He let out a dry, incredulous laugh, thinking it was a hell of a joke, and slowly looked around the ruins of the gas station, thick with acrid smoke.
The fuel tank had blown with enough force to send the whole building sky-high, but at least the interior of the station itself had held together, its frame still standing.
Even so, finding a survivor intact in the ashes after that kind of merciless blast and firestorm seemed impossible no matter how he looked at it.
But if the man was dead, then Ji-hwan would at least need to find the body. And in Night City, there was always that flimsy little exception called "just in case," wasn’t there?
"People in this line of work are way too damn hard to kill."
Ji-hwan stepped over concrete rubble still radiating heat and slowly made his way toward the smoke pouring out of the gas station building.
"I should check. If he’s really dead, then there’s nothing I can do about it."
Carefully picking his way over the still-warm chunks of concrete, Ji-hwan moved deeper into the station. Past the collapsed ceiling and the blackened walls, he reached the innermost section. There, in what should have been a shabby storage room, stood something completely out of place: the entrance to an underground bunker made of thick alloy.
"Oh-ho..."
Ji-hwan let out a short, interested sound.
All around the entrance were oxygen cutters, heavy drills, and various tools the gang had abandoned mid-job. It looked like the bastards had tried to force their way into the bunker, only to fail in a hurry when Ji-hwan barged in and turned the place into a disaster zone.
All over the alloy door were red scorch marks and gouges from forced entry. Paradoxically, that was the clearest proof that the space beyond that thick door had survived the horrific explosion untouched.
Bzzzt.
Then a small surveillance camera hanging above the bunker door gave a faint mechanical whir and turned, locking its lens directly onto Ji-hwan’s face.
Someone inside the bunker was controlling the camera and watching the situation outside in real time.
"So you were alive after all."
Ji-hwan gave a faint snort and, without hesitation, walked up to the bunker and rapped his knuckles heavily against the thick steel door.
Bang bang bang!
"I know you’re in there. Come out."
"..."
But there was no answer from inside, despite his flat call. Just as Ji-hwan was about to clench his fist and knock again, thinking a single sentence wouldn’t be enough to open the door, a voice suddenly burst from the old speaker mounted beside the camera.
"Get lost! Get the hell out of here before I kill you all! Get out of my shop!!"
The bunker owner was screaming himself hoarse through the battered speaker, hurling curses and threats at the unknown intruder, Ji-hwan. But the voice shaking through the metal was trembling so badly that anyone could hear the fear and panic underneath it.
Listening to the frantic shouting through the speaker, Ji-hwan let out a short breath and thought for a moment. Then, as if remembering what the fixer had said before he left, he spoke again in a dry voice.
"Dakota Smith sent me."
"...What? Who did you say?"
At the confused reply, Ji-hwan answered again, enunciating each word clearly.
"I’m the merc Dakota hired."
"...Shit. You’re here now?"
There was a heavy click as the lock disengaged.
Then, with a creaking shriek like rusted hinges being torn apart, the massive alloy door of the bunker, which had been sealed tight, began to open very slowly.
Through the narrow gap, the gas station owner appeared, aiming a battered shotgun with trembling hands.
His face had gone completely pale. The moment he saw Ji-hwan standing outside, he sucked in a sharp breath.
Ji-hwan looked like something dragged out of a firestorm, bloodied and charred, with thick red steam rising in wisps from his body. The owner’s pupils shook wildly at the sight.
"Y-you’re really from Dakota?"
When he asked again in a trembling voice, Ji-hwan jerked his chin toward the outside and urged him on without much concern.
"Come out already. It’s not safe staying in there."
At Ji-hwan’s insistence, the owner finally lowered the shotgun and let his guard down, stumbling out of the bunker. For a brief moment, relief that he was still alive washed over him.
But the reality waiting beyond the stifling darkness of the bunker was so horrific that he almost wished it had been a nightmare.
"Ah..."
A hollow, soul-drained sigh slipped from between the owner’s lips.
