[CALLING: Mr. Hands]
The line finally connected after Ethan's relentless attempts.
"Mr. Hands. Finally done being busy?"
Ethan bit through the pain.
He couldn't imagine how much blood he'd have lost if this had been his organic arm. Thank god the artificial blood vessels had auto-constricted at the severance point. That alone kept him from flatling on the spot.
Thanks to technology, he could still walk a bit further.
"Impressive. You have real talent, friend. With your skills, you're suited for making waves out here. But Hansen needs everyone who knows about that shipment to stay quiet. I hope you understand." Mr. Hands applauded lightly, expression perfectly natural—as if none of this had anything to do with him.
Fine. You want to play it like that?
Ethan decided he'd been far too generous with Mr. Hands.
"Understand this!" Pain made Ethan's jaw clench. "Wade Bleick. You really think nobody knows?"
For the first time, the ever-composed Mr. Hands fell silent.
"Bet you're real curious how I know your real name, huh? You corporate dog."
Ethan's smile was vicious.
Turns out that line about being the lion circling Mr. Hands was accurate after all.
In his past life, Ethan had memorized every major player in the game's main story. He hadn't wanted to use this against a fixer, but some people only understood the message when you slapped them in the face.
He'd wanted to lay low in Dogtown, slowly build his presence, get to know this world... But now? Forget legends. Forget rewards. With one arm gone, all Ethan wanted was to survive.
Through the holographic call, Mr. Hands' breathing grew noticeably heavier.
He couldn't fathom how this young man knew. Those secrets should have been buried in ash long ago.
Mr. Hands' weakness had never been known to a second person.
For the first time, he began to fear this bloody-faced young man with the bright, stubborn eyes.
But Ethan wasn't the type to throw one punch and stop. He intended to slowly demolish Mr. Hands.
So he continued:
"Petrochem executive. Climbed pretty high, didn't you? Want me to tell Hansen there's a corpo dog who changed his face living in his backyard? Hmm?"
"You want to cash out your retirement fund in Pacifica. Even started a family. In this world, wanting to retire peacefully..."
"Are you ready for the consequences?"
Mr. Hands' expression finally darkened. He'd jokingly called this young man a "lion"—but now the stone he'd kicked had landed squarely on his own foot.
He wasn't about to take this lying down:
"Young man, the past means nothing. You think you have the standing to threaten me?"
Bold. Very bold.
Ethan figured this guy had been a fixer too long. Lost his mind.
Still thought he could have an equal conversation with Ethan. Even push back.
Mr. Hands—a fixer with corporate roots, serving as Hansen's errand boy while running dirty business on the side. To be polite, you'd say he was influential. To be blunt, he was a weathervane that bent whichever way the wind blew.
And Ethan's thinking was simple: all he wanted was to make some money and survive. Why was that so hard?
Seeing the other man wasn't backing down, Ethan decided to drop something bigger.
Time to keep peeling back that shiny fixer's skin.
"I seem to recall you like cultivating two of Hansen's officers. Let me think... Diago? Bennett? How do you think the Colonel would feel if he knew you were running your own little election campaign, praying for the day Hansen kicks the bucket? How long do you think you'd last in Dogtown?"
"You thought this would make you king of the hill here, right?"
"And... you've been in contact with the Cubans, haven't you?"
Mr. Hands' face—and his psychological defenses—crumbled piece by piece under Ethan's assault.
The master manipulator, laid completely bare for the first time.
"Friend, let's be reason—"
Ethan cut him off without mercy, cursing and threatening:
"Who the fuck is your friend?! I'm giving you two options. First: run to Hansen right now and repeat everything I just said. See how that warlord handles you."
"Second: get your ass out of Dogtown, figure out your place, and start thinking about how to make Hansen call off this hunt. On top of that, you better figure out how to keep me alive."
"I've already had your files copied multiple times. Maybe some netrunners have them too. Point is, that data is chained to my life. I die, it goes straight to Hansen."
"So? Plenty of choices, aren't there?"
Ethan's eyes were bloodshot, but his voice stayed level. In truth, he was running on fumes.
God, that felt good.
For the first time, Ethan understood how satisfying revenge could be.
As for whether Mr. Hands would still be Pacifica's fixer in the future, what difference did it make?
Would this cruel world be any different without one fixer? Even if the timeline went off the rails... what did that have to do with Ethan?
Mr. Hands had always been composed. But today, his defenses had utterly collapsed.
He'd been completely exposed.
"Calm down, friend. Tell me your location. My people will pick you up immediately. I guarantee your safety." His tone shifted completely.
Ethan laughed out loud. "Pick me up? Are you stupid? Get me a few escape routes out of Dogtown. Hundred thousand eddies. Every time Hansen or your people catch up to me, I release your files instantly."
The money was for cyberware and facial reconstruction.
As for the escape routes, Ethan had no intention of using them. Like the "files," they were just smoke and mirrors.
Anyone who plays it straight in Night City is just waiting to die! He wasn't going to die—in fact, he'd already decided to stay in Dogtown and keep Mr. Hands under his thumb.
Given how things had developed, this place had ironically become his safest option.
Dogtown was Ethan's first real step forward.
Mr. Hands nodded. Sure enough, a hundred thousand eddies hit Ethan's account. Every last ed.
His face could have wrung water. "Once you're out of Dogtown, don't come back."
Ethan grinned, blood staining his teeth. "No promises. You're pissed right now, thinking about how to get me in Night City. But here's the thing—I like to wander. Maybe I'll drop by for a visit someday. Anyway, we're done here."
The call ended. Ethan's strength finally gave out.
The quiet night wind. Searing pain. Distant Barghest loudspeakers. Hansen's speech. The hum of AVs overhead. It all crashed against his nerves.
Ethan collapsed to his knees. Prepared as he was, he'd already found contact info for a ripperdoc at the Stadium black market. He hoped money would convince them to offer pickup service.
Rustle.
Grass shifted nearby—footsteps approaching.
Head barely staying up, Ethan was still trying to make the call. He heard someone coming.
A pair of gleaming corporate heels appeared before him. Tailored slacks revealed slender, pale ankles above them.
You've got to be kidding me.
Another one?
Corporate. And a woman.
Ethan was spent. He forced his head up for one look at his would-be executioner.
Pretty, at least.
That was his thought.
Fine. Whatever. Got my revenge. At least I get to see a hot cyber-babe before she flatlines me. He was at peace.
"Who are you?"
He asked. Then his eyes rolled back and everything went dark.
The woman looked at the man crumpled at her feet and frowned slightly. "Shit. He walked all this way in that condition?"
She reached down. Beneath her suit sleeve, the contours of her cyberware showed clearly as she lifted Ethan with one hand.
"Can you hear me? Stay with me."
She patted his cheek.
Ethan's consciousness was already fading. He might have nodded.
"Damn. Looks like you're about to flatline."
"Uh, I'm with Arasaka Counter-Intelligence. My name is—"
"V."
[Author's Note] Mr. Hands' true background can be verified through official sources—this is not fabricated.
Wade Bleick was once a Petrochem executive. He became a sacrificial pawn in corporate power struggles, but survived. He reinvented himself in Pacifica and became Mr. Hands. Cold-blooded, calculating, a businessman through and through.
PLZ THROW POWERSTONES.
300 , 500 , 1000 for each milestone 1 Bonus Chapter.