CYBERPUNK: Travel to 2075

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Why Is It the Maelstrom Gang Again?

"You're here."

"I am."

Karl suppressed the urge to retort with something dramatic like, "You shouldn't have come," but he doubted his employer—the corporate boss—would appreciate that kind of banter. Instead, he kept it professional after the simple greeting.

This was Karl's second encounter with his employer. Their first meeting had been rushed, and he remembered her mostly as commanding and confident. Now, with more time to observe, he took a closer look.

She appeared to be in her early twenties, with striking features—high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and sharp eyebrows. Her short black hair framed her Latin complexion, a mix of Spanish or Italian heritage. Karl wasn't great at distinguishing ethnicities, but her face had a classic Southern European sharpness.

In Night City, such diversity wasn't unusual. The city was a melting pot of immigrants from every corner of the world. It wasn't strange to see someone with a strong Latin profile, just as it wouldn't be surprising to run into someone claiming to be a descendant of ancient Indian warriors—Mohawk hairstyles and all.

Tonight, the employer wasn't dressed to stand out. She wore plain black clothes, skipped the makeup, and had ditched the formal suit. She blended in well with the street crowd, though her natural beauty caught occasional glances. Still, most people hesitated to approach when they noticed her cold, indifferent demeanor.

In contrast, Karl's mercenary attire made him stand out. The occasional passersby gave him curious looks, but he ignored them. The two stood in silence for a while before the employer broke it, perhaps to ease her own tension or fill the awkwardness.

"My name is Blanca," she said. "Call me that during this mission."

Blanca. A simple, common Spanish name meaning "white" or "pure." Karl vaguely recalled a queen of France from the 13th century with the same name. He glanced at Blanca, dressed entirely in black, and thought the name was ironic.

"For this mission," she continued, "your only job is to protect me. Look less, talk less, and forget anything you might overhear. Can you do that?"

Karl nodded silently. He wasn't one to talk much anyway—unlike his teammate Oliver.

Blanca shifted her weight from one foot to the other, as if trying to manage her nerves. "Here's the plan. The group we're meeting has about ten people. If negotiations fail, I'll signal by brushing my hair. Once you see that, you're to shoot the person I'm talking to and cover me as we escape. Got it?"

"Understood."

Karl mentally filed away the details: ten potential enemies, a signal involving her hair, and a €50,000 payout. Straightforward enough.

He didn't bother asking why a corporate employee like Blanca was negotiating alone or why she had to hire a mercenary for protection. Whether it was because she couldn't trust anyone in her company or this was a personal matter, it didn't concern him.

All Karl cared about were the enemy count, whether they could be killed, and the reward amount. The rest was irrelevant.

As Blanca opened her mouth to add something, a black Sky Hera EC-D I360 pulled up in front of them.

---

The Sky Hera EC-D I360 was an older model—affordable, durable, and easy to repair. First released in 2023, its over-engineering nearly bankrupted its manufacturer, Sky Hera. The company learned a harsh lesson about making vehicles too reliable. Despite its age, the EC-D I360 remained popular in Night City, with many owners modifying it to keep it street-worthy.

To Karl, it was a welcome sight. At least it beat squeezing into Oliver's smaller car, where he was often crammed alongside Jack's muscular frame.

The car door opened, its empty backseat facing them, as if inviting them inside. Blanca took a deep breath, clearly recognizing the vehicle.

"This must be our ride," Karl muttered.

Blanca walked toward the car, and Karl followed. Once inside, Karl settled into the seat and glanced toward the driver. He immediately noticed something distinctive—eight glowing red cybernetic eyes.

The driver turned to face them, his heavily modified face now unrecognizable as human.

Karl sighed internally. Maelstrom Gang. Again.

The gang's obsession with extreme body modifications made them grotesquely iconic. Karl had encountered them plenty of times before, and he was getting tired of it.

Why do I always end up dealing with these psychos? Can't I get a new type of enemy for once?

The driver confirmed their identities before starting the car, taking them toward the northern industrial area of the Watson District—the Maelstrom Gang's stronghold.

Karl leaned back, thinking. If they were heading to the gang's turf, it meant the group likely had leverage over Blanca. Whatever this negotiation was about, the Maelstrom Gang probably held something valuable or incriminating against her.

But that wasn't Karl's problem. His job was simple: keep Blanca alive and earn his €50,000.

No one asked for his opinion, and he wasn't about to offer it.

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