"What do you think of him?" As the elevator doors closed behind the rotund mayor, Arasaka Sesen turned to Karl and asked for his opinion. "M
"What do you think of him?"
As the elevator doors closed behind the rotund mayor, Arasaka Sesen turned to Karl and asked for his opinion.
"Me?"
Karl wasn't sure why Sesen wanted his take, but since he had witnessed the entire exchange, he offered it anyway.
"He's a slippery bastard."
"Slippery… that's accurate."
Sesen nodded lightly.
"Or maybe 'impeccable' is a better word. Until I gave him unambiguous support, he remained cautious about everything I proposed. He showered me with compliments and polite affirmations, but never once hinted at actually helping. All charm, no substance."
He added, "He deserves his position as mayor—and I can see him holding onto it for a long time."
"Unless something unexpected happens."
Karl watched the elevator's numbers climb. "But smart guys like him don't usually deal in surprises."
"Maybe it's precisely because they're too smart… that surprises find them."
Sesen clearly knew more about Lucius Rhyne than he was letting on.
Their earlier discussion had been centered around Night City's legislation on restricted weapons.
The term included things like RPGs—high-threat armaments that, officially, were prohibited within city limits. Even military-grade tech like ACPAs and armored transports, though often circulating among powerful factions, weren't allowed to be deployed openly.
As the representative of Arasaka's hawkish faction, Sesen was trying to probe the possibility of relaxing some of those restrictions. For the hawks—who favored conflict, escalation, and extracting profits from chaos—the ability to wield such firepower freely within Night City would unlock significant leverage.
But Rhyne had danced around every critical point.
Despite giving lip service to Sesen's suggestions, he was laser-focused on one thing: who exactly Sesen was speaking for.
Was he just an internal actor in Arasaka? Or was he the company's mouthpiece?
To Rhyne, Sesen seemed like a naive firebrand waving vague promises, thinking that a few rhetorical flourishes and half-baked assurances could sway a sitting mayor. Laughable.
But what Rhyne didn't realize was that this wasn't a negotiation.
It was a test of loyalty.
He had forgotten who had helped put him in power. Forgotten that it was Arasaka who propped him up, that his title—"Mayor of Night City"—wasn't something he earned alone. Now he saw himself as the city's sovereign, no longer bound to his past allegiances.
Back then, when Militech posed a threat, he had begged for Arasaka's aid. Now, feeling secure, he was leaning back toward Militech again, treating Arasaka like a risk to his position.
Did he really believe he was the only one smart enough to play both sides?
With the 2077 mayoral election on the horizon… whether Lucius Rhyne would still be mayor—or even alive—was very much in question.
Sesen glanced over at Karl.
Compared to the man whose fate had just been sealed in that meeting, Karl was the one he was truly interested in.
Hiring Karl hadn't been some spur-of-the-moment decision. Sesen still had operatives he could trust—loyalists more capable in pure security work than any merc squad. But the choice to hire KK's team came from a single message. A recommendation.
And that message had come from one of the very few people Sesen trusted.
And the team had delivered.
Karl's squad had performed well—and Karl himself had even cooked for him. That home-cooked meal, simple as it was, left an impression.
In just a day, Sesen had already formed a solid picture of the man.
He prided himself on reading people. That talent had helped him survive the streets and gather a loyal faction that had once openly opposed Arasaka. In that regard, he considered himself not far behind his father—Saburo Arasaka—in understanding human nature.
To Sesen, Karl felt like someone out of a different era. Untainted by the toxic flash of Night City's neon-soaked madness.
He lacked that desperate shine most people carried—always burning bright, trying not to be forgotten. Karl didn't posture. He wasn't overly deferential, yet his words carried sincerity. His respect felt real.
And real was rare these days.
Sesen finally understood why he got along with Karl.
When someone genuinely treats you with honesty—through words, gestures, or quiet respect—it becomes almost disarming, especially for those who live in a world built on pretense.
Someone like Lucius Rhyne, constantly masked and performative, was the norm now.
And Karl?
Karl was asking what seasoning he wanted on the fries he was casually deep-frying in the suite's kitchen.
Sesen couldn't help but smile.
Maybe Karl could be brought closer. Maybe he was someone who, if approached right, would align with Sesen's vision.
Maybe.
But caution was instinctual. They had only known each other for two days. So Sesen said nothing more.
He simply answered the question:
"Salt and pepper."
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