A thoroughly members-only private restaurant on the outskirts of Night City’s corporate district.
Under dim lighting with soft jazz drifting through the air, the fixer Faraday sat with his legs crossed, relaxed, in a burgundy neo-kitsch suit and black leather gloves.
The four red artificial irises implanted in his face clicked as they narrowed, fixing a cold, snake-like stare on the man across from him.
The man seated opposite him, repeatedly wiping away cold sweat with a napkin, was a low-level intelligence operative from Biotechnica. Ever since the recent first-class wanted terror incident, the company had been walking on thin ice.
"Long time no see. Your face looks pretty rough since the last time I saw you."
Faraday rolled the wine in his crystal glass and greeted him with a mocking smile.
But instead of returning the easy pleasantry, the operative leaned forward over the table, tense and irritable, and growled in a low voice.
"Cut the crap, Faraday. Do you have any idea how dangerous it was for me inside the company because of that information you leaked? If the intel isn’t solid... you’d better be ready."
A sharp warning from a low-level suit backed by corporate muscle. But Faraday didn’t even twitch at the flimsy bluff. He only smiled pleasantly.
"Ready, huh? That’s a pretty scary thing to say for a company errand boy. So, did you report it properly to the people above you, just like I told you?"
"...Yeah. I spoke with my superior. Assuming the information you’re holding is accurate, I’ve come here with some delegated authority. One word from me and I can unleash the hounds right now."
The first-class wanted man who had turned Biotechnica’s research facility into ashes—Kim Ji-hwan. If Faraday’s tip that the bastard was hiding in Pacifica’s fight pit under the name "K" was true, then this was the rope that could pull his paper-thin company status up a rung.
And yet, even with the operative’s threats hanging in the air, Faraday only smiled calmly.
"...You already know I’m not lying. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have confirmed that the guy in the footage I handed over is the real deal, would you?"
"...Tch..."
Faraday had hit the nail on the head, and the operative lost his words.
In truth, the moment he received the photos and the brief combat footage of Ji-hwan from Faraday a few days ago, he had immediately started digging through Faraday’s movements, contacts, and network traffic.
He had wanted to trace the source of the intel somehow, or shake the arrogant fixer down and take the original data by force.
But Faraday had scrubbed his trail so thoroughly it was as if he had cleaned the scene himself—his movements that day, his data transfer logs, everything.
When even Biotechnica’s immense intelligence apparatus couldn’t catch the trail, the operative’s superior had no choice but to send him in as a "representative" to sit at the negotiating table.
And deep inside the tiny communications implant in the operative’s ear, this entire conversation was being reported in real time through an encrypted channel to his superior, who sat safely in a corporate headquarters office.
Faraday knew that too. Rather than addressing the sweat-soaked underling in front of him, he maintained a leisurely silence and toyed with his wineglass, as if making sure the real decision-maker on the other end heard every second of it clearly.
One second, two seconds, five. The silence of the one holding the upper hand. When that long silence finally ended, apparently at the superior’s instruction, the operative’s shoulders twitched.
"What do you want?"
As the operative forced the question out while thinking of the communicator in his ear, Faraday finally set the wineglass down on the table with a sharp clack.
"A bounty? Hah. Men in ties are always so unimaginative. You think I went to all this trouble just to make a few petty eddies?"
Faraday leaned deep into the sofa back and laid out what he actually wanted.
"I’ll gladly hand that man over to Biotechnica. He’s too sharp-toothed and dangerous to keep caged in my little pen anyway."
"Instead."
Faraday’s voice curled low like a snake tightening around the operative’s throat.
"In exchange for handing over that man’s information, once this operation is over, give me Biotechnica’s highest internal security clearance and an official partnership plaque. And access to the fusion bio-data from your Chimera Project as well."
"You’ve got some nerve... Have you gone insane?"
The words that burst from the operative were pure instinctive shock.
Faraday, the control freak who operated out of Santo Domingo and treated mercs like chess pieces or pets, seemed to suffer from the delusion that even a megacorp could be placed on his own board.
But the reaction from the Biotechnica executive listening in through the communicator in the operative’s ear was not what Faraday had expected.
"...Negotiations are over, Faraday."
The operative tossed the napkin down and snapped coldly.
"What?"
"There’s a limit to how clueless you can be. You’re a street fixer, and you’re demanding a megacorp partnership and first-class classified data access? You’ve gone way too far."
The four red lenses implanted in Faraday’s face contracted slightly.
