"Like cracking an egg with a sledgehammer—now the chick's got its eyes open."
Muttering a mangled proverb he'd picked up somewhere, Oliver tapped his gun against the skull of a fallen Animal. "First time I've seen someone walk straight into our trap like this. Gotta say—it's eye-opening."
"Could you not butcher proverbs while we're standing over corpses?"
Karl sighed, waving at the crowd of curious tenants gathering to gawk. "Nothing to see here, folks. Just a minor misunderstanding. I already called the NCPD—they'll be here soon."
"A misunderstanding?"
The skeptical residents of the megabuilding weren't buying it. They glanced at the pile of Animal bodies scattered across the street, then at the barricaded apartment doors—clearly part of the building.
'Hope the cops show up quick. Can't even get home without stepping over a body these days.'
"Karl, looks like they're stuck. Should we move the bodies so folks can get through?"
Jack was being surprisingly considerate, nudging one of the corpses with his boot. After all, these were their neighbors.
"Good point."
Karl looked down at the heap of musclebound gangsters they'd flattened on the fourth floor and sighed,
"Should've just killed 'em all—dead bodies don't complain."
"You're not actually thinking of tossing them out the window, right? From the fourth floor? They'd explode on impact."
Oliver rolled up his sleeves, ready to help Jack drag the bodies, when sirens echoed from below. He froze.
"Hold up—why's Johnson here so fast?"
"You forgot?" Karl replied. "He's been stationed around City Center lately. We shifted the fight to Watson to avoid dragging him in, but Watson's right next door."
Oliver blinked. "So… we ended up dragging him in anyway."
"Not quite. We held back. It's not like the old days when we left corpses in daylight. There's a difference between dumping bodies and capturing someone alive.
With bodies, NCPD just sends a cleanup crew. Johnson and his boys get stuck working overtime, zero reward.
But if it's a live catch? That's where the side cash starts rolling in."
Karl ticked it off on his fingers. "Gang bribes. Bail. Processing fees. All that sweet under-the-table income. Way better than a pile of corpses."
As he spoke, Karl glanced over at the big fish—Johnny Silverskin, still unconscious and lying flat on the floor.
"We're not handing Silverskin over to Johnson. I already got what I needed out of him, but this guy's still part of Old Captain's contract.
He wanted him dead, but if we tie him up and deliver him gift-wrapped, I bet he'll appreciate the gesture."
Just then, Karl's shard pinged—a reply from Old Captain, along with a transfer of 12,000 eddies.
Old Captain:
"Hot damn, you guys are pros. You're even letting me finish the job myself? Here's a tip for the service—a little something extra."
Karl grinned. "Told you we'd get a bonus."
Watching the funds roll in, Oliver—now receiving his share—suddenly had a revelation.
No wonder their squad had a 100% mission success rate—and 100% client satisfaction.
With Karl always thinking three steps ahead for the client… how could they not be perfect?
The NCPD rolled up quickly—or rather, Mr. Johnson and his squad. Didn't take long for them to reach the fourth floor.
"Yo, Mr. Johnson. Evening."
In the glow of Night City's skyline, night and day didn't mean much, but Karl still greeted by the clock.
"Quite the scene today, huh Karl?"
The officers moved like clockwork without needing instruction. Mr. Johnson strolled over and nodded to the group.
"Evening, Jack. Oliver."
"Evening, Mr. Johnson."
Johnson looked over the downed Animals. "So what's the story? These guys came knocking on your door looking for trouble?"
"Nope. Mission target. They drove themselves here."
"…Drove themselves?"
Johnson blinked, then looked again—this time in disbelief.
"Don't tell me they were trying to ambush you and just happened to pick your front door as the spot?"
"Yeah. It's as dumb as it sounds."
"Tsk tsk…"
Johnson stared at the thick-necked muscleheads, his gaze lingering on their faces.
"Figures. That's the Animals for you. You guys are in this area so often, even the Scavs that set up shop this morning already know to steer clear.
And these geniuses chose today to roll in?"
"We were cracking up halfway through the mission. Their intel must've been garbage."
As Karl spoke, he pointed toward Johnny Silverskin.
"Right—Mr. Johnson, this guy's off-limits. He's the actual target. Someone's coming to pick him up. I'll send you the car's ID. Just help us load him up when it arrives."
"No problem. Easy enough."
Johnson nodded, then squinted at Silverskin's face.
"…This guy. Why does he look familiar?"
"Johnny Silverskin."
"Huh? Wait—Johnny Silverhand?!"
"No—Silverskin. Just a wannabe poser. Fanboy turned cosplayer."
"Oh. Misheard. I installed a Mandarin voice pack so I could chat with you easier—guess it mangled the name."
"No worries, Mr. Johnson. English, Japanese, Spanish—whatever you got, I'm good now."
Karl had burned through enough language BD chips to handle most of Night City by now.
While Karl and Johnson kept chatting like old friends, the watching tenants had gone dead silent.
They weren't rich—just scraping together enough eddies each month to keep a roof over their heads. No braindance chips. No fancy implants. They didn't know who Karl really was.
But they weren't stupid.
Anyone who could flatten a full squad of Animals like it was nothing…
…and then casually trade jokes with a top NCPD captain?
Who was this guy?
And why the hell was someone like that living in a 1,000 eddies-a-month shoebox apartment?
.
.
.
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