The gas station he had built with his own hands, enduring the harsh sandstorms of the Badlands his entire life, had already been utterly destroyed.
Even the skeleton of the structure, left standing after the explosion, still had red flames and black smoke surging up from inside.
"My... my gas station..."
The owner muttered blankly, his eyes unfocused, before his voice broke into a tearing scream like he was coughing up blood.
"What the hell is this!! It’s all destroyed! Those bastards... those gang assholes... my shop... fuck!!!"
Ji-hwan stayed silent before that desperate wail.
For ordinary mercs in Night City, this would have been the moment to sneer, "At least you’re alive, so quit whining and let’s go," or to bark at him to hurry up.
But Ji-hwan couldn’t bring himself to do that.
"It must have been a shop he built with his whole life, out here in the Badlands wind."
With bitter eyes, he stood beside the owner and wordlessly watched the flames devour what was left. He already knew in his bones how brutally this city crushed the weak. But witnessing one person’s life collapse completely right in front of him was still a sour thing he couldn’t get used to, no matter how many death lines he crossed.
Ji-hwan reached out, intending to put a hand on the owner’s shoulder in comfort, then stopped short. Looking down, he saw his own hand was a grotesque mess, fused with dark red scabs and regenerating between torn flesh, steaming with red vapor.
He quietly drew his hand back and instead offered a low but sincere consolation.
"...I’m sorry. Truly."
"...Damn it."
That rough little sentence. It was the best comfort Ji-hwan could offer in this brutal otherworld.
Maybe that clumsy sincerity got through to him. The owner, who had been thrashing in despair, finally lowered his head and swallowed a small curse through clenched teeth.
After that, Ji-hwan half-supported, half-dragged the dazed owner along. Then he carefully helped him into the back seat of his own battered car, the Thornton Colby, which he had parked far enough away that the explosion’s heat couldn’t reach it.
Thud.
After shutting the car door heavily, Ji-hwan finally felt the tension he’d been holding together snap at last.
"Haa..."
At the same time, an overwhelming fatigue surged up from deep in his bones like a tidal wave. His legs gave out, and he slumped down against the car door, almost collapsing where he stood.
Breathing hard, he stared blankly at the gas station ruins still belching red fire and acrid smoke, lost in thought.
For a first job in Night City, it was an absolute mess. The giant fuel tank had exploded, the gas station had gone sky-high, and he himself had practically turned into charcoal before stubbornly clawing his way back to life. The only consolation was that he had managed to save the most important part of Dakota’s request: the VIP. Sure, from the client’s point of view, the shop he’d spent his whole life building had been reduced to ashes, but in a lawless place like this, there was nothing more precious than still having a pulse.
Bzzzt, bzzzt.
Then a rough vibration buzzed deep in the inner pocket of his leather jacket.
The name on the old smartphone screen Ji-hwan pulled out was [Dakota Smith].
When he pressed the call button with hands still caked in dirt and blood scabs, blue light projected into the air and the fixer’s hologram appeared before his eyes.
"Hello."
"-...You made quite the racket. I could hear the explosion all the way over here.-"
At Dakota’s cool rebuke through the hologram, Ji-hwan gave a bitter smile and gestured over his shoulder.
Through the lens of the holo-call, the gas station sign, crushed beyond recognition, and the burning wreckage behind him were transmitted in full.
"I was just making sure the cleanup was thorough. The item... no, the person is secure. As you can see, he’s pretty shaken up."
"-...-"
After confirming the state of the burning gas station, Dakota watched the scene with unexpected calm.
She looked quietly at the ash-choked site and the battered Ji-hwan, seeming to think something over, then spoke in a dry tone.
"-Come by and talk. I’ll send you the coordinates... and we still need to settle your pay.-"
Click.
Before Ji-hwan could answer, the blue hologram fizzled and vanished without a trace. The call had been cut off unilaterally.
