"We're in. T-BUG, can you trace their hidden base from this?"
Karl spoke into the comms. "Or do we still have to play along and finish their mission?"
"If it were any other netrunner, maybe. But for me..."
T-BUG's tone held a touch of pride.
"...it'll still take a bit of time."
"Trying to humble-brag, are we?"
Oliver sounded unimpressed. "From how you were talking in the squad channel, I thought you had this in the bag."
"Even I can't just waltz in through one internal port and break their system instantly. Maybe with other gangs, sure. But the Voodoo Boys?
They're built on netrunning. You're underestimating them. They've survived in Night City this long for a reason."
Even without seeing her face, Oliver could feel T-BUG rolling her eyes.
"Honestly, the fact you're joking around tells me it's not that bad."
Jack added casually while scrolling through the display. "So? How long are we talking, T-BUG?"
"Can't say for sure—but not long. Just be ready."
"Understood."
Just then, Placide felt a sudden chill creep up his spine.
He had been standing idly, arms crossed, waiting for Jack to finish reviewing the mission data—when a strange, involuntary shiver ran through him.
What the hell? Is it cold?
He looked out the window—clear skies, blazing sun, not a cloud in sight. Warm as hell.
Odd.
Turning back to glance at the so-called "Maine Squad," Placide's brow furrowed.
Was it just his imagination, or had something changed?
Before, the squad seemed relaxed, scattered in presence. But now, they felt sharp. Coiled. Dangerous.
Same positions. Same faces. Same posture.
And yet… it felt like staring down the barrel of a gun.
His pulse quickened. Instinct screaming something wasn't right.
But what? They were just four mercs. His people surrounded them.
What was there to worry about?
Placide was never the cautious type. Brigitte, the Voodoo Boys' leader, often called him a wild animal.
He wasn't trusted with internal secrets—he didn't need to be.
He was muscle. And damn good at it.
He was one of the few frontline enforcers who could face down Animals and hold the line.
And now, that same primal sense told him: danger.
As time ticked by, that dread only deepened.
He was just about to say something—to break the tension, question the mercs—when something caught his eye.
David, the youngest of the crew, his face... flickered.
It happened in an instant, barely perceptible—but Placide saw it.
Or thought he did.
Then it flickered again. Not just a trick of the light—his face was morphing.
That expression—twisted. Not natural.
His heart pounded. He was about to move when "Maine" spoke.
"Ahem. Placide, right?"
Placide turned—"Maine" was standing, his face also flickering.
"What the hell is this?!"
The other Voodoo Boys in the room—who had been lounging, relaxed—were suddenly on edge.
All four members of the merc squad—their faces were shifting.
Glitching like broken footage.
If it weren't for their optics reporting no errors, they'd have thought it was a malfunction.
Then, the glitches stopped.
And four unfamiliar—but hauntingly familiar—faces appeared.
At the same time, "Maine"—now clearly Jack—finished his sentence:
"Placide, we've decided. We're not taking your job."
We're not… taking the job?
Placide barely registered the words.
His gaze was locked on those faces—especially David's.
Recognition hit like a shotgun slug.
"That guy—!"
That wasn't just some throwaway merc.
This wasn't just a coincidence.
They'd been played. Set up. Hard.
These weren't hired hands.
This was personal.
Not even the sleaziest braindance thrillers would dare write a twist this insane.
Karl stood calm amid the chaos. The room had erupted, but he found the shouting more annoying than threatening.
"Got it," came T-BUG's voice over the channel. "I've locked their real base. Tracked it through the internal port. With their systems exposed, it was easy."
The location appeared on their shared HUD.
Beneath Serenity Bible Church, Sloane Street.
Their first stop. The heavily populated Haitian church.
Right under everyone's nose.
Hiding in plain sight.
Classic.
Even the New United States Intelligence Agency had pulled that trick—putting a bar over their safe house.
This just made things easier for Karl's team.
They wouldn't even have to travel far.
No chance for the Voodoo Boys to scatter.
"KK!"
Placide was done playing. He activated his Sandevistan, combat stimulants pumping into his veins, and launched himself at Karl like a bullet.
-
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