Night.
Company Plaza, Moore Tech Tower, Royn's private floor.
The moon was unusually bright, casting a chill sheen over the city and, through the office's floor-to-ceiling windows, seeping that cold into the room's mood.
Inside, though, it was warm: a fire crackled in the hearth; expensive brocade carpets covered every corner; the décor, a lavish nod to palace classicism, reeked of opulence.
After finishing his nightly workout, Royn stood behind his desk in nothing but shorts, looking down at the city through the glass.
Though well into his seventies, careful upkeep—and advances in human medicine—had left him with a healthy body: faint ab lines at his waist, barely a wrinkle on his face.
On a sofa not far from the desk, a woman with rose-tinted cheeks pushed herself up, a little weak, a little tired.
"Are you worried about tonight's assault?" she asked, eyes soft and misted as she watched his back.
Royn dipped his chin—answer enough—then, without turning, addressed Moore Tech's newly appointed vice president:
"Everything I assigned you—is it done?"
She smiled, voice deliberately soft and coquettish. "How could I not put my heart into Mr. Royn's instructions? The timetable was a bit rushed, yes, but if we go by the plan, there shouldn't be any major issues."
Her gaze stayed on him—pliant, adoring.
If any Moore Tech staffer saw the famously iron-handed Launa—former head of Logistics, now the company's new VP—wearing the air of a fawning little woman, they would be shocked speechless. She was known for severity; employees in her grasp never got off easy. Where was that imperious aura now?
"Good. Let's hope your people can actually do their jobs," Royn said, moving to the coffee machine. "You understand how important this is. With a plan this discreet, the winner takes all—and the loser ends up with nothing." He poured coffee. "Want a cup?"
"Ah… thank you, Mr. Royn." Her blush deepened; she could feel her heart thudding.
She was no naïve girl anymore. In Night City's dye-vat, naïveté gets eaten to the bone. Years of clawing upward had earned her the Logistics post; the grind—and the unmentionable trades it took—had forged her hardness.
Yet in front of this HQ-sent CTO, all that toughness crumpled like thin paper at a touch. Launa didn't know what had come over her—only that, under Royn's hand, she felt she'd learned how a woman was "meant" to be; learned a certain softness of the female.
"You're welcome."
Royn set a cup on the low table, took the opposite sofa, and watched her sip—tentative, careful. It was hot.
"Too hot? Or did it catch in your throat?" he asked lightly.
Launa shook her head, cheeks flushed. "No, just a little hot."
"Then sip slowly. I've another question: the team handling tonight's operation—you picked a local gang?"
Leg over knee, he waited.
Launa set the cup down and nodded. "Yes. They're called the Animals. Loosely organized—little cohesion. Each crew rallies around its own boss. No fixed turf, scattered across Night City. Like beasts: strength rules. Simple minds. The specific crew I selected is one of their stronger ones. With Militech supplying gear, breaking Arasaka Seafront's line shouldn't be a problem."
Royn nodded, approving. "Good. And Militech's been briefed?"
"Already. The chips holding specific research data, documentation, and protocols are placed at the designated locations. The Animals know exactly where their 'prey' is. After they grab the chips, they'll deposit them at the drop we set. Militech will retrieve them."
She added further details, studying his face. Seeing his faint satisfaction, she took her chance:
"But… Mr. Royn, may I ask—why hand over the core tech of the Berserk Mk.3 cyberware—and part of the results we've developed with Arasaka for so long—to Militech?"
Royn glanced at her and chuckled. "As I said—winner takes all, loser gets nothing."
"Think it through. Arasaka signed with us to conduct follow-on R&D for the Berserk line in that Seafront lab. And I told you before: for neural-control systems like this, the highest generation you can sell broadly—get into ordinary hands—is the third."
Launa nodded—she remembered.
Pleased, Royn's tone lightened. "We learned that first. We leveraged the information gap to launch the collaboration with Arasaka, co-developing subsequent Berserk models. But as work progresses, they will realize it too. Still, given sunk costs and job preservation, their researchers—even if they report up—likely won't paint it as dire."
"Meanwhile, we won't keep developing with Arasaka. It's not in our interest. So we break the board."
Launa's brow lifted—she saw it. "So Mr. Royn partners with Militech again, bringing in a third party to shatter the status quo?"
Royn nodded. "Exactly. We sell the now-useless tech and results to Militech for a fresh profit, and we make Arasaka recognize that the core's already been stolen—no point burning more resources on later Berserk models. Since we do have a contract, yes—but once Berserk is canceled, the follow-on research agenda falls to us to propose. We're the cyberware specialists."
"And we get to plant our own people inside Arasaka's Seafront turf, too—breaking their monopoly on that zone. In the past, Arasaka would never allow another company to set foot there… it's their forbidden garden."
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