Chapter 201: Johnny?

"Let's get down to business."

Karl sat on the couch in the private booth, eyes fixed on the Old Captain as he took a seat too.

"So, is this a one-time gig, or are you trying to build a long-term connection? Either way, let's hear it."

"Of course it's a gig. You think I called you guys all the way here just to shoot the breeze?"

The Old Captain gave a playful wink. "Wouldn't wanna waste your time or insult you like that."

"No trial runs? No warm-ups, no vetting?"

Oliver laughed at that, clearly reminded of some other fixer. "Figured every Santo Domingo fixer liked to pull that 'test-run' crap first."

"No need for that."

The Old Captain raised a glass toward them. When all three declined, he continued:

"I came to you because I trust you. I'm not some amateur who needs to size up every merc that walks through the door—only fixers with no eye for talent do that."

Some other fixer just caught a stray, for sure.

"Alright, so let's hear it."

To be fair, the Old Captain's straightforwardness was refreshing. Even Jackie, who usually stayed quiet during job talks, chimed in:

"What kind of job we talking here? Just don't tell me it's a 'storm a megacorp HQ for a few thousand eddies' kinda gig. We all know only gonks sign up for that shit."

"Relax. I'm not trying to get anyone killed."

The Old Captain pulled out a compact holo-projector and set it on the glass table in the center.

"Let's talk eddies before details. No bullshit. 80,000 eddies to eliminate a gang member. Can you handle it?"

Eighty thousand...

Honestly? That was damn generous for a first-time fixer—almost too generous. Even the big-name fixers usually lowballed first gigs.

Faraday's first job for Karl's crew? 6,000 eddies.

Okada's? 30,000.

The Padre? 60,000.

So yeah, the Old Captain wasn't bluffing about bringing big money to the table. This was the highest first-job offer they'd ever seen. Nearly triple what Karl once offered V on their first run (30k).

But everybody knew—when someone's throwing that kind of cash around upfront, it usually means the job's gonna be a major pain in the ass.

"Eliminate a gang member…"

Oliver thought about the Old Captain's turf. "Sixth Street?"

"I wouldn't poke that hornet's nest this early. Nah—this one's personal. Guy flaked on a deal, ghosted me, and worse—wiped out the mercs I sent before you.

I just got started in this biz, and some asshole already thinks he can walk all over me. I need to send a message, feel me?"

Then the name dropped: "Animals."

"Animals, huh?"

Karl hadn't tangled much with that gang since hitting Night City, but he remembered the basics:

[Animals]:

A hyper-aggressive street gang mainly based in Pacifica's west side.

They avoid traditional cyberware, choosing instead to pump themselves full of testosterone and growth hormones—"animal enhancers"—to bulk up.

Estimated numbers: 2,500–3,000 members.

NCPD Threat Rating: HIGH

To Karl, they'd always felt more like muscle-for-hire than a real gang. A lot of them worked security gigs for clubs and bars around the city.

"If it's an Animal, yeah—we can handle it."

Karl nodded, accepting on the team's behalf.

"Alright, hit us with the details."

"No problem."

Seeing Karl's confirmation, the Old Captain couldn't hide the grin, like the job was already in the bag.

He tapped a recessed button on the projector. A mechanical lens popped up and beamed a hologram of a bulky figure into the air.

"Johnny Silverskin. Thirty-two years old—"

"Hold up—what'd you just say?"

Oliver cut in, smacking his palm against the side of his head like he'd misheard.

"Johnny Silverhand?!"

"Johnny Silverskin," the Old Captain corrected, shrugging.

"Yeah, I figured someone would get confused. This choom used to go by Rick something. Then he got obsessed with Silverhand's music and look, changed his name, and started dressing like him. He's kinda big in the Night City cosplay scene."

"So he's just some wannabe?"

"What else would he be? You think the real Johnny crawled outta hell to haunt us again?"

The Old Captain waved it off.

"That was two years ago. He joined the Animals, started juicing like mad, and now he's packed with enhancers and bulked up to hell.

Aside from the original silver cyberarm he had installed to mimic Johnny, he doesn't look like him at all anymore."

He pointed to the projection—massive guy, sunglasses, built like a tank.

"Here's what went down. I had a client—another Johnny fan—wanted to buy a car. I set up a meet with this Silverskin guy, was gonna be the middleman.

Dude ghosts the meet, calls me up instead, tells me to send some mercs to check out the car. Then he flatlines them, jacks the ride, and vanishes without paying a single eddie."

The Old Captain threw up his hands.

"You tell me—am I just supposed to eat that? Hell no.

If word gets out I got played like that, where's my rep go, huh?

So yeah, I gotta get some face back. Whether it's for my fixer career or my side hustle in secondhand rides—this gonk's gotta go.

And hey—if you can bring the car back too, I'll toss in a 20% discount on any vehicle you buy from me in the future."

"Got it," Karl nodded.

Simple: kill the guy, retrieve the car. Payout: 80,000 eddies.

"So… you got any leads? Still in Pacifica?"

That was typical Animal turf.

"Nope—he's in the City Center," the Old Captain replied.

"Apparently, he's got a nightly routine. Hits up a chip bookstore with his crew to grab reading material."

"A meathead like that… reads?"

"Don't judge a book by its biceps," the Old Captain smirked.

He pulled out a shard, waved it dramatically in front of them, then slotted it into the projector. The display shifted to a floating list of book titles.

"These are a few of the ones he's into lately."

Karl scanned the list.

The title at the top?

"Johnny Silverhand and Kerry's Little Secret"

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