The Maelstrom car carrying Karl and his client, Blanca, finally rolled into the Watson Industrial Zone.
But instead of stopping at some smoke-choked, steel-reeking factory—like Karl had expected—the driver took several sharp turns, weaving through alleyways and debris-strewn streets before pulling up in front of a run-down apartment complex.
Back when Watson was still being pushed as Night City's next corporate hub, investors had built upscale residential buildings along the district's edges—hoping to create a luxury buffer zone between the elites and the industrial filth.
Then the economy collapsed.
The corpos fled.
And Maelstrom moved in.
The wealthy didn't stick around once the gang started demanding "mandatory protection fees."
Now, these "luxury" apartments housed factory workers and low-level gangoons—the only ones still willing to live on the edge of Maelstrom territory.
Karl mentally filed all this away. He paid more attention to the location than to the history.
Honestly?
He preferred a negotiation in an apartment over some factory deathtrap any day.
Factories were confined. Loud. Smelled like blood and rust.
At least apartments had windows—and with a little luck, maybe even filtered sunlight.
As the car came to a stop, Karl's eyes locked onto the two Maelstrom gangers waiting outside the building.
Each held a Militech M-221 Saratoga SMG.
[Militech M-221 Saratoga]Originally a corporate-issued PDW, the Saratoga became popular in gang circles for its high ROF, compact size, and easy modding.It earned a street nickname: "The Ripper's Clarinet."Not a toy. Not like the Lexington.
Back in the day, the Lexington and Saratoga were marketed as "sister platforms," both named after American carriers.One became a discount shelf joke.The other? A street staple.
Karl had a soft spot for the Lexington—it was his first—but even he had to admit: the Saratoga was superior in every way.
Still, sentiment had its weight.
That said, when he saw those gunners, Karl's hand instinctively drifted toward his holster, brushing the grip of his JKE-X2 Kenshin.
[Arasaka JKE-X2 Kenshin]High-end tech pistol.Electromagnetically fired slugs.Pierces cover. Shreds standard subdermal armor.
A smart move after what happened with Daemon.
He wasn't taking chances.
Not in the heart of Maelstrom territory.
These chromed psychos didn't care about each other, let alone strangers. If someone got trigger-happy, Karl knew he'd have to kill fast to keep Blanca alive.
Fortunately—for now—they behaved.
The gunners stepped aside.
Non-verbal invitation.
But their stances told another story.
If things went south, they could light up Karl's back in a heartbeat.
"Time to get out."
Blanca didn't look at him as she stepped out of the car.
Karl gave the Maelstrom driver one last glance.
Nothing.
Blank chrome face. No reaction.
No words.
Still, the moment Karl opened the door—
Click.
That tiny metallic sound?
A safety disengaging.
Coming from the driver's seat.
Well, shit.
Guess they were expecting a double-cross too.
Karl's face didn't change.
Didn't flinch. Didn't look back.
He just stepped onto the sidewalk, falling into step beside Blanca as they entered the building.
The Maelstrom gunners tracked his movement.
But they didn't move.
Not yet.
If shit started—Karl would end it before anyone could even scream.
As Karl and Blanca disappeared into the stairwell, one of the gunners leaned over toward the driver.
Still holding his Saratoga, finger near the trigger.
"Did they do anything sketchy?"
The driver didn't look back.
Voice modulated and calm.
"Negative. Corpo chick's adrenaline spiked a bit—scanner flagged it—but nothing major. Probably just nerves. Doesn't look like she's planning a double-cross."
"And the merc?"
The guard's grip on the Saratoga tightened.
"That guy... He's the one who took out Daemon, right? Soloed that safehouse in Watson?"
The driver hesitated.
His cyber-eyes flickered red.
"I... think so."
He leaned forward, hands gripping the wheel.
"From the moment he got in the car, until the second he stepped out—he didn't react to anything."
"Didn't flinch when he saw you?"
"Didn't even blink."
The driver paused again, then rubbed the back of his neck—nervous.
"I've driven a lot of mercs to these kinds of meetups. Half of them are pale before we hit the halfway point. The other half start sweating bullets the second they realize we're heading into Maelstrom turf."
"But him?"
The driver's voice dropped.
"It was like... he knew he could kill me whenever he wanted."
The guard scoffed.
"You're paranoid."
The driver slowly pulled his hands off the wheel.
They were shaking.
"I didn't even disengage my safety until he got out of the car."
Silence.
The guard was about to laugh.
But then he saw the sweat beading along the back of the driver's chrome skull.
And the expression on his face—like he'd just survived something far worse than a normal passenger.
"...You're saying he could wipe us all?"
The driver inhaled.
"...I don't know."
He looked toward the building.
"But if he wanted to...?
I don't think he'd even get scratched."
That quiet hit hard.
The gunner turned his head, watching the apartment entrance like it might explode.
He remembered that look Karl gave him earlier.
No malice.
No fear.
Just cold assessment.
Like a predator who decided not to waste the energy.
"...There are ten guys in that room with guns pointed at him," the gunner muttered.
"He's not gonna take them all out... right?"
He didn't expect an answer.
But suddenly—
He wasn't so sure.