Ji-hwan shoved the dead phone back into his pocket and rolled his stiff neck and shoulders, trying to loosen his aching body.
Then he took the wheel again, with the client still sitting in the back seat of the old Thornton Colby, staring blankly at the ruins outside.
The rough engine roared to life, and Ji-hwan set off through the sandstorm toward the coordinates Dakota had just sent.
At the same time, Dakota Smith, having cut the call, was quietly staring at the monitor in front of her.
The screen showed the live feed from the scouting drone she had deployed, displaying the burning gas station’s devastation in real time.
The huge tanker wrapped in red flames, the bodies scattered across the ground, and in the middle of that hellscape, one man calmly brushing dust off his clothes.
"So this is the guy Saul sent... I wondered what kind of bastard he’d be."
Her sharp gaze lingered on Ji-hwan’s silhouette on the screen.
The way he handled the job was crude to the point of stupidity.
It was less a stealth infiltration than outright terrorism, and not only had he wiped out every last gang member, he’d blown the gas station itself to pieces.
Watching that absurd firepower, a memory flashed through her mind of a legendary rocker boy who had pulled off something similar once before, though on a different scale.
But Dakota shook her head and brushed the thought away, then calmly reviewed the result of the job Ji-hwan had completed.
"The outcome is solid."
No matter how the process had gone, the most important client had returned without a scratch.
Yes, the gas station had been blown to hell, but from the center of that destruction, this unfamiliar rookie merc named Ji-hwan had somehow survived and done his job well.
On top of that, the gang that had nested there had been thoroughly crippled, which meant one nasty local problem had been wiped out entirely.
She typed a small note beside Ji-hwan’s meager profile in the corner of the monitor.
[Evaluation: A- (Rough methods, but the result is flawless)]
Dakota wore the faintest smile and muttered with interest.
"Not bad. He’s a pretty interesting guy."
The battered Thornton Colby came to a stop in front of a shabby auto repair shop on the outskirts of the Badlands, a place Dakota Smith had sent him to.
After getting out of the car and supporting the half-dazed client, Ji-hwan slowly looked over the repair shop building, and a low whistle of admiration slipped from his lips.
The savage detail, far beyond the flimsy graphics he had once seen through a game screen in his room, and the hidden defensive systems scattered throughout the place, instantly set his nerves on edge.
From the outside, the building looked like nothing more than an ordinary, beat-up repair shop you’d find anywhere in the wasteland.
But Ji-hwan’s sharp eyes caught the automated defense turrets cleverly disguised in the gaps of the old roof, and the men who looked like they were just tinkering with cars or loafing around chatting were, beneath their shabby clothes, all armed personnel trained to respond instantly to any situation, each carrying heavy firearms hidden under their coats.
"Holy shit... they’ve even got smart mines laid out all over the front yard of the shop?"
Scanning the dead zones in the dirt beneath his feet, Ji-hwan clicked his tongue inwardly. It was a vicious welcome worthy of a top-tier fixer who controlled the information network and interests of the eastern Badlands.
Ignoring the sharp stares being thrown at him and the client beside him, Ji-hwan kept walking toward the repair shop entrance.
Apparently already expecting them after Dakota’s call, the rough-looking guards at the entrance stepped aside without protest and let the two of them in.
"Vroooom—! Krrrk!"
"Hey! Pass me the wrench! This pile of scrap has had its engine cylinders melted clean through!"
"Quit whining and just weld it together! All that matters is making it roll!"
"Which idiot connected the plug to the cooling line?"
Inside the repair shop, the scene was unexpectedly rough and ordinary compared to the vicious security outside.
Mechanics with grease-blackened faces and work clothes were swarming over salvaged scrap cars, working furiously on repairs, while the roar of engines and the clanging of metal from welding filled the air nonstop.
A few of them paused to glance at Ji-hwan’s bloodied, fire-scorched state, but soon turned back to their work as if it were nothing.
