Cyberpunk: 2075

"Well, just as expected—I got kicked out."

On the second morning after arriving in this world, Carl woke up in a motel in Watson and received a call from Oliver, who had gone back to Santo Domingo the night before.

"How did it go?"

Carl splashed some water on his face and glanced at his reflection in the mirror—still that same young face staring back.

"What do you think? I can't go back to Santo Domingo anymore. Guess you could say I got exiled. I'm heading to Watson now. Meet me at the diner outside your motel. Order ahead—I'll take a steak, the ten-eddies one."

"You sure know how to eat well."

With no toothbrush or toothpaste, Carl used his fingers and some water to scrub his teeth as best as he could before rinsing his mouth.

He made a mental note—he needed to rent a proper apartment soon. This motel life wasn't cutting it.

Stepping outside, he headed across the street to the diner, already having paid for the room the night before. As he crossed, a car swerved dangerously close, almost hitting him.

Carl kept his cool.

No need to pull his gun and send a few rounds into the driver to "clear his head."

This wasn't Gotham, after all—no need to be that conservative.

He placed Oliver's order and got himself another bowl of Chinese cold noodles. Between getting used to mercenary work and adjusting to the taste of insect-based meat, Carl figured the latter might take longer.

While waiting for the food, he bought himself a drink.

Yesterday's "Little K Cola" had been way too harsh on his teeth, so today he switched it up—grabbing a "Ciris Classic Cola" instead.

Just from the packaging, it was screaming 'Murican pride—red and white stripes, a blue background, and a bunch of stars. Way too much freedom in one bottle.

Then he took a sip.

His eyes lit up.

Carl had to admit—Ciris Cola was way better than Little K Cola. If you were in America, you had to drink American cola.

"Oh, you're drinking Ciris Cola? I like that one too."

Oliver arrived just as Carl was enjoying his drink. He sat down across from him and, without hesitation, bought himself a Ciris Cola from the vending machine next to their table.

Taking a sip, he chuckled.

"You know, back in the 6th Street Gang, we had this weird belief—Ciris Cola is the only patriotic cola. Drinking anything else is basically treason. Even if you drink something else, you still gotta salute Ciris Cola when you pass by it."

"What kind of American superiority complex nonsense is that?"

Carl shook his head. This Ciris Cola patriotism marketing was actually kinda impressive.

Then again, wasn't Night City an independent city? Why was it still so obsessed with American nationalism?

Oh, right—6th Street Gang was founded by former US military veterans. That explained it.

"So, what's the plan? Any leads on a fixer yet?"

"Nope."

Oliver casually shrugged. "No leads, but my old man told me—if I'm gonna do something, I should do it properly and not half-ass it. He gave me a suggestion: check out Wild Wolf Bar in Heywood. People are always recruiting there for work. We might be able to pick up some gigs."

[Heywood]: A district of stark contrasts—lush parks and high-rise apartments in the north, slums and gang-ridden streets in the south. Its unique and unmistakable charm keeps pulling you in.

NCPD Threat Level: Moderate Danger.

Along with this info, Carl's mind flashed through what he knew about the gangs in Heywood.

[Valentinos]: They control the Latino-majority neighborhoods and uphold values like honor, justice, and brotherhood, willing to die to protect them. Their loyalty lasts beyond the grave—before getting involved with the Valentinos, think carefully.

Their food arrived.

"I thought the Valentinos and 6th Street didn't get along? You sure it's fine for you to go into their turf with me?"

"What's the problem?" Oliver took a big bite, chewing loudly. "I'm not 6th Street anymore. And honestly, plenty of our guys had good relationships with Valentinos behind the scenes. As long as we keep things cool, it's whatever. Damn, this steak is amazing—juicy, tender, perfect texture."

Watching Oliver talk while chewing, steak juice spilling from his mouth, Carl instinctively leaned back.

It reminded him a little too much of biting into one of those fat, juicy insects in synthetic food.

Way too vivid of an image.

"Alright then. Once we finish eating, we head out. How are we getting there—subway?"

Carl remembered seeing info about Night City's metro system before.

"No need. I drove here this time—got all my stuff packed in the car."

Oliver gestured toward the black car parked outside the diner.

"Quartz EC-L R275. Birthday gift from my sister when I turned twenty. Affordable, durable, and reliable. I'll drive us to Heywood—I know the roads well enough."

Then, as if he couldn't resist adding more, he smirked.

"By the way, it's a two-seater. Only my ex-girlfriends have ever been in it. You're the first guy."

"Oh wow, I should be honored."

Carl wasn't familiar with cars in this world and didn't care enough to comment.

He quickly finished his cold noodles—realizing that he was getting sick of them. Sure, they were good, thanks to the wheat-based noodles, but this was his third meal in a row eating the same thing.

He needed a change.

"Oh, speaking of thanks, you might actually owe me one."

Oliver suddenly remembered something.

"I've got two Nokota D5 Copperhead kinetic assault rifles in my trunk. Just in case things get heavy, we'll have the firepower to handle it."

[Nokota D5 Copperhead]: If the 20th century had the AK-47, the Copperhead dominates the present. Reliable, powerful, and dirt cheap—this Nokota-manufactured rifle is the most trustworthy tool at your side.

An assault rifle, huh?

"I might not even be able to handle the recoil."

"Then just spray and pray."

Oliver downed the last bite of his steak.

"So, KK—ready to go?"

"Of course. Let's move, Oliver."