"KK."
Meredith Stout addressed Karl by his mercenary handle, keeping a calm, composed look on her face. "You're late."
"One minute and twenty-two seconds. Sorry—the cab I was in ran into some trouble. Had to call another, took a little time."
Standing in the Badlands wilderness, Karl looked at Meredith and the dozen Militech operatives behind her and apologized earnestly.
Being late to a mission as a merc was a serious issue. Naturally, he had to acknowledge it.
"Trouble on the road…"
Meredith looked at Karl—surprisingly polite, not at all like the infamous merc KK—just as an internal Militech alert popped up on her feed.
"Gang firefight near City Center. Fourteen confirmed members of Maelstrom and Tyger Claws involved. Collateral includes over thirty civilians and four vehicles. All gang members killed after attacking an armored cab carrying mercenary 'KK.' No survivors."
As the message came in, the Militech agents behind her received it too.
They glanced at the alert, then back at Karl—smiling, apologizing, and completely calm. The easygoing air they'd begun to relax into disappeared instantly. The name "KK" reminded them exactly who they were standing near.
Meredith nearly lost composure, but forced herself to stay professional. She nodded lightly, as if accepting the explanation.
"If it was just an accident, then it's fine."
She turned and gestured behind her. "Seen these before?"
Karl followed her gesture. Parked nearby were four cargo trucks. After briefly examining them, he recognized the model.
He wasn't as skilled as Jack when it came to vehicles, but he'd picked up enough. As long as it wasn't heavily modded, he could usually figure it out.
"Villefort's newest cargo truck? Columbus V340-F, right?"
"Correct. Villefort's most popular and cost-effective model."
Meredith continued, "And it's what we'll be riding in today."
"You're using these to intercept shipments in the Badlands?"
Karl was confused. These trucks could handle the Badlands terrain, sure—but for ambushing transports?
"They're just for approach."
Meredith clarified, "The actual strike is handled by our nomad allies. We'll use these to get close, jam Arasaka's comms, and then they'll hit the target with other vehicles."
Karl nodded.
"So we pose as cargo haulers, get close, disrupt their comms to block backup signals, and let the nomads strike?"
"And cover for any unexpected variables."
As she spoke, her agents opened the cargo holds of the trucks, and a group began climbing inside.
"You riding shotgun, or hopping in the back?"
These trucks had been modified into troop carriers, with enough space for gear and passengers. Karl looked at the two-seat cab. He wasn't about to squeeze into the back like cargo.
"I'll take the passenger seat."
"Then you're in my vehicle."
Meredith had originally planned to ride shotgun herself and let a subordinate drive. But since Karl would be in front, she'd drive—no way she'd let one of her agents risk crashing the truck from nerves.
"Bring it over."
At her signal, Militech agents retrieved two large crates from the lead truck and placed them next to Karl and Meredith.
"Let's blend in. We stand out too much like this."
"Combat suits?"
Karl looked at the contents of the crates. From the heavy armor plating and insignia, he immediately recognized them.
"These are Arasaka suits. Night City elite guard models, right? Can't believe you got your hands on these."
"While Arasaka's designs are still waiting for upper management approval, our Special Ops Division already has the full schematics printed and tested."
"You guys and your corporate spy games…"
Karl had to admire the constant back-and-forth between Militech and Arasaka. No one screws you harder than your rival.
It reminded him of a joke:
"How do you resist Arasaka's corporate tyranny?" "Call Militech."
And if it's Militech you're resisting? "Call Arasaka."
Without a word, Karl inspected the suit to ensure there weren't any traps—no grenades, no wired sabotage—then donned the full set, helmet and all.
These Arasaka suits included ballistic plate slots and protective fiber layers. Combined with the bulletproof vest he was already wearing, the overall security felt dense and reassuring.
Sure, Karl knew the armor wouldn't stop something like a charged shot from a Yasha sniper rifle. But still, the layered protection gave him a psychological sense of invulnerability.
That illusion didn't last long.
Very quickly, the weight of the armor made itself known. It wasn't intense, but he could feel the drag.
For the average person, it would've been like wearing a wetsuit—impressive engineering for combat gear. But for Karl, even that tiny delay could be the difference between killing fast or too slow.
Then he realized the truth.
His body still wasn't fast enough. His own flesh was the bottleneck.
Sitting in the passenger seat, fully geared up, Karl had already decided on his next cyberware upgrade.
He needed leg work.
Bones, joints—maybe his legs should be like his arms.
.
.
.
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