The fireplace crackled softly, the wood spitting sparks as it burned.
In the vast office, only two voices filled the air — quiet, conversational, like a late-night chat no one else would ever hear.
Now that Launa truly understood the purpose behind Royn's orchestration of tonight's operation, she couldn't help but marvel at the man's foresight.
And after the days they'd spent together — bound close as shadow and flame — that admiration had begun to curdle into a kind of worship, a thrill of awe before power. It made her want to lean into him, to rest her head against his chest.
It was no wonder he was the CTO sent from headquarters. His vision reached far beyond her grasp.
If the plan went as expected, they wouldn't just play Militech for fools — they'd also take a generous bite out of Arasaka, and the only price would be handing over the Berserk Mk.3's core technology.
As for whether those two corporations would develop their own third-generation Berserk variants — Launa wasn't worried.
First, Moore Tech already controlled most of the market share; latecomers wouldn't profit much.
Second, competition of that kind could easily spark open conflict — not worth the cost.
Their only real option was to use that core technology to develop later iterations of the Berserk line.
But once they advanced far enough, both companies would inevitably face the same truth: the Mk.3's operating threshold already exceeded what any ordinary human could handle.
Even if they managed to create fourth- or fifth-generation models, the production costs and power demands would make them inaccessible to the general public.
Still, Launa couldn't quite hide her concern.
"But if Militech or Arasaka realize what we've done… what happens then?"
Royn's tone was calm, dismissive.
"Business is war. And in war, there's no such thing as eternal friends — only eternal interests. As long as working with us promises returns, Arasaka has no reason to refuse."
"As for tonight — Militech planned the strike. Militech supplied the weapons to those animals. We merely 'accidentally' leaked a bit of intelligence. If Arasaka wants to point fingers, they can start with them."
He paused, then smiled faintly.
"As for Militech, they'll get the tech they wanted. Whether it's any use to them… that's their problem."
"The two have been at each other's throats for years. All told, Militech's the only loser here — spending a fortune to buy junk data. Arasaka might even enjoy the show."
Launa finally exhaled, tension easing a little.
After all, she wasn't just a witness — she was part of the plan, the public executor. If anything went wrong, Royn would walk away untouched. She, on the other hand, would take the fall.
Putting her practiced smile back on, she looked at him with open admiration.
"Mr. Royn, do you think Militech will keep developing future Berserk models?"
Royn chuckled softly.
"Who knows? The chip I sold them doesn't include any relevant research notes. By the time they realize the Mk.4's user requirements surpass human limits, they'll probably already be halfway through development."
"To avoid wasting more funds, they'll continue regardless. Unlike Arasaka, Militech at least has a standing army. These models can still be deployed to their elite soldiers."
"But knowing them, once the Mk.4 and Mk.5 are ready, they'll release them publicly to offset losses. If civilians want to fry their own nervous systems, that's not our concern."
His reasoning flowed smooth and confident — methodical, convincing.
From his prior research, Royn had concluded that systems like Berserk and Sandevistan — neural-operating cyberware — hit their limit at Gen 3.
That limit was simply the human limit.
And soon enough, both Arasaka and Militech would learn the same truth.
So, in his prediction, when the Mk.4 Berserk or Mk.4 Sandevistan eventually appeared, corporations would reserve them for their most elite operators.
Or sell them in one-on-one contracts — to mercs, spies, assassins with exceptional physiology.
Or, to recoup costs, dump them onto the open market.
Who those "ordinary consumers" might be, Royn didn't care.
There are always fools chasing power, fools obsessed with perfection. It's the same in every market: if a product exists, someone will pay for it — no matter the cost, no matter the danger.
Still, when it came to real profits, the bestsellers would remain the Mk.1 through Mk.3 — the models average people could actually use.
...
The two continued to chat idly for a while, until Royn suddenly asked, almost absently:
"By the way — yesterday's traffic incident. Did you handle the follow-up?"
"Yes, Mr. Royn," Launa answered promptly.
"The PR department's already notified every media outlet in the city. They might mention the accident in passing, but anyone who dares publish details will be sued by Moore Tech. Your reputation won't be affected in the slightest."
"Good." Royn nodded placidly.
"But, Mr. Royn… was that accident part of your plan too?" she ventured carefully.
After all, that crash had claimed over thirty students and teachers. The PR team had worked around the clock to bury the scandal. And because of it, news of Royn's secret arrival in Night City had leaked across the city's factions.
The chain reaction forced the plan to move ahead of schedule — Militech pushed the Animals to strike Arasaka's Seafront facility tonight.
"Heh. Don't overestimate me," Royn said, smiling thinly. "Yesterday's accident was just a little show I arranged for myself. You should try it sometime — watching all that youth and innocence crumble before your eyes. It's… delightful."
Launa's pupils shrank. She forced a trembling smile.
Royn went on:
"As for cleanup, I'll brief PR personally. Have one of our friends in City Hall — that senator who owes us — host a charity event in memory of those students. A little fundraising for their grieving parents."
"Just some snot-nosed kids. Dead's dead. We won't pay a cent, and our people will still win public favor. As they say in the East — two birds with one stone."
Ruthless, calculated, efficient.
Launa couldn't help admiring the elegance of it. Clearly, this wasn't his first time handling such matters.
But just as she opened her mouth to flatter him further, a message flashed through her neural processor — freezing her where she sat.
Her expression twisted, pale with alarm. Royn noticed immediately, brow tightening.
"What is it?"
"O–our research facility…" Launa stammered. "It's been blown up."
Royn: "…"
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