"Who would've thought there'd be a scav hideout in one of the busiest districts in Night City? I actually used to believe City Center was safe."
Oliver stretched his wrists and readied his Nova revolver, eyeing the apartment complex in front of them.
"The moment I hit the streets, I stopped believing in that corpo propaganda."
Jackie held his Saratoga SMG, its compact frame looking almost comically small in his huge arms—like a grown man trying to use a kid's chopsticks.
"Everyone was young and dumb once."
After locking the car, Oliver looked over at Karl, who had his Kenshin tech pistol in hand.
"Alright, Karl. What's the plan?"
"Target's on the sixth floor. Let's take the elevator up."
Karl had already shared most of the intel on the way over, so Oliver and Jackie were up to speed.
"That fixer even sent us the exact room number. All that's left is for us to kick in the door and clean house."
"Looks like he's got some pro-level netrunner backing him up—sent us a whole-ass video feed of the place. Four scavs in the room. Target's still alive, hasn't been gutted yet."
"Then let's make it quick."
Four scavs?
Oliver wasn't even sweating it.
These kinds of low-life organ thieves only preyed on civilians and lone gang members—if they had real skills, they wouldn't be stuck doing this shit.
Their cyberware and guns were bottom-tier garbage—barely better than what a random street punk could get their hands on. Hell, Oliver wasn't even sure their rounds could pierce his vest.
If it weren't for the time limit, Oliver could have soloed all four without breaking a sweat.
Even back when he was in 6th Street—for a whole week before getting kicked out—he'd trained since childhood under his ex-6th Street dad. The guy drilled him on marksmanship, tactics, and close combat.
Before meeting Karl? It would take at least seven or eight scavs to take him down. Now? With all the jobs they'd run together?
This wasn't a fight—it was butchery.
And Oliver wasn't even the strongest one in the squad.
Jackie and Karl? Either one of them could tear through a whole scav den without breaking a sweat.
The entire mission played out exactly as expected—the longest part was driving over, then riding the elevator up. Actually dealing with the scavs took almost no time at all.
"Damn," Oliver grinned, holstering his revolver as he looked over the four corpses."I think my aim's gotten even better."
He spread his arms wide at Karl.
"Alright, gimme a rating."
"Three shots to the head, one to the heart. Two seconds total. Accuracy's solid, but you could still speed up."
"Alright, alright. I'll grind some more westerns on BD. Gotta admit, Karl—I never realized how useful those things were for actual training."
"Maybe 'cause you were too busy jerking off to notice."
Karl shook his head and turned to Jackie, who was checking on their unconscious target—a young guy, lying on a filthy, blood-stained mattress.
"How's the kid, Jackie? You need Oliver to take a look?"
"Nah, he's fine. Just dosed up on anesthetics—probably won't wake up today."
After confirming the target was stable, Jackie stepped aside so Oliver could handle the extraction.
The guy was young—way younger than Oliver expected.
Seventeen, maybe eighteen? About Karl's age.
"Huh. Kid's about as young as Karl."
Oliver glanced at Karl before realizing how that might've sounded.
"Uh, no offense, Karl. I just mean he looks young as hell. What's his name?"
"Name, huh? Lemme check."
Karl flipped through the file, confirming the target's identity.
"Julio. Kid's from Japantown."
"Julio, huh? Sounds like a pretty average name. How'd he end up getting snatched by scavs at his age?"
Jackie didn't quite get it, but Oliver, after double-checking that the kid was stable, gave his own guess.
"Probably 'cause he's young, cyberware-free, and an easy target. Japantown ain't far from City Center—kid must've wandered a little too far out and got himself in trouble."
"Let's hope he learns not to be so reckless next time."
Jackie sighed before turning to Karl.
"So, what now? We calling the fixer?"
"Already did. His people are sending a car—should be here in a few minutes. Once it's here, we just gotta dump Julio in the backseat, and that's it. We're done."
"Y'know, legit gigs feel kinda different. Everything's handled by the fixer, we just gotta show up and pull the trigger."
"Yeah," Karl muttered, "and half the pay vanishes in the process."
Shaking his head, he walked over to a scavenged computer and jacked in.
Might as well dig for intel—see if they could pinpoint another scav hideout and take care of some unfinished business.
Scavs in Night City were like cockroaches in a landfill—no matter how many you squashed, more would crawl out from the trash.
But still, fewer scavs was always better.
At the very least, Karl wanted his name to carry enough weight that just hearing it would make these scum piss themselves.
As data flooded his optics, he sifted through files, mostly coming across sickening transaction logs.
Then, something caught his eye.
"...The fuck is this?"
A standalone, highlighted document—clearly marked as important.
Karl opened it.
One by one, images filled the screen.
"Jackie, Oliver—come check this out. Found something weird."
"Weird?"
Jackie and Oliver walked over, leaning in to get a better look.
"...What the hell is this?"
Jackie frowned. The series of dimly-lit photos didn't make much sense to him, but the outline of something massive stood out.
"Some kinda big-ass machine?"
"No," Oliver said.
Unlike Jackie, Oliver had seen these before.
And when he spoke, both Jackie and Karl froze.
"That's an ACPA."