As if reciting his superior’s words through the communicator, the operative mercilessly slammed the brutal reality into Faraday’s face.
"Don’t get it twisted. It was us—Biotechnica—who put the highest bounty in Night City’s history on that bastard’s head, along with a first-class murder warrant. We’re the ones setting the board and holding the purse strings from start to finish. You’re just a dog that happened to catch the scent of the meat we threw out first and wagged its tail."
The easy smile lingering at Faraday’s mouth slowly hardened.
"And now you want to sniff around the core of a corporate Chimera Project? That’s not something you need to know, and something you’ll never get. To a fixer like you? Don’t be ridiculous."
It was a merciless rejection from a position of overwhelming power, dismissing a nobody’s demands without the slightest pity. In that instant, Faraday’s illusion that he had complete control over the situation shattered into pieces.
Then the operative delivered one final warning to the frozen Faraday.
"This is our last warning. We’ll temporarily let you keep the flimsy little ‘initiative’ you wanted. Go on, lead the corporate hounds and enjoy your little proxy victory. But if you dare reach any further than that..."
The operative’s eyes looked down on Faraday.
"Before we capture the wanted man, I’ll turn you to ash first. So take your money and act like you know your place."
"......"
Faraday stared at the operative, who was threatening him like he was some insignificant insect, and his leather-gloved fist trembled.
The four red artificial eyes implanted in his face flashed wildly with rage and humiliation, but he couldn’t even bring himself to argue. He only ground his teeth and glared in silence.
In the end, it was Faraday who looked away first.
"...Haa."
He let out a heavy, irritated sigh, then reached into his coat and pulled out a black data chip containing K’s fight-pit coordinates and detailed information, tossing it roughly onto the table.
"Fine. It’s a real pain in the ass dealing with men in ties."
Faraday sneered.
"So, now that I’ve handed over the chip, let me ask you this. How exactly do you plan to catch that monster?"
The operative casually snatched up the chip from the table and tucked it into his coat, lifting his chin with arrogance.
"Headquarters will deploy Biotechnica’s elite strike force and armed drones on a military scale."
The absolute logic of corporate force. But when Faraday heard that answer, the corner of his mouth twisted in a grotesque smile.
"Brute force, huh? Tch. That’s exactly the kind of unimaginative thinking I’d expect from men in ties. Guess even after cross-checking everything, you still haven’t seen the real power that bastard puts out. If you try to bulldoze him like that, your expensive hounds won’t all make it out in one piece."
For a moment, the operative’s brow twitched in irritation. Faraday seized the opening immediately.
"I’ll lure him for you."
"What?"
"I mean I’ll draw him into a trap where you can take him with minimal damage. In return... raise my payout."
Faraday was desperately trying to force his own share into this initiative somehow, clawing for leverage in the deal.
"When you’ve got him alive and on his knees... let me face him directly, even if only for a moment."
It was a sadistic demand—to watch with his own eyes the man who had kicked away his scouting offer, now bloodied and crawling on the floor.
The operative listened to Faraday’s proposal, then touched the communicator in his ear and fell silent for a moment.
It looked like he was exchanging quiet instructions with his superior at headquarters.
"...Fine. Do it that way. If you can lure him properly, we’ll add a generous bonus."
The deal was done. Faraday stood, shot the operative one last glare, and turned away without hesitation.
"See you around, Faraday."
The operative’s mocking laughter came from behind him, but Faraday didn’t even answer.
With his face twisted by the humiliation of having to tuck his tail before corporate power, he strode out of the dark restaurant at a quick pace.
Click.
Faraday emerged from the upscale restaurant into the acid rain, then threw himself roughly into the back seat of the black limousine waiting in the alley.
"Drive."
At his low, growling command, the limousine slid forward and cut through the rain.
The four red artificial eyes implanted in his face flashed with an irritated mechanical hum.
The humiliation of being threatened by some low-level corporate suit and forced to back down. Faraday trembled in his leather gloves and bit down hard on his lip.
"Arrogant little tie-wearing bastards. They leave the baiting to me and think they can take the whole board for themselves?"
To someone who treated mercs as nothing more than chess pieces, this was an unforgivable insult.
He had pretended to submit on the surface, but in his head he was already working furiously on how to flip this unfavorable board.
'I can’t let that man face Biotechnica’s elite strike force from the start.'
Faraday’s mouth curled up like a snake’s.
"Hey. Send out anonymous gigs to the low-level fixers in the back alleys right now."
