Karl watched as the cybernetic eyes on Daemon's face exploded in a burst of sparks and gore.
He staggered, vision spinning, body swaying sideways.
"Hey! You okay, KK?!"
Oliver rushed in, catching Karl before he collapsed fully.
His eyes shifted to the now-headless Maelstrom ganger, his face twisting in both awe and disgust.
"Shit… it really does look like a blood flower blooming."
"Almost died."
Karl groaned, pain radiating through his face.
His hand felt dislocated too.
The Crusher's recoil was brutal—
One shot and both arms had gone numb.
"C'mon, let's get you up."
Jackie stepped in, helping lift Karl. His gaze lingered on the crooked nose and torn cheek.
Then he placed a hand on Karl's nose.
"Brace yourself."
CRACK.
Karl felt something snap deep in his skull.
"AAARGH!"
The pain made him howl.
"Goddamn it, Jackie! You couldn't give me one second?!"
Jackie grinned, unfazed.
"The more you prepare, the worse it hurts."
His voice was way too casual for someone who'd just realigned a friend's broken nose.
"How's it feel?"
Karl winced, running a hand over his face.
"Better. Still hurts like hell, but at least it's not throbbing."
He exhaled and looked toward Daemon's corpse.
"Judging by that armor, she must've been a top lieutenant."
"No way a regular Maelstrom grunt could afford something that tanks Copperhead rounds," Oliver muttered. "No wonder this gig pays ten grand."
His tone turned bitter again—that "corporate chick" was now a full-on corpo bitch.
"I thought she was just being generous. Turns out the job was a damn pain."
He kicked the body.
"That kind of armor? Easy thirty grand."
Karl chuckled, clapping Jackie on the shoulder.
"Well, once we torch that crate, we walk away with seventy. You'll be able to afford decent subdermal plating."
Jackie smirked.
"After we hit up Vik. We're all pretty wrecked."
"Agreed."
Oliver picked up the Crusher Karl had dropped.
"Might as well loot their accounts. Could be some creds left."
He smirked.
"Assuming we didn't turn their brains to soup."
Karl shrugged.
"Not a chance. I aimed for all of them myself."
Then he turned to Oliver.
"By the way… any idea why she was gunning for you?"
Oliver frowned.
"No clue."
He nudged Daemon's body with a boot.
"I've never even been to Watson before yesterday. Whatever beef she had, it wasn't with me."
Jackie whistled low.
"If she was alive, we could've had a netrunner dig through her logs."
Karl smirked.
"Too bad she's dead."
Despite the banter, they got back to work fast.
Jackie scavenged weapons for resale.
Karl and Oliver searched for terminals or logs on the crate's location.
After thirty minutes, Karl found a working computer on the first floor.
He jacked in, scanning files.
Nothing directly about the crate—
But one folder caught his eye.
Maelstrom activity logs.
Raids.
Ambushes.
Conflicts with gangs and corps.
Everything.
Karl leaned back.
He remembered hearing it when he first arrived—
"Maelstrom's stirring shit up in Kabuki again."
There was the 6th Street convoy that got hit.
And now this corpo crate.
None of it was random.
Maelstrom was building toward something.
Something bigger.
…Not his problem.
He was a merc.
Not a revolutionary.
Just as he was about to disconnect, his commlink buzzed.
"Yo, found the crate."
Oliver's voice came through with attached coordinates.
Karl smirked.
He jacked out, pulled the Lexington, and fired one shot—
Blowing the terminal apart.
Not for stealth.
Just a test.
The Lexington couldn't pierce armor, but it could still wreck a computer.
He watched the bullet sink into the terminal and thought—
It's… passable.
Not enough penetration.
Yeah. Time to upgrade.
By the time Karl reached Oliver's position, Jackie was already there.
Right in front of them was the crate described in the dossier.
Karl nodded and dialed the corpo's number.
After a few rings, she picked up.
"How's the job?"
No greeting. No intro.
She already knew.
"This your crate?"
"Describe it."
Karl relayed the markings—size, shape, the red flower emblem.
"That's the one. Destroy it."
"Copy that."
He nodded to Oliver.
Oliver jacked into the security node and started recording.
Jackie tied several grenades to the crate, then dragged it to a corner and yanked the pins.
Five seconds later—
BOOM.
A shockwave ripped through the room.
Shards of the crate scattered across the floor.
For a split second, Karl thought he saw data shards inside—
Thin, rectangular slates of encrypted intel.
But now they were ashes.
Oliver saved the footage and handed it to Karl.
Karl sent it to the client.
Seconds later, the line cut off.
No goodbye.
Instead, a message came in:
"You did well. You weren't too curious. I'm satisfied."
Then—
Ping.
70,000 eddies received.
"Well?"
Oliver eyed the smoking remains.
He'd wanted to know what was in there—
But the payout was sweeter.
"Just came through. Sending your shares now."
A moment later—
23,300 eddies landed in each of their accounts.
"There's 100 left over."
Karl grinned.
"Call it dinner money. Let's eat somewhere decent."
"I know a few places," Jackie smirked.
Then added with a laugh:
"But a hundred won't cut it at those spots. I'll chip in."
Karl waved him off.
"My treat."
And with that—
Their first job as a crew?
Complete.
Job Payout: 100,000 eddies.