Chapter 343
2-in-1-chapter
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Seeing the strange number flash on his screen, Mosley froze.
Who could this be?
None of his colleagues from NetWatch would call him directly—besides, he had already saved all of their numbers.
His circle was extremely small. Aside from coworkers, he had almost no friends, and even the classmates he once knew during school years had long since lost contact with him.
In Night City, the only people he was acquainted with were Mr. Hands and the Voodoo Boys Placide. They were the only ones who might ever call him directly.
But he had both of their numbers saved too.
So who was behind this unfamiliar call?
While Mosley stood frozen in thought, the ringtone continued.
After another moment of hesitation, he finally picked up.
"Who's this?"
A young voice came through:
"I heard you've run into some trouble lately. I'm here to help you."
"Help me?" Mosley's body jolted with tension as his wariness spiked.
He really was in trouble right now—but how could this stranger know?
And aside from Rogue, who had refused the job due to dissatisfaction with the pay, every other fixer in Night City had turned it down.
So who was this young man? Did he truly have the confidence to go against the Voodoo Boys—or was he just a fraud?
"Who are you? And how did you get this number?"
Perhaps noticing Mosley's suspicion, the young man chuckled softly, speaking in a calm tone.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm the president of a private military company called Aurora PMC. You can call me Leo. As for how I got your number—naturally, it was from Rogue."
At the mention of Rogue's name, Mosley's tone eased somewhat.
He hadn't been in Night City long, but both Mr. Hands and Placide had made it clear just how powerful Rogue was.
And in this city, no one dared to impersonate Rogue. The former Queen of the Afterlife would have no qualms about sealing someone in a barrel of concrete and dumping them in the bay.
Still, though the contact supposedly came via Rogue, the name of the company was completely unfamiliar.
"Aurora PMC? I've never heard of it."
"It's a new company, just established not long ago. It's normal you haven't heard the name. You can look us up—check our official site."
Frowning, Mosley pulled up his terminal and typed into the search engine, finding the site Leo mentioned.
The Aurora PMC site had been built at enormous expense, deliberately designed to rival the polish of giants like Kang Tao, Arasaka, and Militech.
Money was no object; the site had to look professional and top-tier.
Leo didn't know the web designers personally, but Rogue did. Talent was everywhere—there were always skilled people outside of the corps, not just corporate drones or street punks. And with the right money, anything was possible.
The truth was clear: the website before Mosley's eyes looked nothing short of elite and high-class.
"Let's meet face to face. Where are you now?"
"I'm outside the Grand Imperial Mall. From here, I can clearly see the unfinished shopping complex."
"Alright. Come straight through the main entrance. I'll notify my people—they'll bring you to me."
About ten minutes later, Mosley finally met Leo in a movie theater inside the mall.
What surprised him was that the owner of the voice on the phone looked even younger than he had imagined.
"So you're Leo? I wasn't expecting you to be so young."
"Appearances can be deceiving. If you judged by looks alone, you'd think Yorinobu Arasaka was only in his thirties. You'd never guess he's pushing eighty."
Leo had a point, and Mosley nodded, dropping the issue of age.
"Then let me get straight to it. Mr. Leo, on the phone you said you'd help me. How much do you know about my current situation?"
Leo spread his hands casually. "I know you're an agent sent by NetWatch. And I know you're here to deal with the Voodoo Boys."
Mosley wasn't shocked at the answer. He had already called nearly every fixer in the city, and everyone knew NetWatch wouldn't let the Voodoo Boys slide after all their stunts beyond the Blackwall.
Even those not fully in the know could connect the dots.
Mosley nodded again. "So you're saying you're willing to take this contract?"
"That's right. I'm confident I can deal with the Voodoo Boys. But I have one condition."
Mosley raised a brow, already guessing. "Payment?"
"Correct. Five million eurodollars is far too little. Compared to the cost of eliminating a gang of elite netrunners, the reward is completely disproportionate."
If this had been when Mosley had just arrived in Night City, still unfamiliar with its realities, he might have thought Leo was simply trying to drive up the price.
But after spending some time here, especially after hitting wall after wall with various fixers, Mosley had come to understand the going rates.
He now realized that the initial offer of five million eurodollars had indeed been too low.
So, he asked politely, "Then how much do you want?"
"Twenty million eurodollars."
"That's impossible!"
Mosley had expected Leo to raise the price, but he hadn't imagined he would quadruple it all at once. It felt like outright extortion.
