Johnson's place wasn't much different from Karl's apartment. If there was a notable difference, it was that instead of a sofa, there was a bed in the main room—and Andy was sitting beside it, silently watching as Karl and Johnson entered.
"Andy."
Under Andy's calm gaze, Johnson walked over and gestured to Karl. "This is Karl."
"I know," Andy replied, nodding slightly. "I saw him back then."
"Back then…"
Johnson's face froze for a moment.
So the memories were still there?
Seeing Johnson's reaction, Andy offered a faint smile. "I just couldn't accept the truth. I didn't want to believe it. But those memories—I remember them clearly."
He stood and extended a hand to Karl. "Thanks for what you did last time."
Karl looked at Andy's clearly mechanical hands and, somewhat apologetically, shook his right hand.
"I should be the one apologizing. Sorry—I had to break your arms. Situation was urgent."
"You saved my life. I know the difference."
Andy released his grip, walked over to the small cabinet by the bed, and pulled out a bottle of liquor. He held it up. "Drink? One of Johnson's stash."
"Sure."
No reason to refuse.
Johnson watched the two casually helping themselves to his liquor and sitting down at the small table with a complicated expression.
"You two drinking my booze right in front of me?"
Despite his words, he walked over, grabbed three small glasses from the counter, and placed them in front of them. "Pour me some too. I never got around to drinking it."
The liquor poured into the glasses wasn't clear—it was full of impurities. After Karl's was filled, he took a small sip.
The taste was harsh. Spicy, bitter, and cheap.
Terrible.
Karl didn't know why Johnson treasured it, but he still downed the small glass in a few swallows.
Johnson and Andy also drank slowly in silence, no one speaking, as if drinking was the only thing that mattered.
When they finished, Andy let out a slow exhale.
Then he looked at Karl. "I want to ask you for something."
"Mhm."
Karl made a noise to show he was listening, then added, "My prices aren't low."
"198,405 eddies."
Andy looked Karl in the eye. "My old fixer cut me off after I crossed the Tyger Claws. Doesn't want to pull more intel for me—he's even thinking of selling me out. No other fixer wants to help, not for free. So I want to buy information on the Tyger Claws' leadership from you."
"Just the intel?"
"That's all I need."
Andy's voice was calm. "This is something I have to do myself. I'm a merc. Mercs speak through their guns."
"That's not a hard job."
Karl could see Andy wasn't bluffing, so he didn't say much more. He thought about who he could reach out to and said, "I can get you that intel. But you, right now…"
He looked at Andy directly. "You won't make it past their security."
The Tyger Claws might not be pure muscle at the top like the Animals, but their elite guards—ninjas, enforcers—weren't weak.
Andy was skilled. Even when cyberpsyched, Karl had rated him highly. In Karl's mind, Andy was top-tier. On par with someone like Maine.
But that wasn't enough.
He didn't have a team. His cyberarms were wrecked in their last fight. Who knew if the new ones were up to par? Taking on Tyger Claw leadership solo… was suicide.
But Andy only said:
"I still have to do it."
He wasn't unaware of the risk. He wasn't blind to his limitations. But for him…
"I have to."
The people who killed his sister—if he didn't take them down himself, then what was the point?
He'd come back to his senses for revenge. Until that was done, he wouldn't stop.
Karl didn't try to stop him. He just asked:
"Are you okay with that?"
Andy blinked.
"What do you mean?"
"Are you okay with dying just to kill one Tyger Claw boss? Letting the rest laugh over your corpse while they keep doing what they did to your sister?"
Andy's eyes widened.
That sentence pierced him like a knife—cutting into the anger that had hollowed out his heart.
Was he okay with that?
Killing one man… and letting others do the same to more girls like his sister?
Of course not.
Andy's breath grew ragged. His body trembled though he hadn't moved. He propped his hand against his forehead, as if his head would crash into the table if he didn't.
"Okay with it…"
He repeated the words softly.
But inside—he had the answer.
In his eyes, light returned.
Clarity.
"I'm not okay with it."
That was his answer to Karl.
.
.
.
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