot of mercs to 'meetings' before.

Half of them are already shaking by the time they step into the car.

Some even look like they're about to piss themselves when they realize where they're going.

But this kid?

He didn't give a single fuck.

And it wasn't because he was confident in some corpo backup.

It felt like… like he wasn't scared because he didn't need to be.

Like he was holding my life in his hands the entire time."

The guard scoffed, unimpressed.

"Sounds like you're exaggerating."

The driver shook his head, his hands slightly trembling as he pulled them away from the wheel.

His voice rose slightly, like he was just now realizing the full weight of what he had felt.

"I swear to fucking god—I was so on edge the entire ride, I didn't even run a single red light.

Not one.

I barely even breathed too hard, just in case he suddenly got in a bad mood and decided to kill me.

And you know what?

I only had the balls to disengage my gun's safety after he was out of the car."

The guard's expression faltered.

He was about to laugh it off, maybe call his friend paranoid.

But then he saw the sweat dripping down the driver's back.

And the look on his face—a mix of lingering fear and realization.

It was real.

The guard swallowed dryly.

"...Are you seriously saying he could kill all of us? Alone?"

The driver took a deep breath, then exhaled.

"I don't know.

But if he wanted to…

I don't think he'd even get a scratch."

Silence.

The guard turned his head, looking toward the apartment complex's entrance.

Carl had already gone inside.

His mind replayed the moment Carl walked past him, remembering how he had briefly made eye contact.

For a split second, he had felt it too.

That strange, unshakable sense of dread.

Like a wild animal had just sized him up—then decided he wasn't worth the trouble.

"...There are ten guys in that negotiation room," the guard finally muttered.

"Ten guns all pointed at him.

He's not gonna take them all out… right?"**

He had meant it as a rhetorical question.

But as soon as he said it—

He wasn't so sure anymore.