He barked the order to the subordinate beyond the driver’s seat.
"Spread the word that there’s a target with an insane bounty in the underground fight pit of the abandoned mall in Pacifica. Gather every low-rent merc crew, scavenger, and gang bastard who’ll come running like mayflies at the sight of money."
"Yes, boss. Any other instructions?"
"...Hm. And quietly make contact with the lower-ranking members of the Animal gang that manages the pit."
"Huh? But the boss there, Mammoth..."
"Yeah. That idiot Mammoth would never sell out his own people for money or threats. He’s been clinging to that stupid pride for years. So go around him."
The face of the legendary merc Papa Sunrise, whom Faraday had betrayed and sold out long ago to stand where he was now, flickered eerily over his thoughts.
"Leak a little information to them—about the corporate unit and the identity of the man called K. Then they’ll turn on the boss they followed just to survive and point guns at his back."
"If he sees his stamina drained and even the boss trying to protect him butchered by the subordinates he trusted... even that man’s bound to go berserk."
Faraday reached out into the air and clenched his leather-gloved fist tight, as if gripping an invisible leash.
"And when he charges out of the fight pit to come after me... that’s when the corporate hounds will finish him."
No matter how strong that man was, once he fell into a trap and lost his reason, crushing him with corporate firepower would be child’s play.
Faraday’s laughter echoed through the limousine as he convinced himself he still controlled both the megacorp and the target, and that he alone ruled the board.
Tatatatang
In the heart of Night City, the Biotechnica operations room on the top floor of a massive skyscraper that pierced the clouds.
Far below, acid rain lashed down over the city’s dazzling neon signs.
Reclined comfortably on the finest leather sofa in the center of the operations room, the executive—his superior—rolled the amber whiskey in a crystal glass and stared at the sound-wave hologram floating in the air.
Click.
Through the communicator, the heavy restaurant door closing and Faraday’s footsteps being swallowed by the rain came through clearly over the operations room speakers.
"[...Director. The bastard just left the restaurant.]"
The low-level operative who had acted so arrogantly in front of Faraday only moments ago now reported in a groveling tone the instant he was on the line.
"[As you ordered, we’ve secured the coordinate data chip the fixer handed over. Since he’s agreed to lure the target, we’ll be ready to deploy the elite hounds the moment the trap is sprung.]"
The executive took a sip of whiskey and gave a short, satisfied snort.
But soon the operative on the other end swallowed hard and cautiously added his own concern.
"[But... Director. With respect, that man Faraday has always had a habit of trying to set the board his own way.]"
There was a thick unease in the operative’s voice.
"[We crushed his pride today, but even if he looks like he’s backed down, we can’t know what kind of poison he’ll spit out once he turns around. Worst case, could he try to make a secret deal with another corporation? Can we really trust him...?]"
The operative’s anxious concern echoed through the operations room, but the executive only propped his chin on one hand and let out a cool, dismissive laugh.
"Of course he’ll try something. Isn’t that what fixers do?"
The executive’s voice dripped with the absolute arrogance of someone who held overwhelming capital and force.
"That’s actually perfect. If he starts playing clever, the target will wear himself out on his own, and it’ll be much easier for our elite strike force to capture him alive."
"[...]"
"Stop worrying about useless things. No matter how much they struggle, they’re just dancing in the palm of our hand."
The executive slowly rose and looked out over the dark expanse of Night City beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass.
"But... just in case, let’s put one insurance policy in place."
"Did you deploy a special assassination unit or snipers from headquarters?"
"No. If people who clearly reek of our involvement move in, it only invites trouble later."
A thick, delighted smile spread across the executive’s mouth.
"We got lucky. Apparently, the one person who would normally be impossible to hire no matter how much money you throw at him happened to stop by Night City for a while this time."
"That person... you mean...?"
The executive held the crystal glass up to the light and whispered softly, as if reciting a grim ghost story.
At that moment, the operative on the other end of the communicator audibly sucked in a breath at the identity the executive had just thrown out, and the sound rang vividly through the operations room.
"D-Director...!"
The operative stammered in a voice gone white.
"D-don’t tell me... you mean the real ‘that person’?!"
"That’s right."
With a dark smile, the executive delivered the verdict into the communicator.
"Turns out that person is working nearby right now. Lucky break."
"H-how did you manage to recruit that person...?"
With the operative’s stunned murmur fading over the line, the executive calmly ended the call.
"Heh..."
"The one and only..."
"V."
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