Thinking of the layout from the game, Ji-hwan opened the firmly shut door deeper inside, where the fixer was waiting.
Clank.
The moment the heavy door closed, the noisy engine sounds and mechanics’ shouts from outside were cut off completely. The room was thoroughly sealed and soundproofed.
"This whole room is probably wrapped in thick alloy like a bunker."
As Ji-hwan was making that calculation in his head, Dakota Smith, sitting at the desk in the dark room, greeted him first.
"You look a lot louder in person than you do on screen. You handled that job with real fire."
At her relaxed greeting, Ji-hwan remembered the way she had casually called it a "light gig" before he left. He twisted the corners of his blood-crusted mouth into a smirk.
"Just following your words. It was a very ‘simple gig.’"
At that pointed reply, Dakota’s eyes widened slightly.
But instead of taking offense, she slapped the desk and burst out laughing.
"Ahahaha! Sorry, sorry! I was kidding around a little too much, huh? Think of it as a Badlands-style welcome."
She cut off her cheerful laughter, stood up, and extended her hand first with a light apology.
Ji-hwan let out a short sigh inside. If he started arguing here and puffing up against a big-shot fixer who controlled the eastern Badlands information network, the only one who would lose out in future jobs and reputation would be him. That much was obvious.
He took her rough hand and introduced himself plainly.
"Ji-hwan."
"Ji-hwan?"
Dakota shook his hand firmly, then tilted her head.
"That’s a pretty bland name for someone running around Night City. Got an alias or merc name in mind?"
"No, not really."
At Ji-hwan’s indifferent answer, Dakota offered a seasoned fixer’s advice.
"If you want to work these back alleys as a proper merc, you need a name that sticks. That’s how clients remember you, and how you build a reputation on the street. Think it over seriously and tell me later. I’ll register you properly in my broker list."
"Understood."
Ji-hwan gave a short nod in agreement.
With that dry but proper introduction out of the way, Dakota turned and jerked her chin toward the gas station owner—the client—who was still trembling behind Ji-hwan, half out of his mind.
Between Ji-hwan and Dakota, the gas station owner kept nervously watching for a chance to speak, and at that look he finally snapped back to attention.
The image of his gas station reduced to ashes flashed through his mind, and he exploded in a fit of pent-up rage, shouting at her like a madman.
"You crazy bitch!! When did I ever tell you to blow my whole gas station to hell?! I hired you to save me, not turn my entire fortune into ashes!!"
Even with the owner’s bloodshot scream, Dakota didn’t flinch. Leaning an elbow on the desk, she shot back in a cold, dry voice.
"Lower your voice. I fulfilled the contract and got you out of that awful pit alive. You didn’t forget the clause about the fixer not being responsible for any secondary damage or facility loss, did you?"
As the owner seethed, Dakota narrowed her eyes and added the final nail.
"And you. You were only pretending to run a gas station on the surface while working with other gang assholes as a fence on the side. You thought I wouldn’t know?"
At that, the owner’s shoulders jerked hard.
His pupils shook as if asking how she knew that, and Dakota gave him a thin little smile.
But the atmosphere she gave off was icy and sharp enough to choke him on the spot.
"Did you really think I wouldn’t know what goes on in the eastern Badlands? No matter where the rats are gnawing at the pie in secret, I let it slide for old times’ sake. I know you’ve got more eddies stashed away than you can spend, so quit whining and start over somewhere else."
The gas station owner, with all his dirty laundry exposed, had his face flushed red with indignation and fury. But he didn’t seem to have the courage to talk back to Dakota, the big-shot fixer of the eastern Badlands, and could only huff and breathe hard in frustration.
Watching the one-sided exposure and argument in silence, Ji-hwan thought about how much longer the unpleasant conversation between fixer and client would drag on. Since it was no longer any of his business, he quietly turned to leave the room.
"Oh, Ji-hwan!"
Just as he was reaching for the door, Dakota called out from behind him.
"When you head out, one of my guys outside will give you the payment for this job. Good work."
