"Have you guys heard about that new hotshot on the streets lately?" "Hotshot?" Karl's team was lounging at Afterlife, taking a break after w
"Have you guys heard about that new hotshot on the streets lately?"
"Hotshot?"
Karl's team was lounging at Afterlife, taking a break after wrapping up their job with Sesen Arasaka, when the Old Captain—unusually free and drinking at the bar—suddenly struck up a conversation. His comment piqued Karl's interest.
"For someone to get your attention, and for you to bring it up with us, they must not be ordinary," Karl replied. "Anyone who makes a name for themselves like that must've handled the fallout too. And if they did, they're not lacking in skill."
"Karl, you're already assuming they've got skills without hearing any details from me?"
The Old Captain signaled for another drink from Claire before continuing. "What if I'm just talking about some cocky street punk?"
"I don't really count people who're cocky for a few days and end up dead on the street as 'people.' Besides, I trust you. If you're the one bringing it up, I figured it was worth thinking highly of them."
"Now that's what I like to hear. I'll take that as flattery."
After sipping the drink Claire handed him, the Old Captain cracked a smile. "But that hotshot really does have some talent. At this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if she ends up doing gigs out of Afterlife soon."
"She?"
Karl picked up on the gendered pronoun and raised an eyebrow. "And doing gigs—you mean she's a merc?"
"Not something you see every day, huh?"
The Old Captain took another sip. "Word is, she's from somewhere near the Badlands, close to Coronado Farm. She's been making a name for herself lately. I'm one of the top fixers in Santo Domingo, so of course I've heard the buzz."
"Sounds like you've got your eye on her."
Oliver was munching on Afterlife's underwhelming fried snack platter, holding a synthetic fried squid ring as he spoke. "Thinking of grooming her as your personal merc?"
"I mean, the thought has crossed my mind. She's good, and from my turf—of course I'm keeping tabs. But no, she's not working for me yet."
After downing his drink in three swigs, the Old Captain grumbled, "She's working for Cormac."
"Cormac, huh..."
Jack repeated the name.
Cormac was a fixer operating mostly in Watson, known for handling street-level jobs, occasionally taking on corp work. He was decently known, the kind of guy who made it onto corporate-approved fixer lists. But in Jack's opinion? He wasn't much better than Faraday.
That's just how it is with fixers. The ones who can't reach the top tend to be cut from the same cloth. Cormac was practically a Faraday clone—maybe not as obsessed with cash, but still dishing out suicide missions. Any merc taking his gigs was one step into the grave.
"For someone to survive Cormac's contracts and gain fame… if you're saying this hotshot might be Afterlife material, she must be legit."
V spoke up. "But if you're bringing this up with us… what's the play? You want us to convince her to ditch Cormac and work for the legendary Old Captain instead?"
"Come on, V. Do I look like the type to pull that kind of move?"
The Old Captain scoffed. "I just heard she's got talent and she's from my neighborhood. If you happen to run into her, keep an eye out. If she's the real deal, I'll go find her myself. You ever see me send others to recruit on my behalf?"
"No kidding. Back when we started in this game, you were calling everybody yourself."
Karl chuckled and mentally filed the info away.
A rising street merc, huh? Reminded him a little of himself back in the day. But who knew if her name would stick? The streets were full of mercs who made a splash and vanished just as fast. No one could say for sure if this woman they were chatting about would still be around next week.
"Anyway, just keep her in mind if you come across her."
The Old Captain paused, then added, "Think of it as a little intel drop from me. Actually… I'll share something else. I'm not 100% on it, but since I'm holed up in Santo Domingo more than you lot, I might've caught wind of something useful."
"What's with the hesitation, Captain? That's not like you."
Oliver, tired of hearing him beat around the bush, prodded, "C'mon, if it's something serious, drinks are on me tonight. Down a few and maybe you'll start spilling faster."
"You think I care about two drinks?"
The Old Captain said that, but then turned to Claire. "Bring me a few more—put it on Oliver's tab."
Nobody's made of money. If someone's offering to pay, better take advantage.
Once Claire brought the drinks over, and the Old Captain wet his throat a little, his words came smoother. And what he said next made Oliver freeze mid-bite:
"I heard Will Cannon is getting ready to move against the General."
Will Cannon going after the General?
Who was the General?
As a former member of the 6th Street Gang, Oliver knew right away.
Rick Morton—the current leader of 6th Street. "The General" was his nickname, for his commanding control over the gang. And now the Old Captain was saying Will Cannon was targeting him?
"There were already rumors Will Cannon might be eyeing the top spot, especially with how fast his influence has grown. But now he's actually making a move?"
Oliver muttered aloud, though his tone betrayed certainty.
The Old Captain said it was just hearsay, but Oliver knew better. If the top fixer in Santo Domingo brought it up in front of someone with 6th Street ties, he wasn't just making idle conversation. He was giving a quiet warning—this was real. And it did concern Oliver.
His dad and sister were still in 6th Street. And his dad? He and Will Cannon were sworn enemies. If Will was gunning for the General, he sure as hell wouldn't spare anyone loyal to him.
"Thinking of heading back to Santo Domingo?"
Karl reached over and snagged the only snack he liked—some fries—from Oliver's plate. After chewing for a moment, he added, "We've known each other for ages, and none of us have ever actually visited your place. We've never even met your sister. Now that we're done with this last job, why not take us to meet the family?"
"...Yeah, might as well."
Oliver thought it over. He'd been worried anyway. Better to go check on things—and bringing some friends along wouldn't hurt. Maybe it really was time they met.
The next day, Karl's crew—including the rarely-seen T-BUG—arrived in Santo Domingo.
Just as they arrived, word began spreading—one that made Oliver glad he came home.
The leader of 6th Street, the General—Rick Morton—was found dead in his own bathtub that very morning.
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