"I knew you'd call."
As soon as the call connected, the speaker's voice rang clearly throughout the room. That tone—cheerful and full of anticipation—reached every member of the squad, and all of them (except Karl) instinctively turned to look at him.
"I swear, the only other time I've heard a voice like that was when the girl next door begged me for candy when we were kids," Oliver whispered to V.
"I don't buy it," V replied.
"Okay, fine. Truth is, it was me when I begged my sister to buy me toys, and she actually did."
"That I believe. It sounds just like that smug little hum of satisfaction when someone close gives you exactly what you want. Reminds me of a bet I made as a kid—I said I could guess the next person walking into the tent. I got my friend to come in as a plant, and when he did, I gave the same smug little hum."
While the others whispered and chuckled among themselves, Karl already understood Blanca's meaning.
"Alright. So you're aware of the whole situation."
"Ever since I got screwed over once, I've never slacked when it comes to intel gathering," Blanca said matter-of-factly. "You're calling to ask if I was involved, and how much I know, right?"
"The moment you said that, I got my answer."
Karl didn't bother dragging out the conversation. Though they were now friends, their way of talking hadn't changed much since they first met: cut to the chase, skip the pleasantries. And by saying that, Blanca had already answered—she wasn't involved in the operation, but she knew exactly what was going on.
And now, she was preparing to get involved.
"I'll give you a friendship discount."
Just as Jack and the others were trying to figure out the cryptic exchange, Karl said something everyone understood.
A friendship discount?
Wait… did that mean—?
They were negotiating a job?
But… had they even discussed any details? Weren't they still speculating? How did it jump straight to a contract?
Apparently, only someone like Karl—used to commissions and backdoor deals—could navigate negotiations that fast.
"I can offer you a nice toy. Heavy-class. You know my current position. After that Dogtown incident, and with the guy gone, I was due for a promotion. If this goes well, I'll be passing the torch to one of my subordinates. And, well… some 'losses' during a handover are totally normal."
Everyone in the room instantly understood.
Classic Amelican tactics. Even before the New United States, old American politicians and generals had a habit of mysterious "losses" during transitions of power. The same playbook was still being used in 2076.
Everyone knew Blanca's current position, and being Karl's friend and a regular client of the squad, they also knew exactly what kind of "heavy-class toy" she could afford to misplace.
Especially with those two keywords: "a unit," "heavy."
"Wouldn't something that heavy going missing raise a few alarms?" Oliver asked.
After a moment, Blanca replied, "Oliver, even the light ones that ended up with 6th Street weren't exactly clean. You remember how they got them? I wasn't even with Militech back then."
So it was a known game. An accepted custom.
"That unit... we're not exactly modded for that kind of gear, are we?" Jack asked.
"Maybe the exosuit's assist functions would work with our implants, but that thing's heavy. Without dedicated mods, forget it. You'd need cybernetic modulation chains, neural routers, wetware access links—the full package."
Karl said it seriously, but he couldn't help picturing Adam Smasher. If they ever got that gear, he might just point at it and say, "Look, you and that thing could be twins—useless hunks of metal that can't move without a brain."
Usable or not, they had to get it first. Like the armored vehicle they had stashed away—useless until the day it suddenly isn't.
"The pay's fair. We'll take the job."
Even reselling it would fetch a million eddies. Not that they would. But it was a true friendship deal.
"Alright, lay it out. I assume you knew I'd call out of curiosity, so you're ready."
"The ones behind this are New American hardliners inside Militech."
"New American faction?"
"You know how tight Militech and the New U.S. are. Some of them really believe they're patriots. That guy? Full-on nationalist. Not that it matters to me—a former Spaniard."
Blanca continued, "He's aiming for something in Dogtown. Word is the Central Intelligence Bureau might be involved. Their goal seems to be targeting someone inside Dogtown. The details are fuzzy. But even Dogtown lets MaxTac in if there's a cyberpsycho threat, so here's how it works:
You didn't get a job from me. I never contacted you. You were just visiting Dogtown for some downtime. Then you just happened to see MaxTac cargo go missing. Being good citizens, you reported it. That's all. It doesn't matter what his real plans are—if he fails, I'll have the reason I need to deal with him."
Simple. Find the target, make the call. Maybe delay the elite Militech team to ensure they meet MaxTac.
But one word stuck with Karl: Central Intelligence Bureau.
The domestic intelligence and enforcement agency of the New United States.
Karl had once suspected his Los Angeles mission was their doing. Now, they might be involved again?
That group, hidden across the globe—what were they planning this time?
Last time it was a presidential election. This time, it was Dogtown.
Whatever they were doing—it was getting closer.
From Southern California to Northern. From Los Angeles... to Night City.
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