Ji-hwan gave a light nod and replied briefly.
"Got it."
Leaving behind the still-fuming client and the coldly smiling Dakota, Ji-hwan opened the heavy steel door and stepped back out of the repair shop. The moment he did, the acrid smoke and noisy machinery rushed over him again. Crossing the repair shop yard, he glanced casually at the vehicles the mechanics were working on.
Looking closer, he saw the vehicles they were repairing weren’t just ordinary breakdowns.
They were welding thick steel plates over bullet holes scattered across the body like a hive, and the work of stripping off old license plates, burning them, and replacing them with new plates from who-knows-where was in full swing.
"Ah... so this is where they launder stolen or hot vehicles and sell them again."
As Ji-hwan watched the scene with interest, finding it oddly fascinating, someone approached from the side.
"Hey."
He turned toward the sound and saw one of the guards who had just been standing watch at the repair shop entrance with a vicious look on his face.
The man looked Ji-hwan up and down and asked casually, "You the merc who finished the job?"
"Yeah. Why?"
After Ji-hwan answered briefly in the affirmative, the guard pulled a plain-looking black bag from his coat and tossed it toward him.
Ji-hwan caught the bag reflexively and frowned in confusion.
"Huh? What’s this? Isn’t payment usually sent straight to your eddies?"
"Beats me. I just deliver what I’m told to deliver. That’s all. Later."
The man shrugged as if it were a nuisance and turned away.
Ji-hwan weighed the bag in his hand, surprised by how light it was, and was just about to unzip it, wondering what on earth could be inside if it wasn’t cash, when the guard stopped and looked back.
"Oh, right. Got somewhere to stay?"
Ji-hwan kept one hand on the zipper and answered carelessly.
"Not really. I figured I’d look around nearby."
"You think you’ll find anything decent looking like that out here on the edge of the eastern Badlands? If you want a proper motel, you’d have to go a lot farther in."
The guard clicked his tongue and fished an old key from his belt, then flicked it toward Ji-hwan.
Clink!
Ji-hwan snatched the key out of the air, and the guard jerked his chin toward a corner behind the repair shop building.
"There’s an empty room back there behind the shop. Usually our mercs use it when they stay over for a few days, but it’s empty right now, so use it if you want."
The sudden kindness made Ji-hwan narrow his eyes instead of relaxing. In this line of work, being handed a room for free only made him suspicious.
"Why are you being so nice?"
At Ji-hwan’s blunt question, the guard grinned, the corner of his mouth lifting.
"Heh. That gas station you blew apart? It had a really nasty reputation around here. I’m just feeling relieved, so I’m helping out."
With that, the guard turned away without another glance and strolled slowly back to the entrance post where he’d been keeping watch, waving a hand as if to say it was nothing.
Ji-hwan headed toward the corner behind the repair shop that the guard had indicated.
When he opened the door with the old metal handle and stepped inside, a rough room appeared, partly cut off from the acrid outside air and the clamor of machinery. It was an ordinary, modest space with nothing but a creaky cot, an old steel desk, and a cabinet dusted over with a thin layer of grime, but in the middle of the Badlands, where death lines were everywhere, it was still a decent place to stretch out and rest.
Thud.
Ji-hwan sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling the crushing fatigue that came rushing in once the tension finally left his body.
As he carelessly stripped off his outer clothes, stained with blood and dust, and sorted through his gear, his gaze settled on the plain black bag he had just received from the guard.
"What the hell is in here?"
In Night City’s merc ecosystem, payment was usually transferred cleanly and quickly as digital credits through a person’s neural port, the personal link.
Ji-hwan reached toward the bag with a puzzled look and slowly pulled the zipper open.
Ziiip.
The moment he saw what was inside, his eyes widened.
"Ha... this is for real."
The unexpected items in the bag. Ji-hwan froze in place, letting out a dry laugh at the unbelievable intention behind Dakota Smith’s move.
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