"In recent years, most people no longer know who they should trust." "Family?" "We share the same blood." "Friends?" "We laugh at the same j
"In recent years, most people no longer know who they should trust."
"Family?"
"We share the same blood."
"Friends?"
"We laugh at the same jokes, share the same taste in booze."
"Or maybe business partners?"
"After all, it's money that brought us together."
Orianna didn't know who she was supposed to trust—nor did she know who could truly guarantee that trust. Because at the end of the day, she was just a mercenary.
Just another ordinary merc in Night City—where anyone can become one, and anyone can die at any time.
She'd been working in the business for a while now, mainly under the fixer Colmec. Today, she and her partner, Gilay—a burly bruiser from the Animals—had taken another of his jobs: head outside the city, meet a contact, and retrieve a package Colmec needed.
And just before leaving, she met the fixer's so-called "guarantee." Or rather, his insurance policy.
The merc known as KK.
In Night City, there wasn't a soul who hadn't heard the name—or wouldn't recognize the man himself. Just dropping his name was enough to make street shootouts grind to a halt. And now, he was standing right in front of Orianna.
She'd been making a name for herself lately. She knew she was close to landing higher-paying contracts—maybe even a seat at Afterlife. That's exactly why she understood all too well just how formidable the man in front of her truly was. So much so that just standing in his presence had left her back drenched in cold sweat.
A pure, instinctive response.
"Orianna," the dark-haired man said, his gaze drifting over to her partner. "And Gilay."
Just hearing him call their names eased some of the pressure off her shoulders. Even the tension in her limbs started to subside.
Her throat dry, Orianna glanced at Gilay.
He was worse off.
The two-meter-tall musclehead actually flinched when KK said his name. Watching that mountain of a man tremble would've been funny—if Orianna didn't feel just as shaken inside.
"I vouch for you."
That was Colmec's favorite line. He loved acting as a guarantor. But today's "guarantee" might've been a little overkill.
"I'm Orianna."
Normally loud, aggressive, and foul-mouthed, Orianna now showed rare restraint and even civility. "Nice to meet you."
"Polite one, aren't you?"
Karl was mildly surprised to hear such formal courtesy from a street merc. He took another look at Orianna—the rising name on the street who had caught the Old Captain's attention, and his own curiosity.
She fit the punk aesthetic to a T: hair styled into a spiky green mohawk, a bright yellow jacket, shorts barely long enough to be legal—perfect for high-mobility combat. But the real eye-catcher was her right arm: a bright pink cybernetic prosthetic.
A pink cyberarm for a woman? Fairly typical.
After a brief introduction, Karl got to the point and explained his role, just as Colmec had laid out in advance:
"We'll follow behind. You two handle the mission from start to finish. We'll just observe, and only step in if you fail. If everything goes smoothly, we'll leave quietly. Sound good?"
"Colmec's standard protocol. We get it," Orianna replied.
"Good."
Karl nodded slightly. Thanks to her respectful attitude, she left a decent impression, and he gave her a faint smile. "Then you're good to go."
That line was clearly the cue to end the meeting and start the mission.
As soon as he said it, Orianna could feel Gilay stop trembling.
Seconds later, the two practically bolted into their vehicle and drove off like they were fleeing the scene. Watching them leave, V commented from behind:
"You kinda scared them, huh?"
"Did I?" Karl tilted his head, replaying the interaction. "Seemed like a smooth conversation to me."
"Well, yeah. Technically." V smirked as he recalled how the two had stood frozen like startled ostriches the entire time. Still, they had a job to do.
He opened the passenger door and gestured. "C'mon, job's a job. We're here to supervise. If anything goes wrong, we step in."
"I doubt we'll need to." Karl settled into the seat, eyes following the car up ahead. "Gilay's got Titan subdermal armor. Guy's tough."
"Titan armor? The heavy-duty stuff?"
V hadn't looked closely earlier. "Isn't that the kind that can shrug off SMG fire like it's nothing? Not bad for a street merc."
"Gilay's decent—but that's not what caught my attention," Karl said. "You know what Orianna made me feel?"
"What?"
"A sense of familiarity."
"Familiarity?" V looked confused. "What's that got to do with skill?"
"It's her instincts, her tension, her alertness around me. It reminded me of something I saw in an old archive clip—someone from forty years ago. A legendary figure from the Valentinos."
V looked over, curiosity piqued at the mention of Jackie's old gang. "Who?"
"The Weeping Widow," Karl replied.
"A predator at the top of Night City's food chain—back when only the strong survived."
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