Chapter 22: Here We Go, 2075

"Boss, hold onto our stuff—we'll be back to pick it up."

Karl spoke calmly as he stepped toward the door. He had no clue what the hell was going on outside, but Oliver's car was parked just down the street—and he had to make sure it wasn't totaled.

If it got wrecked, they'd be hauling everything back on foot. Not exactly ideal.

Through the broken storefront window, Karl scanned the street.

Chaos.

In the middle of the road, a burly blond guy in aviators was lighting up a cargo truck with a Militech MK.31 Heavy Machine Gun, shredding its chassis like it was cardboard.

Closer to their position—two very familiar corpses lay face-down on the pavement.

The same three masked robbers from earlier.

Now riddled with bullets, their bodies surrounded by scattered eurodollars.

Wrong place, wrong time. Unlucky as hell.

"The fuck's going on?"

Jackie joined Karl at the window, took one look, and immediately ducked back behind cover.

"Shit. That's a heavy machine gun? What the hell kind of mess did we just walk into?"

Then—

"My fucking car!!"

Oliver's voice cracked.

He'd just spotted his beloved ride.

A fresh dent scarred the driver's side door—clearly from a stray bullet.

Not a deep hit, but enough to make Oliver go pale.

"That was a birthday gift from my sister!"

"So... what's the move?"

Karl's fingers tightened on his gun. His other hand rested casually on a grenade he'd snatched from the Maelstrom hideout.

"Should we just wipe both sides?"

If they were rocking subdermal armor, he had just the thing for that.

Jackie still had the Crusher, too. No shortage of firepower here.

"Dude. You're really about to start a war over a dent?"

Oliver, pissed as he was, still had enough sense not to challenge an HMG head-on.

"Relax. The guy out there's got enough chrome to eat through a tank. Let's not poke the beehive."

"Am I the only one thinking like a normal merc?"

Karl raised an eyebrow.

He wasn't even being bloodthirsty by Night City standards. Hell, he was practically showing restraint.

"Who the hell are these guys?"

The firefight was wrapping up fast.

From behind the truck, a new group flanked the defenders.

Leading the push—a guy with a mohawk and a Copperhead SMG, spraying bullets like he was painting the walls.

Beside him—a short girl with neon-green pigtails, holding a pink M-76e Omaha smart pistol.

Three clean shots. Three dead bodies.

"Mann!!"

The green-haired girl waved at the heavy gunner. "We're clear!"

"Rebecca!"

The blond dude—Maine—nodded. Then turned to the mohawked guy.

"Pilar! Grab the crate. Let's roll!"

"On it!"

"...They're mercs."

Jackie lowered his voice, watching the pros clean up.

"Same as us."

Karl relaxed a bit.

So this wasn't about them.

"Alright. Nothing to do with us. Let's go grab our shit."

He turned back inside.

"You wanna fix up your car first, Oliver?"

"Nah. I'll hammer out the dent later. Let's check the apartments first."

As they packed up their purchases, the BD shop owner rushed outside to scoop up the scattered eurodollars around the corpses.

"Shit, this was mine to begin with. I'm taking it back!"

Karl and Jackie climbed into the passenger seat. Oliver fired up the engine and drove off.

Maine and his crew, now done looting the truck, were also prepping to leave.

As Oliver's car passed the wreck, Maine gave them a passing glance but didn't react.

Karl, however, took a longer look.

That guy had stood in open fire, tanking everything.

That armor...

It had to be top-tier.

But it wasn't Karl's problem. Just something to remember.

Moving In

The rest of the ride to the Megabuilding went smooth.

After a quick call, they met the apartment manager and started the lease process.

Corporate-owned building. Corporate drones at the desk. And a mountain of paperwork.

After getting bled dry with fees, both Karl and Oliver signed off—1,000 eddies per month.

Oliver wanted to live next to Karl, but only one unit was available on the 4th floor. He took the 5th.

Basic Amenities... With a Catch

The place came fully furnished.

Sounds good?

Nope.

Landline: 10 eddies setup, 0.75 eddies per minute.TV: 50 eddies deposit, 1 eddie per hour.Vending machine inside the room.

"Corpos really figured out how to nickel-and-dime people to death, huh?"

Karl stared at the vending unit.

Reluctantly, he paid 15 eddies for three cans of Tiny Coca-Cola.

One for himself. One for Oliver. One for Jackie.

It was the only brand available. Artificial, sugary, too sweet—and yet, wildly popular.

Settling In

Jackie flopped onto the couch with a sigh.

"Not bad, mano. Feels cozy."

Karl took a sip of the soda and winced.

"Sweet enough to rot your teeth in one swig."

Oliver looked around the room.

"That's all you're gonna say? 'It's livable'?"

"Yeah."

"I've been living in shitboxes since I was 18. This? This is the best place I've had."

Karl raised an eyebrow.

"And how old are you again?"

Oliver groaned.

"Twenty-four. You asked me this like three times already."

"Guess I keep blocking it out."

Karl rolled his eyes.

Six years on the street, and this was the best Oliver could afford.

Karl had been in Night City less than 48 hours—and he already had a Megabuilding lease.

Didn't feel like an achievement.

It just felt like surviving.

A New Chapter

Karl leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Jackie and Oliver kick back like they'd earned a vacation.

He took another sip of the syrupy soda.

Too sweet.

Too fake.

But maybe that was just how things were here.

"Glug—"

He winced.

"...Goddamn. That's sweet."