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Faraday was no fool; he knew the lethality of the contract he was holding. But you didn't say no to Militech, especially when they dangled the one thing he craved more than Eddies: a Corporate Exemption.
In Night City, the megacorps aren't just above the law—they are the law. Possessing an exemption meant having a god-tier shield. It meant whitewashing a criminal record, becoming a "made man" in the corporate hierarchy, or even qualifying for a government seat. It was the ultimate reboot for a street-fixer.
To secure it, Faraday had burned through his fortune and every favor he owned to assemble a small army of Edgerunners, all for a head-on collision with Arasaka's Special Operations Division.
Maine, Faraday's primary heavy-hitter, wasn't impressed by the initial pitch. "Two million euros? You're buying our death certificates at a discount, you four-eyed bastard!"
"Are you selling, Maine? Or should I find someone with more ambition?" Faraday's voice was a cold, mechanical drone over the link.
"We're selling," Maine growled, shooting a glance at Kael. "But I want fifty percent upfront. In escrow."
Kael leaned against the wall of Maine's hideout, a shadow of a smile on his face. Everything was proceeding according to his calculations. Faraday had taken the bait.
V's involvement was the linchpin. Kael needed his corporate authority for the logistical heavy lifting and the inevitable post-op cleanup. The V standing in the office now wasn't the desperate street-kid Kael had first met; he looked sharper, more imposing, though his bloodshot eyes betrayed a heavy reliance on Arasaka combat stimulants.
"If you keep redlining like that, V, you're going to flatline at your desk," Kael noted as the three of them—Kael, V, and Maine—sat in the soundproofed inner office.
"I'll get a full-body tune-up once this is over," V rasped, sitting next to Kael. There was a clear hierarchy in the room; Maine was the muscle, but Kael was the brain. "Faraday's intelligence is sparse, but it matches my internal reports. Susan is sending five vehicles—four elite tactical squads. They're serious about this 'Adamant' shipment."
Kael looked at the data. "Good. Let Faraday's cannon fodder soften them up. I want the goods, and I want the blame to land squarely on Militech's doorstep."
The Badlands.
The sun was a scorching eye, and the wind whipped grit against Kael's tactical gear. He stood on a high ridge, peering through his rangefinders. Below him, Falco sat behind the wheel of the modified Ragnar, with Jackie checking his Satara and Lucy deep in a drone-link.
Maine's crew was positioned several kilometers ahead, ready to spring the secondary trap.
"Targets in sight," Sasha's voice crackled through the encrypted team channel. She was the hub, coordinating the two disparate squads.
In the distance, a plume of dust signaled the Arasaka convoy. Faraday's "distractions"—mostly desperate nomad gangs and Pacifica thugs—hit first. They were meat for the grinder, meant only to force the Arasaka elites to burn their cooldowns and reveal their formations.
"Useless trash," Faraday hissed in the background of the comms as the Arasaka squads efficiently dismantled the first wave. But Faraday had more than just meat; he had hardware. He'd seeded the route with heavy machine-gun nests, forcing the convoy off the main road and into a narrow canyon system.
"It's your turn, Maine. Don't make me regret the deposit," Faraday commanded.
"Watch and learn, choom," Maine laughed. He floored the accelerator, his armored truck plummeting down the hillside. He rammed the lead Arasaka vehicle with enough force to flip it into a ditch.
"Sasha, Kiwi—kill their brakes!" Maine roared.
Working in tandem, the two Master Hackers tore through the convoy's local subnet. Corporate ICE was thick, but with two of the city's best working the same port, the transport truck's wheels locked with a scream of tortured metal.
An Arasaka security lead, his movement a blur of Sandevistan-boosted speed, leaped onto the roof of Maine's car. He began prying at the roof with Mantis Blades.
SCREECH.
"This is Delamain-spec plating, you gonk!" Pilar shouted, flipping the bird through the reinforced glass. "Your toothpicks won't even scratch the paint!"
The Arasaka soldier raised his blades for a downward strike.
CRACK.
A 12.7mm rail-slug from Kael's Nekomata took the soldier's head off before he could move. The headless body rolled off the roof and disappeared into the dust.
"Sniper! Thermal lock!" an Arasaka scout yelled. He didn't live to see the reply. Kael, occupying the highest vantage point, was playing the "King of Hell." Every time his rifle barked, a corpo-suit became a statistic.
"Done!" Sasha shouted.
The heavy transport truck lost balance and rolled, crashing onto its side in a massive cloud of sand. The remaining Arasaka guards were pinned down.
"How do we crack this thing?" Rebecca asked, kicking the thick, bulletproof door of the transport. "Support AVs will be here in five minutes."
"Kael's already thought of that," Sasha replied, leaning against the car door, her eyes glowing.
Maine popped the rear hatch of their car. Four orange security robots—Kael's "Big White" units—stepped out with mechanical precision.
"Big White One, Two, Three, Four—to work," Sasha commanded.
The robots moved with surgical efficiency. They disconnected the cargo carriage from the wrecked cab and latched it onto Maine's reinforced hitch. While One and Two handled the heavy lifting, Three and Four deployed high-yield signal jammers and began spray-painting over the Arasaka logos.
"Faraday, objective secured," Maine reported.
"Bring it to the Badlands safehouse immediately!" Faraday's voice was nearly shaking with greed. "Move!"
Maine yanked the wheel, leading the haul deep into the mountains. They were ghosts in the desert, and Faraday was already dreaming of his corporate throne.
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