We used to fake everything—
Taste. Confidence. Identity.
And now?
Welcome to Gem Blue—Colonel Hansen's snake den.
"I hope I'm not causing any trouble… Uh-huh. I'll handle it. Don't worry."
Kurt Hansen—calm, precise, deadly—hung up the call with Night City officials. Hidden in the shadows, he moved like a man more used to war rooms than lounges.
To him, even this kind of chaos—a full-blown assault—was just another business risk.
But every mess demands cleanup. And this one?
It needed revenge.
That meant pushing buttons in Night City's political arena. Strategically.
Logan stood still, head down.
Handcuffed. Held. Judged.
Across the clean, sterilized floor, the sound of Hansen's polished boots echoed like a death march.
This better not be a trap... That panel better not have lied to me.
"Let him go. His bones are already shattered."
The soldiers obeyed. Logan flexed his sore arm, sweat sliding freely down his temple—even as his eyes stayed sharp, unflinching.
From the shadows stepped a figure clad in a perfectly pressed military tee—broad-shouldered, iron-eyed, exuding violence.
Hansen.
He didn't say a word as his eyes flicked to the other two Ghost Dogs dragged in with Logan.
Correction: not Ghost Dogs.
Defeated Dogs—tails between their legs.
"Talk," Hansen finally said, voice cold and clipped. "You should know what happened."
Logan swallowed hard.
"Colonel… we were ambushed. It was a Cyberpunk unit."
Technically true.
Logan wasn't stupid enough to spill more than necessary.
The man in front of him could smell fear—and lies.
Hansen didn't blink.
"I know, kid," he snapped, jabbing a finger into Logan's chest. "You should've waited for support. That's what I think."
Is he calling me a deserter?
Logan tensed, heart racing. His fists clenched instinctively.
Hansen made a small motion. The soldier behind Logan hesitated—then, under the weight of protocol, placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Sorry, buddy," the soldier muttered.
Logan's mind was a whirlwind.
The convoy. Dog Town's soldiers. The Cyberpunks. The gear we were hauling…
Something's off. I'm missing a piece.
"Wait, Colonel Hansen!"
Logan took a step forward—click—two muzzles jammed into his cracked ribs. He grimaced but pressed on.
"The Cyberpunks weren't after the weapons. They weren't there to steal anything—they came to sabotage. Pure and simple."
"Mercs like that? They don't need military-grade gear from Arasaka. This wasn't a smash-and-grab."
He looked Hansen in the eyes. "This smells like revenge."
Hansen raised a hand. "Let him speak."
Logan went on, fast:
"The shipment was Arasaka tech—top-line stuff. But it was rerouted three times before arrival. No way Cyberpunks just stumbled onto our route."
"This is a business move, Colonel. Somebody didn't want us to profit. They wanted us to bleed."
Hansen didn't respond at first. He just sipped his whiskey. The scent of alcohol hung in the air, warm and sharp.
His eyes locked onto Logan like a predator measuring prey.
"Bring him in."
The Ghost Dogs dragged over a half-dead man, battered beyond recognition—until Logan saw the distinctive tattoo.
Jack.
If it weren't for that damn ink, Logan would never have known. His face was pulp. His breath, shallow.
"Deserter," Hansen spat.
He planted his boot against Jack's side and shoved. The man gurgled in pain—unable to even understand the words thrown at him.
"He tried to leave paradise. Guess who gave up the route, Logan?"
A cold sweat broke over Logan's back.
Jack? Jack betrayed us?
"You know I don't like paperwork," Hansen continued casually. "But I do like confessions."
"You and him—you were close. Slept in the same tent, ate the same chow. By protocol? You should both be dead."
"But…"
He raised a brow.
"I'm offering you a chance."
Logan stood tall. His spine never bent, even when Jack appeared. Even now.
Don't flinch. Don't break. Hansen smells weakness.
Hansen smiled faintly. It wasn't warm.
He drew a pistol from his waist and pointed it at Jack.
He knew Logan hadn't sold the intel. This was just power. Pressure. Theatrics.
Control.
Because sometimes mercy was more terrifying than bullets.
Bang!
Logan's eyes snapped shut.
Another shot. Then another.
He opened them—slowly.
The steaming muzzle of the gun hovered inches from his face.
He didn't move.
Just watched Hansen with the stillness of a man who knew a single blink could end it all.
"You're going to an old friend of mine," Hansen said calmly, holstering the weapon. "From this point on, your name's scrubbed from the Ghost Dogs."
"Do the job, bring me answers. Somebody's gotta pay for that convoy."
The soldier behind Hansen clapped Logan's shoulder hard. That was his cue.
Logan turned, legs barely working, and exited Bobby Shields with the weight of a city on his back.
In the elevator, he slumped against the rail.
Pain shot up his side, his ribs screaming in protest. The effects of the pain editor were wearing off.
Everything ached.
"Hey, Logan. Maybe it's not that bad."
Otto.
One of the few with enough humanity left to give a damn.
"No Ghost Dog wants to leave the barracks, you know that. Once you walk off the leash, someone's gonna come knocking. Old scores. Real grudges."
The Ghost Dogs had earned plenty of hate in Dog Town. Once you're out, you're just another target.
"And don't get me started on the suspended pay," Otto muttered. "No eddies, no glitter. For some of these guys, that's death in slow motion."
He paused. Looked Logan straight in the eye.
"But you? You've got something. You stared down Hansen's gun without flinching. That takes guts."
Logan gave a faint nod, lips pale.
The place Hansen was sending him to?
"Heavy Heart."
The irony wasn't lost on him.
Was he being exiled? Punished?
Or… reassigned?
Hansen's words lingered.
Whatever was coming, Logan knew one thing—he wasn't getting the full story. He was still just a pawn.
Players see the board. NPCs follow orders.
And Logan?
Right now, he wasn't a player.
[Character: Kurt Hansen – Favorability Updated]
[Favorability: 10 – "Don't screw it up, or you'll end up with your head in a crate."]
[Reward: All Attributes +1 | Access to Legendary Characters Unlocked]
[Special Notice: Task guidance panel has been permanently disabled. You're on your own now.]
The invisible support Logan relied on—his panel—was gone.
He felt it in his bones.
He staggered. Otto caught him quickly and popped open a canister of [Qinglizhi].
Pressed it to Logan's lips.
The world was falling apart.
Even the system had stabbed him in the back.
The moment the vapor hit his lungs, his nerves loosened. His head swam.
"Logan! Hey! Hey! You're okay… just rest now…"
Otto's voice grew distant, muffled.
Logan's world faded to black.