Chapter 24: Swirling Back to Maelstrom

"You're here."

"I'm here."

Karl considered saying something dramatic like "You shouldn't have come."—but his corpo client probably wouldn't get the reference.

So instead, he kept it simple and shut up.

This was his second time meeting this corporate woman. Unlike their first rushed encounter, now Karl had the time to actually observe her properly.

Last time, she'd been wearing makeup, looking sharp—but Karl had been too focused on the promise of 100,000 eddies to really pay attention to her face.

Now, up close and in more natural light—

She looked about twenty-three, maybe twenty-four.

Sharp brows, deep-set eyes, cropped black hair, and dark irises. Her skin leaned toward a warmer olive tone, with distinct Southern European features—probably Spanish or Italian. What most people would just call a Latina.

Karl wasn't exactly an expert in ethnic distinctions, but he could at least categorize what he saw.

Not that it was unusual in Night City.

America was already a melting pot. And Night City?

It was the melting pot.

Hell, seeing a Latina corpo in a black jacket wasn't half as strange as passing some self-proclaimed Mohican descendant rocking a full-on warhawk—the kind of hairstyle that had made a comeback in recent years.

Blanca—he figured that was her name—seemed to be waiting for someone else.

Even after Karl showed up, she didn't rush things. She just stood there by the Wordless Motel like any other passerby.

Without the makeup and corpo suit, she blended in easily—just another woman in a black jacket. Pretty, yes, but not drawing attention.

Karl, on the other hand, did draw eyes.

His mercenary gear made him stand out—especially to passing women.

A few seemed interested... until they noticed Blanca standing next to him.

Those who didn't back off immediately changed their minds when they met Blanca's cold, cutting gaze.

They stood in silence for a while.

Then, as if bored—or just wanting to establish authority—she finally spoke.

"My name is Blanca. Call me that for the duration of this job."

Blanca.

Common Spanish name. Meant white, or pure.

Karl immediately thought of Blanche of Castile, some medieval French queen.

But with Blanca standing there dressed in all black, the name felt pretty ironic.

"For this job, your only responsibility is to protect me. See nothing. Say nothing. You're not involved in the negotiations. Even if you hear something—forget it.

Understood?"

Karl gave a wordless nod—standard silent mercenary protocol.

He wasn't Oliver—he didn't talk unless it was necessary.

Blanca, however, didn't stop talking.

She shifted on her feet, tapping lightly against the pavement—an unconscious tic, maybe. A sign of nerves?

"There should be ten of them on the other side. If the talks fall apart, I'll run my fingers through my hair. When I do—shoot the one I'm speaking to, and cover me. Got it?"

"Got it."

Karl locked the details in his brain instantly.

Ten enemies.

Watch for signal: hair swipe = shoot.

Priority: Protect the client.

That was all he needed to know.

He didn't ask why a corpo like Blanca was doing this herself, without her company backing her up.

Didn't matter if it was internal betrayal or a personal job off the books.

As far as Karl was concerned:

Who were the targets?

Could he kill them?

How much was he getting paid?

Everything else was irrelevant.

Well—except one thing.

Where the hell were the enemies?

Blanca looked at Karl's relaxed, almost lazy posture.

He didn't seem even slightly worried about going up against ten possible Maelstrom gangers.

She was about to continue briefing him when—

A black Thorton Hera EC-D I360 pulled up at the curb.

[Thorton Hera EC-D I360]The first model in the Hera lineup. So durable and affordable that it nearly bankrupted Thorton because nobody ever needed a second one.Released in 2023—old as hell by 2075 standards, but still a favorite for tinkerers and modders.

Just like Oliver's Thorton Quartz, this was a car for working-class nobodies and low-tier mercs.

Cheap. Reliable. Easy to fix.

The back door opened.

Empty.

Invitation accepted.

Karl noticed Blanca tense just slightly—barely perceptible, but enough for him to catch it.

So this was the ride.

At least it wasn't a two-seater.

Karl had already suffered too many cramped trips smashed against Jackie's cyber-enhanced bulk.

Blanca walked to the car.

Karl followed, sliding in behind her.

And then—

The driver turned around.

A bald head made of chrome swiveled to face them, glowing red optics blinking with mechanical rhythm.

Karl counted.

Eight cyber-eyes.

He sighed internally.

Of course.

Maelstrom.

Who else but these chromed-out freaks would replace half their face with optic implants?

Karl was so fucking tired of Maelstrom.

Couldn't Night City throw him a curveball now and then?

Maybe some Tyger Claws?

Animals?

Voodoo Boys?

Anything but another gang of walking scrapyards.

The Maelstrom driver scanned them, turned back, and hit the gas.

The Hera rolled off—heading straight for Watson's Industrial Zone.

Karl stared at the passing scenery.

No doubt about it.

Blanca had beef with Maelstrom.

And whatever she was dragging him into?

It was more than just stolen blackmail data now.

She had skeletons in her closet.

Chrome-plated ones.