Chapter 233 – “Slaughter”

What's it like to share an elevator with Adam Smasher?

Karl didn't know about anyone else, but for him, this "privilege" that so few in Night City—or the world—could claim, came with exactly one feeling:

Cramped.

Smasher's cybernetic frame was just too massive. With the two of them in a descending elevator, space was at a premium.

As the floors ticked down, Karl opened a line to Kenichiro.

Karl: Kenichiro-san, why not just remotely disable their cyberware? They're Arasaka personnel, right? Don't you have the authority?

Kenichiro: Matsudaira didn't come unprepared. The only thing he didn't anticipate was Hanako-sama showing up and acting today. His subordinates already had elevated access granted under his Vice President credentials. With Michiko absent, he held top-level control. Now that he's dead, their permissions remain, but we can't revoke them remotely.

Karl: Got it.

Karl glanced up—because he had to—with a slight tilt of the head to look at the much taller Adam Smasher.

That brought him to his second realization:

The guy reeked.

"Hope you brought a spare pair of pants, kid," Smasher growled. "I'm not cleaning up your piss once the bullets start flying."

His glowing red optics scanned Karl's arm. "Try not to get that toy of yours busted again."

"You're as charming as ever, Mr. Smasher," Karl replied with a polite smile. For a guy who technically saved his life once, Karl could tolerate some trash talk—but that didn't mean he wouldn't dish it back.

"I figured a walking pile of scrap like you—who probably can't even piss—might just be jealous of the rest of us who still have working anatomy. You're right, I gotta protect my arms. If I ever end up like you, all metal and attitude, I'd at least want a mouth as loud as yours."

"Cheeky little bastard."

Those crimson optics narrowed in a glare, but Karl didn't feel any real killing intent.

It was just banter. Physical insults didn't seem to faze Smasher at all.

They traded a few more verbal jabs before the elevator fell silent again—briefly.

Then Smasher asked something Karl never expected to hear from that mechanical monster.

"You and Hanako—are you close?"

Wait, what?

Karl froze for a second. The question wasn't cold or mocking—it was casual, even curious.

Adam Smasher asking about my relationship with Hanako? Karl couldn't make sense of it.

Did Smasher have some kind of past with her? He called her by name—no titles. That alone was shocking.

But before Karl could answer, the elevator dinged.

"Let's focus on the job. We'll talk later, rookie," Smasher said, cracking his knuckles. "Just hope your gun's as loud as your mouth."

Gunfire rang out before the doors could even open.

Someone had noticed the elevator descending. They opened fire preemptively, hoping to intercept anyone inside.

It was clear: the traitors had seized this floor and were trying to block reinforcements.

The employee elevator wasn't built to withstand bullets. But that didn't matter.

The doors didn't need to open for Karl and Smasher to break out.

In a blur, Karl felt the pressure shift. Smasher's killing intent ramped up like a reactor overload.

His glowing eyes pulsed blood-red. His form became a blur. Berserk mode and Sandevistan—activated simultaneously.

Steel arms the size of hydraulic pistons tore into the elevator doors. With impossible strength, Smasher ripped them open, twisting the metal frame apart.

A hulking shadow leapt out.

Dakka dakka dakka—

Ting ting ting—

Bullets clanged off steel plating like rain on iron. Sparks flew as Smasher barreled through.

Boom!

A single shoulder charge turned four Arasaka-uniformed soldiers into meat paste. They hadn't even realized who they were facing before their bones shattered and organs painted the walls.

The others barely had time to scream before Smasher's massive arm swept across the right flank.

Those ones fared slightly better—they died with their heads still attached, at least.

While the berserker rampaged, another figure burst from the elevator behind him.

Karl moved like a whisper of death. His left wrist flared with the glowing arc of a monowire, slicing across the floor in a fluid arc.

A clean, gleaming crescent swept through the torsos of two soldiers Smasher hadn't reached yet. Blood sprayed in slow motion, but the wire remained spotless.

Time returned to its normal pace.

Every enemy guarding the elevator was dead.

"You're slow, kid."

"Well, can't compete with a walking artillery platform."

"No, dumbass—this is artillery."

Smasher raised his arm.

A shadow moved—fast. A ninja dropped from the ceiling, Mantis Blades deployed mid-air, aiming for Smasher's blind side.

Too slow.

With one swing, Smasher caught the attacker mid-pounce. His fist crushed the ninja's ribs and hurled the body skyward like a rag doll.

The ceiling cracked.

"Boom."

A flash from Smasher's arm cannon.

The ninja exploded into a cloud of blood mist before hitting the ground.

"Christ," Karl muttered, waving a hand through the haze. "You could at least try not to stink up the whole place. Not all of us have filtered lungs."

As he spoke, another assassin lunged at him—silent, fast, deadly.

Karl didn't flinch.

Night's End was in his hand in a flash. The moment the ninja raised their Mantis Blades, Karl struck upward.

The dagger punched through the throat cleanly.

Lifting the dying body with one hand, he flung it aside. The blade slipped free with a wet hiss.

"That's how you fight."

"Good," Smasher growled.

"Combat—real combat—is the only thing that ever mattered to me. If you've got the guts to go toe-to-toe with a legend, keep up, kid."

"That's the plan," Karl said, flicking blood off his blade.

"After all, how often do you get to compete with a legend?"

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