Hans's office is located on the third floor of the Heavy Heart Club. Upon exiting the elevator, it's the only office on the entire corridor.
It can be understood as a private suite with an elevator entrance.
The black walls on both sides of the corridor and the golden embossed wall panels interlace, giving off a feeling of understated luxury.
There are even extremely rare green plant pots placed on both sides of the corridor—these are living plants, not virtual projections.
Mercer walks up to the door, knocks, and the automatic door opens with a click, revealing an enormous LCD screen nearly covering the wall.
The central area covered with a red carpet features two sets of perfectly symmetrical coffee tables and sofas. On one side stands a desk and chair, appearing not very spacious.
Mercer quickly deduces—a hidden door leading to a secret space must exist in Hans's office.
Perhaps that's where Hans usually stays, maybe it's a private suite, or perhaps a secret storeroom.
This is judged by the corridor's length; his room is at least dozens of square meters smaller than the corridor. This floor's corridor ends with a wall, suggesting the entire third floor may conceal a U-shaped secret space...
Hmm...Mercer is a bit curious.
His prosthetic eye instinctively flickers as he scans the room. With his subconscious brain-machine overclocking and synaptic acceleration, this analysis only took a second.
After finishing his observations, the prosthetic eye scanned all electronic equipment and detected a hidden door on the wall, Mercer then turned his head to look at Hans who was smiling warmly and approaching him.
"Mr. Hans, I didn't expect to meet you so soon...as far as I know, Mr. Hans is an emblem of mysticism."
Mercer greeted him proactively.
Hans replied with a radiant smile:
"That's because most of them don't meet the standards for a meeting. After working in this intermediary business for a while, you'll know, many meetings to build relationships are time-wasting since most mercenaries don't live past three years."
Mercer joked: "Looks like in Mr. Hans's eyes, our life expectancy is quite long."
"You're a different special case...please sit, let's discuss while seated." Hans signaled with a smile for Mercer to sit on the sofa, then picked up a kettle of hot tea and took out a teacup.
"I only have tea here, is that okay?" Hans asked.
"No problem, this is a luxury experience." Mercer laughed, observing Hans's appearance.
This guy's outfit is quite distinctive—a slicked-back hairstyle with just the middle dyed white while the sides remain black, dressed in a burgundy suit, with a goatee colored with a streak of white amongst his stubble beard,
Hans poured a cup of hot tea, placed it on the coffee table in front of Mercer, and then sat beside him, observing him with interest:
"Let's continue with our previous topic...honestly, in your entire team, the one I care the most about and focus on, is actually just you."
"Is that so? I'm truly honored." Mercer said calmly, his eyes showed tranquility, seemingly indifferent to honor or disgrace, causing Hans to smile and shake his head.
"I saw your photo in the Night City archives...are you really only eighteen this year?" Hans asked curiously.
Mercer pondered for a moment, then simply removed his mask and smiled: "Of course, don't I look like it?"
"Uh...rather, too much like it." Hans was momentarily speechless, not just looking like eighteen, but seemingly under eighteen.
But he did not underestimate Mercer because of his appearance, instead, his attitude became increasingly amiable: "There's an old saying in the East, 'young heroes emerge since ancient times', I deeply agree, especially in terms of technology."
Hans watched Mercer lift the teacup, or rather tea bowl, blowing steam, inhaling the aroma, smiled, and picked up a wooden box.
"Cuban cigars, care for one?" As he spoke, he took one himself: "Even those who meet me don't get to see this box; just this small box is priced at 90,000 Euros."
Hans took out a cigar, marveling: "Now, the price of this vintage cigar can easily double at auction."
Mercer did find it interesting—thinking not smoking would mean missing out on 190,000 Euros, he decisively reached out.
Hans froze for a moment, then felt a bit distressed. To be honest, he thought Mercer didn't smoke! He was just being politely casual.
But outwardly, he still maintained a nonchalant demeanor as he took out a cigar, cut it, handed it to Mercer, then professionally used a trimmed stick to light the cigar.
Mercer mimicked the actions, um, honestly, he couldn't discern good from bad, but could sense a peculiar fragrance.
He figured he should pass it to Qiwei to relish this nearly 200,000 cigar feeling...sigh, you wonder why Hans didn't casually remark 'give me a box' or something similar?
The guy certainly wouldn't hold back.
Thinking this inwardly, Mercer set down the cigar and smiled: "Mr. Hans didn't invite me solely for smoking cigars and tasting tea, right?"
"I had imagined you to be more patient." Hans exhaled a smoke puff, sipped some tea, appearing quite elegant.
"I spoke far too long with that cunning member of the Voodoo Gang. It left me parched and I don't want to go through that again anytime soon."