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Falco was an ordinary-looking man, but he carried a distinct, old-world gentlemanly air. His long brown hair was neatly parted, and his beard was trimmed with surgical precision, curling slightly at the tips. Dressed in a multi-toned brown vest with suspenders over a white turtleneck, he looked more like a British professor than one of the best getaway drivers in the city.
The meeting took place in an English-style tea shop, a rare sanctuary of quiet sophistication amidst the high-octane madness of Night City. Scones and black tea provided a momentary illusion of peace. This was an interview for both parties.
Lucy sat beside Kael, her nimble fingers stirring milk and sugar into her tea. Beyond the glass walls, the city was weeping. The weather forecast had warned of high acidity; without a high-grade chemical seal or a full-body hazmat suit, the rain would melt skin, blind eyes, and scar lungs within minutes. In Night City, a sip of unpolluted water was a luxury; a walk in the rain was a death sentence.
"Have you reached a decision, Mr. Falco?" Kael asked.
The offer was substantial: a five-thousand-Eddie monthly retainer, plus high-percentage commissions for every mission.
"I can't think of a single reason to refuse," Falco sighed. With Maine's personal recommendation and the rising notoriety of 'BT,' the choice was simple. His only concern had been Kael's age, but after five minutes of conversation, he realized that Kael's youthful face masked the soul of a "Calculating Survivor."
"Then I look forward to our partnership," Kael said, extending a hand. Falco gripped it firmly.
"Should I start calling you 'Boss'?"
"Just call me Kael. All my friends do."
"As you wish, Kael."
"Good. Let's get to work." Kael tossed the keys to the Chevrolet Emperor 620 Ragnar to his new driver.
When Falco saw the SUV in the underground garage, his eyes widened. Kael and Pilar's modifications had turned the corporate transport into a rolling fortress. Falco caressed the bulletproof plating with more tenderness than he would a lover.
"Some details need a professional's touch, but the foundation is perfect," Falco noted, sliding into the driver's seat.
Kael and Lucy settled into the back. Falco started the engine and drove out into the acidic downpour. The streets were eerily empty; even in a city of monsters, most stayed inside when the sky turned toxic. The Ragnar's internal self-circulating air system and anti-corrosion coating hummed, shielding them from the environment.
"How big is the crew? Just the three of us?" Falco asked, weaving through the traffic with a steadiness that made the ride feel like they were gliding on glass.
"There's one more, but this is a private job," Kael replied, pulling Lucy close.
They parked at the rear entrance of a Tyger Claw casino in Japantown. Two gang members, neon tattoos glowing through the haze, approached the unfamiliar vehicle, banging on the window.
"Are you blind, gonk? This isn't a parking spot!"
The window lowered just an inch. A dark muzzle emerged.
Pop. The suppressed Kenshin barked, and the first Tyger's skull vanished. Before the second could blink, he met the same fate as Lucy lowered her own window.
"It splattered on my face," Lucy pouted, wiping a microscopic drop of blood from her cheek. Her fingers were already dancing across her terminal. Using the Ragnar's onboard server, she cracked the casino's local subnet in seconds.
Kael pinched her chin, inspecting her face with mock-seriousness. Finding no dirt, he leaned in and bit her lip gently.
"Stop messing around, Luce. We're on the clock."
"Targets located," she whispered, her eyes glowing blue. "Private Room One. Surveillance is looped. You have three minutes before the handshake fails."
Kael donned an electronic mask, disguising himself as a high-roller, and stepped into the casino. The lobby was a sensory nightmare—a cocktail of stale sweat, cheap synth-tobacco, and the metallic tang of blood. He moved past the Tyger Claw enforcers, who were too busy shaking down losers for their organs to notice a "ghost" moving toward the stairs.
Room One was a haven for corporate types and high-ranking gang lieutenants. Kael stepped inside, and instantly, Lucy cut the power.
In the sudden pitch black, the glowing tattoos of the Tyger Claws were like neon bullseyes. Kael didn't even need his Kiroshi's night-vision. A few muffled shots later, the room was a morgue. These were the men who had staged his father's "accident." Kael felt no surge of vengeance—only the cold satisfaction of a debt partially settled.
They moved to the second location. Kael intended to finish Rita's contract for the Moxes on the same trip.
"Stay in the car," Kael told Falco and Lucy. The target, Yamaguchi Shiro, was patrolling a nearby street with a small squad.
Kael intercepted them in a narrow, trash-strewn alley. Yamaguchi was no street grunt; he was the illegitimate son of an Arasaka executive, equipped with high-end corporate chrome and a Nanoweave Thermal Katana.
"Hey! Out of the way, meat-bag!" one of Yamaguchi's subordinates shouted.
Kael didn't move. He drew the Kenshin and accelerated.
"Shit!" Yamaguchi barked, instinctively activating his Sandevistan.
The world slowed. Yamaguchi watched with agonizing clarity as Kael's bullet traveled through the air and vaporized his subordinate's head. Rage fueled his boosters. He drew his thermal katana, the blade sizzling as it turned acid rain into steam. He lunged, moving at speeds that would appear like teleportation to a normal person.
But Yamaguchi's Sandy wasn't military-grade, and his opponent wasn't human.
Kael tracked him through the "Power of Three" perception. He sidestepped the lethal arc of the blade, his hand snapping out to catch Yamaguchi's wrist. A sharp crack echoed as he shattered the man's cybernetic joints.
The thermal katana slipped from Yamaguchi's fingers. Kael caught it mid-air. In a single, fluid motion, he pivoted and swung.
Yamaguchi's airborne body hit the ground in two distinct pieces. His head rolled to Kael's feet, eyes staring blankly at the toxic sky.
"Good sword. Thanks," Kael said, inspecting the glowing orange edge before deactivating it.
He took a quick photo of the decapitation and sent it to Rita. A second later, she replied with a "kiss" emoji.
Kael stepped out of the alley, opened his umbrella, and headed back to the Ragnar. The acid rain would wash away the blood, but the street would remember that BT was a man who finished his business.
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