Cyberpunk: 2075

The meeting was taking place on the fourth floor. Maybe it was just a thing with corporate types—an obsession with climbing to the top, always aiming higher. Even for a negotiation, the preferred spot was the highest floor.

Inside the room, aside from the ten Maelstrom members acting as security for the other party, there was a man in a sharp suit. Unlike Blanca, who was wearing casual clothes and trying hard to suppress her nervousness, this guy had the classic look of a corporate dog straight out of a Night City stereotype.

Arrogant posture, nose up in the air, eyes filled with condescension—just looking at him made you want to put a bullet through his skull just to cool him off.

"A real punchable face."

That was Carl's first impression of the man sitting at the other end of the conference table. Compared to him, his employer, Blanca, actually had some redeeming qualities—mainly her looks.

…Oh, and she was paying him.

"Sit down, Blanca."

The man spoke in a relaxed tone, like he was completely in control of the situation, as if Blanca was already a dead fish on the chopping block.

"…Juanito."

Blanca's voice was filled with complicated emotions as she sat across from him.

"No need to be so tense, Blanca."

Juanito smirked, his expression full of self-satisfaction.

"We're just discussing a small matter that both of us can agree on, aren't we?"

"A small matter?"

The words made Blanca's face twist with anger, but she held it down, forcing herself to remain calm.

"Fine, just tell me what you want in exchange for that thing."

"I won't ask for much."

Juanito chuckled mockingly.

"After all, back when I was working under you, you took such good care of me."

He put special emphasis on those last words, his tone dripping with sarcasm. It was clear their history wasn't all sunshine and rainbows.

"Looks like another case of corporate dogs biting each other."

Carl thought to himself while scanning the room. The meeting was being held in a run-down 120-square-meter conference space, with a busted-up wall connecting two rooms. As his eyes discreetly traced over every Maelstrom member, marking their weaponry and positions, he noticed a discrepancy.

His employer's intel was off.

There weren't ten Maelstrom members. Counting the guards at the entrance and the driver, there were fourteen in total. Still, it was within the acceptable margin for unexpected variables. Nothing too difficult.

As Carl observed, the Maelstrom goons were also sizing him up. But with ten of them and just one of him, they weren't too concerned.

They had already been briefed that Blanca had no real allies left—she could only hire some bottom-feeder merc to protect her. Seeing Carl now, they thought the same: a young-looking punk, barely seventeen or eighteen, dressed in basic Kevlar with no cyberware and armed with just a single pistol.

What could he possibly do?

None of them recognized him as the one who had taken out Maelstrom's Demon and wiped out one of their bases. It wasn't surprising—Demon had been a low-ranking lieutenant, and Maelstrom lost people like her every week. Plus, this group had been loaned out from a higher-ranking officer in exchange for a fat stack of eddies. They barely even knew each other, let alone had time to keep track of some merc who had killed a nobody.

To them, Carl was just a greenhorn.

While Carl and Maelstrom eyed each other, the corporate exchange continued. Juanito spent the next few minutes taunting Blanca, clearly relishing her growing frustration. Her clenched fists trembled as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. Only after fully enjoying himself did Juanito finally get to the point.

"I want you to surrender all your assets, resign voluntarily, and disappear from the company. Oh, and by assets, I mean everything—cars, property, cash. Every last eurodollar."

With just one sentence, he lit the fuse on Blanca's rage.

"That's not happening!"

Blanca slammed her hands on the conference table, rattling its already peeling surface as she shot up from her seat.

"What you have on me isn't enough to demand that much."

Juanito sneered.

"Not enough, you say?"

Juanito sneered.

"Did you really think that just because you destroyed the evidence of your little side hustle—selling company transport routes to Maelstrom—you could come here and shout at me like this?"

He smirked, shaking his head with mock pity.

"Let me spell it out for you, Blanca. I've been doing the exact same thing. The only difference? I started way before you. Hell, you only got involved because I allowed it—I was the one who reached out to Maelstrom and gave you the opportunity. You think wiping out the evidence of this last transport job makes a difference? I've got plenty more where that came from."

Juanito lifted his pinky finger and tapped it against the table.

"How do you think I even found out about you selling company routes? How do you think I got my hands on the evidence? Because I paid Maelstrom more than you did? No, Blanca, the reality is simple—you were always behind me. The only reason you got the position I deserved is because you went to a fancier school. But in every other way, you're nothing compared to me."

Blanca's eyes widened.

"So the entire partnership… was just a setup? You've been scheming against me from the start?"

"What else did you expect?" Juanito smirked.

Then, as if relishing her shock, he leaned back in his chair and added casually,

"Oh, and don't bother trying to record this conversation. I already had Maelstrom set up signal jammers in advance. You think I didn't notice you pretending to be angry while secretly turning on your recording device? Nothing we say here is getting back to the company."

Blanca's rage froze on her face.

Then, in an instant, it was gone—replaced by an eerie calm.

She sat back down, her gaze locked onto the man in front of her, once her subordinate, now her enemy.

"If you adjust your terms, we can renegotiate."

Juanito laughed, shaking his head.

"Oh no, Blanca. This isn't a negotiation. I'm just informing you. You will hand everything over—it's just a question of whether you do it willingly, or if I have to put in a little extra effort. And, well… I won't lie, there is some personal satisfaction in all this."

He grinned.

"I've always wanted to see you like this. That look of resentment on your face—finally! Hahahahaha!"

The satisfaction was intoxicating, like gulping down an ice-cold soda on a scorching summer day.

Then, Blanca spoke.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Juanito's laughter halted.

Something felt off.

She was still calm?

She wasn't breaking down?

He looked at her in confusion.

And then, he saw it—the barrel of a gun, aimed right at his face.

Blanca's voice was cold.

"Idiot."

If you're playing corporate power games, why the hell wouldn't you bring a gun?

"Bang."

A gunshot rang out.