Dexter DeShawn lounged back in his leather booth at Afterlife, a massive shadow framed in neon, cigar smoke curling like ghosts around his golden cyberarm.
"So," he began in that smooth, lazy drawl, "Evelyn's filled you in on the basics, yeah?"
He tapped ash into a glass tray, then continued, "A Militech convoy got hit mid-transport. The crew didn't even know what hit 'em. Maelstrom's the one behind it. Those chrome-brained psychos hijacked the whole shipment."
He leaned forward, the glowing ember of his cigar casting sharp reflections across his cybernetic face. "One of the items onboard was special—real special. A prototype unit. Flathead."
"That piece of tech's got serious value. Our client wants it back, and fast. They reached out to me to handle it… and when I asked around about reliable mercs in the city, your names came up more than once."
Dex grinned. "So here we are."
No wonder the man was one of Night City's top fixers—his words rolled like oil and smoke, filling the room, commanding it.
Then came the question, smooth but heavy. "Alright. Any questions before we move on?"
Jackie elbowed Neo lightly. He wasn't much of a talker in business meetings; that was V's job.
Neo's tone was calm, thoughtful. "Militech's one of the biggest megacorps on the planet. In Night City alone, they've got enough muscle to flatten Maelstrom a dozen times over. So why come to people like us? Why not take it back themselves?"
Dex chuckled. "Sharp question, V."
He took another puff, smoke curling upward. "See, Militech's got power—money, tech, manpower. But that's not the whole picture. In this city, power's a balancing act. You've got other corps in the mix: Arasaka, Biotechnica…. Every move's a message."
He gestured with the cigar. "You ever wonder why the gangs still run the streets, even with megacorps breathing down their necks? It's 'cause they need them. It's part of Night City's balance. The corps pull the strings, the gangs bleed in the gutters, and the ecosystem keeps spinning."
"Now, Maelstrom are a whole different beast. No rules. No fear. A hive of chrome junkies high on cyberpsychosis. Militech could roll in and wipe 'em out overnight… but they won't."
He leaned forward. "Because inside the corp it's not just about doing the job. It's about who does it. Politics, promotions, internal rivalries. If a prototype gets stolen, that's a black mark for whoever's division lost it. And if they cause a public incident cleaning it up, that mark becomes a crater."
"Start a firefight with Maelstrom, and every other gang and corp in the city will take notice. Next thing you know, Arasaka, Biotechnica, Kang Tao—they're all jumping in. The stock tanks, investors panic. A little mess turns into a global PR nuke."
Dex smiled. "So instead, they come to professionals. People like you."
Neo listened quietly, expression unreadable. Then he asked flatly, "What's the payout?"
Dex leaned back. "Word is, you and Miss Parker here go way back, yeah? Don't worry, I don't shortchange my talent. Militech's offering 150,000 eddies."
Jackie nearly fell off his chair. "Fifteen hundred thousand?! Madre de Dios—that's a fortune!"
But Neo didn't even blink. His voice stayed level, cutting through the excitement like a knife.
"That's not enough."
Dex's grin froze. "Come again?"
"150,000 eddies is too little," Neo said calmly. "Multiply it by ten. 1.5 million. Not a single eddy less."
The room froze.
Evelyn stared at him. "What?" Jackie's jaw hung open.
Even Judy, who'd been quietly watching from her workstation, stopped typing.
On the screen, Dex went utterly still. The cigar burned to its filter, forgotten between his fingers. Finally, he let out a low laugh. "Well, shit. I've seen a lot of mercs, V, but never one who counteroffers like that."
Neo leaned forward, voice cool and cutting. "Let's not pretend, Dex. You fixers are middlemen—you skim from both sides, always making sure you profit the most. No shame in that. But don't act like we don't know how the game's played."
"Militech spent millions developing that prototype. If it lands in Arasaka's hands, the loss would be astronomical. And you? You're sitting there in Afterlife, sipping top-shelf whiskey, flexing a gold-plated arm and a cigar that costs more than most people's rent."
He smiled faintly. "So how about you spit a little back out?"
Dex's eyes narrowed. Neo didn't give him time to respond.
"1.5 million. That's my price. Not a negotiation. You pay, we work. You don't, then this deal dies right here—and good luck finding another crew brave or stupid enough to cross Maelstrom for less."
Silence.
Heavy, electric silence.
Dexter DeShawn didn't move. Smoke hung motionless in the air around him, the ember of his cigar glowing down to ash.
Evelyn's eyes were wide. He actually said that.
Jackie looked like he'd seen a ghost. This guy's insane… or brilliant.
No merc in Night City talked to Dex like that. Most would grovel for scraps.
Even Judy, who'd seen her share of street legends, sat frozen in her chair, curiosity flickering behind her eyes.
Then, finally, Dex's deep laugh filled the room, low and thunderous.
"Now that," he said, "is interesting. You know, V, the scariest people in this biz aren't the greedy ones. They're the ones who don't need. The ones who know their worth."
He grinned wide, gold teeth glinting. "And I like your kind of greed."
He crushed out the last of his cigar. "1.5 million eddies. Done."
"But," he added, voice dropping lower, "I've got a condition."
"Along with the prototype, I want Maelstrom wiped off the map. Gone. Every last chromehead. You pull that off, you earn your payday."
Neo's lips curved into a sharp, confident smile.
"That," he said softly, "is just a little extra work."
The screen flickered, the connection ending in a haze of static.
And for the first time that night, even Evelyn Parker couldn't tell whether the man beside her was a mercenary—or something far more dangerous.