"Hey, can you hear me? Karl, V, Jack, Oliver?" "We hear you." Sitting on a sofa in a suite spanning over 400 square meters, Karl glanced at
"Hey, can you hear me? Karl, V, Jack, Oliver?"
"We hear you."
Sitting on a sofa in a suite spanning over 400 square meters, Karl glanced at the night view through the floor-to-ceiling windows and replied to T-BUG's voice in the comms, "Loud and clear. Did you manage to piggyback onto a satellite, T-BUG?"
"Yeah, took some effort. How are things on your end?"
"We successfully checked in using the identity you set up."
Jack, half-reclined on the sofa by the window, stretched with a groan. "Girl, that Italian noble ID you gave Karl works like a charm. You should've seen the receptionist's face—I swear I've never seen someone bow that low in my life."
"Told you it'd work. You should know by now you can trust my setups."
T-BUG's voice carried a touch of pride. "That identity was handpicked and prepped by me. Aside from the name, it's essentially a replica of a real person's profile."
"So it's based on a real person, huh? Meaning there's actually an Italian noble out there with this identity?"
Oliver was inspecting his handgun while showing clear interest in her answer.
"More or less. But you can't use the ID for too long. Hotels don't usually do deep background checks—guests would complain if their privacy got violated—but if you stay too long, the real person could show up or things might not match, and then you're screwed.
Your cover story, which will be 'accidentally' discovered later, is that you're here on a confidential mission to evaluate Militech weapon performance for future private estate procurement. That gives you about three days to locate the presidential candidate's suite and find the promotional files."
V raised a concern. "Can't you jack into the hotel's systems and pinpoint the target's room for us? That'd make everything faster, right?"
"Nope. I don't have the building's layout, nor do I know where the central control or surveillance servers are. If I hack in blindly, I risk triggering their cyberdefenses. And trust me—Militech's hotel netrunners are no joke."
"So you're saying it might trigger a reaction?"
Karl asked.
"It's not just about tripping an alarm. If the netrunner is sharp, they'll lock down the entire hotel for a sweep. Your cover identities won't survive that level of scrutiny. Even if you manage to neutralize everyone inside and escape, you'll still be surrounded by Militech territory out there. No way you're getting away in the Hera."
"There's something like 60,000 reservists out there," Jack muttered. "We'd get flagged and bounty-posted the second we stepped outside."
"At that point, it'd be checkmate."
Oliver nodded. If this were Night City, they might have options. But here, in Militech turf where everything is unfamiliar and everyone works for the same corporation, escaping is a pipe dream. Oliver trusted his driving, but not enough to weave through a whole city's worth of incoming fire.
"So we play it smart," Karl concluded, then asked T-BUG, "Does the three-day timer start tomorrow?"
"Nope. Starting today."
"Got it."
After a moment's thought, Karl made the call:
"The front desk said the hotel has a bar on the first floor, a gym on the second, a lounge on the third, and a restaurant on the fourth. One of you three will come with me to the same floor as my personal bodyguard. The other two, go scout the remaining levels. Let's try to get a full read on the hotel by tomorrow. The earlier we act, the better."
"We good to split up?" Oliver asked. "A bodyguard leaving the young master to wander off?"
"Stop thinking like just a bodyguard," Karl said. "You guys are the trusted inner circle of a Roman heir. Of course you'd help out with the 'research.' We're here to evaluate Militech tech—sending trusted aides is only logical."
He raised an eyebrow and grinned. "You've got jobs to do. The young master's here to enjoy himself. I'll be in the restaurant. Work hard, and maybe I'll toss you a fry as a reward."
"Please. The young master should be hitting the bar to flirt with girls."
Oliver laughed. "Anyway, the plan's clear: gather intel, find the location, break in, grab the files, and get out."
"I'll map the fastest extraction route out of L.A. for you," T-BUG said seriously. "Honestly, maybe I should've gone with you."
"Come on, girl, Hera's already cramped with the four of us. Add you, and Karl would just whine again about how much he hates four-seaters."
Jack chuckled, brushing off her concern.
Was it really just about a crowded car?
Of course not. The real reason they didn't bring T-BUG along was simple: their ride lacked mobile hacking hardware. Even if she came along, her skills would be mostly useless without her setup. Remote support was far more effective.
Besides, her personal combat skills were... well, to be polite—"full of potential." In blunt terms, if she didn't have time to initiate a full hack, she probably couldn't even fend off a lone NCPD beat cop.
Yes. Those cops. The ones whose combat ability barely surpassed scavengers or low-tier punks. Bringing T-BUG along in the field was a risk they just couldn't afford.
It wasn't that they didn't trust her—it's just that without heavy cyberware, if a stray bullet hit her, they'd likely lose a friend.
And in combat, stray bullets were often as deadly as direct fire. Sometimes, even more so.
"Well then, let's get moving."
As Karl, the team leader, finalized the plan, elsewhere in the hotel—in a penthouse suite above theirs—a fat man had just finished a call with his subordinates.
Had this man appeared in front of the New American public, very few would fail to recognize him.
The reason was simple.
His name was Thomas Cress.
And his aunt was none other than Elizabeth Cress—
A woman who had served as the President of New America for nine consecutive terms.
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