"There's nothing impossible about it," Leo said. "Your request is to wipe out an entire gang, not just stir up some trouble. If you want the Voodoo Boys completely dealt with, that's the price."
"The most I can authorize is eight million. Twenty million is out of the question—you know what twenty million means?"
"Of course." Leo smiled faintly. "Twenty million means your mission in Night City is a success. The Voodoo Boys eradicated, their roots torn out, and no more need to worry about them causing trouble for you on the Blackwall."
He spread his hands. "From where I stand, if a problem can be solved with money, then it isn't a problem. And surely, a company like NetWatch, tasked with safeguarding the free world, isn't so poor that it can't pay a mere twenty million?"
He added casually, "Besides, not all of that is mine. Three million of it is your share."
Mosley's brow furrowed. "You're trying to bribe me?"
"Bribe you?" Leo laughed suddenly, as if he'd heard the best joke of the year.
"For someone from NetWatch, you sure sound naïve. Isn't this the method you people use all the time? Even I, a Night City citizen, understand this much. We're all adults here—no need to act like we're back in school."
Many said politics was dirty—full of money-for-power trades and backroom deals—but the truth was, that kind of game wasn't unique. In some places, it just went by another name: "campaign donations."
Regardless of system or structure, people were still people—not some higher species.
And as long as they were human, they were never escaping human nature.
If you want someone to give you the green light, you have to make sure they get something out of it too. That way, everyone shares in the benefit, everyone has a stake in the chain—and that kind of relationship is the most stable.
As expected, when Leo proposed cutting him in with three million, Mosley, who had been so firm in refusing, suddenly fell silent.
Leo could read the situation clearly. If Mosley had been treated well within NetWatch, he wouldn't have been sent here alone, thousands of kilometers from Europe. Even if they had to hire backup like the Animals, the core team should have been NetWatch personnel. Yet here Mosley was—a lone agent.
That said everything.
As the saying went: money is courage, gold is a man's backbone. With it, you could stand tall; without it, you bent your back for scraps.
Sure, a few people worked only for their dreams, but the vast majority were slaves to money—going to work for the sake of working, grinding day after day.
Mosley looked like one of those honest men who kept his head down at NetWatch, taking abuse quietly. With no money, he had no choice but to endure until he either broke down or burned out.
Now, Leo was offering him a third way: close this deal, take the three million, and resign.
Noticing the change in Mosley's face, Leo pressed the advantage.
"If it doesn't work, then forget it. I won't risk making enemies with a gang that can fry brains from half a world away—for a mere eight million."
"The most I can authorize on my own is eight million," Mosley admitted. "Anything beyond that, I'd have to request approval. Twenty million is… it's a lot. I don't know if I can get it cleared."
The promised three-million cut—framed as a "donation"—was too tempting.
Back in London, Mosley had worked himself half to death, overtime day after day, for just over a hundred thousand eurodollars a year.
Three million meant buying out thirty years of his life. Thirty years free from grinding overtime, thirty years of better health, without the toll of overwork.
Leo could see Mosley shifting—from loyal company man to temporary ally.
"Whether you can get it cleared—that's your problem," Leo said smoothly.
Seeing Mosley's uncertain expression, Leo explained patiently, "Why won't headquarters release more funding? Because they don't think the Voodoo Boys are a big enough threat. That's the only reason."
"So the solution's simple: make them see the Voodoo Boys as a real threat, and the funding will come."
It was like a military department pushing for a bigger budget—by pointing to world events, hostile neighbors, dangerous trends. Whether the analysis was accurate mattered less than convincing the funders that it was.
The same principle applied here. Mosley's current limit was eight million because NetWatch didn't care enough. Otherwise, why would they have sent him here alone?
"As they say, the squeaky wheel gets the grease. If you just do all the work in silence, how would your bosses know how much you've suffered?
"They'll just assume the task is easy—or that you're more capable than others, so you can handle extra. That's what they call 'the capable get more work.'"
"Reporting is important. Not just letting your superiors know you're working—but showing them how much you're working, how hard it is, how complex the problems are."
Mosley froze.
He wasn't new to the job, but he had always done his work diligently, never complaining. Just as Leo described: when assigned a task, he did it quietly, no matter the burden.
And in return, his bosses had indeed kept piling more onto him than onto others.
He had always thought it was because he was easy to bully.
But now, hearing Leo, it seemed that wasn't the whole truth.
"Is… is that really necessary?"
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