"Interested in discussing a job, KK?"
Just as breakfast wrapped up, Karl—who was planning to go out and browse some Braindance—got a call from the fixer Dino Dinovic.
"Dino."
Karl instantly recognized the voice and recalled the man's profile in his mind.
[Dino Dinovic]: The most well-known fixer in City Center, and also the bassist for the band Gloryhole Bandits. In Night City, there's barely a soul who doesn't know him. If you need something, he's your go-to pal—provided you can afford the right "friend fee."
Karl had worked a few jobs for Dino over the past two months. The guy's reputation wasn't just hype — he paid well, and Karl's crew always delivered. Their mutual trust had turned into an informal long-term arrangement. So it wasn't all that surprising that Dino was calling him early in the morning about a new job.
"You're really dragging me out first thing to talk shop? Can't we do this over comms?"
"I could send you the brief, sure," Dino said. "But this job... better if there's no digital trace. Trust me, come down and let's talk in person. This client's loaded, and the job is—well—explosive. Definitely a fit for your team. Doesn't matter if you come solo or bring the whole crew. Just don't make me get on my knees, alright?"
And with that, the call ended, leaving Karl staring at his phone.
Fixers and their cryptic crap, man.
Still, the words "loaded" and "explosive" definitely piqued his interest.
Dino wasn't like Cap'n Oldschool or the other fixers who loved to talk big and bluff their way through. When he said something was generous or wild, chances were the reality would be even crazier — more dangerous, but also more rewarding. And when the payout's big and the job's a thrill? Karl never said no to that.
"I could go alone, but anyone feel like giving me a lift?"
Karl looked up from his phone, which had been on speaker since Dino called. His teammates, lounging nearby after breakfast, had all heard the offer. Now he just needed a driver.
"I've gotta head over to my mom's place," Jack was the first to wave him off, a little apologetic. "If you take the gig, let me know. But I've gotta help her stock the bar. A shipment just arrived, and Pepi's off today."
Pepi was the bartender at the El Coyote Cojo. Karl knew him too. With Pepi out, the help was definitely needed.
Karl nodded in understanding, then turned to Oliver. But the guy had just pulled off his headset, soaked in sweat, and shook his head firmly. "I have to get better at clearing hard mode on the training chip. No gigs today. If you think it's worth it, just take it."
Karl sighed, eyeing the headset as Oliver put it back on.
Oliver had beaten hard mode on the chip before — on his 24th try. But when V joined the crew, Oliver had challenged him to try it for fun… and V beat it first try, just like Jack had. In fact, V made it look even easier than Jack had, which left Oliver stunned mid-popcorn.
Since then, he'd been obsessed with "matching V's level," diving back into the simulation whenever he had the time.
"Well, good luck with that."
With T-BUG still asleep, and Jack and Oliver busy, that left one option.
"V — feel like being my driver?"
V gave a casual nod, then thought for a second. "Which ride are we taking? Hella's still in the shop. Want to use my car?"
"Your car…"
Karl thought of that beast in the underground garage — the once-dismantled, now fully-restored Rayfield Caliburn Viper, assembled from the ground up by V once he had the eddies.
"Why not? You haven't even taken it out in the city since fixing it up, right? Let's give it a proper spin."
"Thought you might pass 'cause it's a two-seater."
"Please. I've ridden on the roof before — remember eating all that dust?"
The two of them took the private elevator from the penthouse to the second floor of the underground garage. V got in and started the Viper. The engine purred — a far cry from its former rattletrap state.
As the ride pulled out, V asked, "So, where's Dino's bar again?"
"Oh, right — I forgot you've never taken a job from him. This'll be your first."
Karl jacked his monowire into the car and pinged the coordinates into the nav system. "Downtown. Small bar tucked into a back alley. Pretty hidden spot, honestly. Alright — route's set. Let's roll."
"A fancy downtown fixer hangs out in a tiny bar?"
V sounded genuinely surprised. He figured someone like Dino would live in a high-rise penthouse, or at least a North Oak villa.
"Sometimes having your own turf is the only way to feel truly safe."
They chatted casually on the way. Thanks to their location in Little China, Watson, it didn't take long to reach Dino's bar. V parked, and they walked into the alley.
The entrance? Just a narrow, 70-centimeter-wide steel door — cramped and easy to miss.
"This might be the smallest bar I've ever seen."
Karl glanced over his shoulder at V, sliding the door aside.
As the door creaked open, a broad-shouldered Black man in a white tee, sunglasses, and a baseball cap turned to look at them. He stood like a bouncer, stationed right at the entrance.
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