What are nomads really like? Just look at V. V is the quintessential nomad—technically skilled, honest, warm, and once he considers you a fr
What are nomads really like?
Just look at V.
V is the quintessential nomad—technically skilled, honest, warm, and once he considers you a friend, you're basically family. He's the perfect nomad template. And if you use him to compare those four mercs registered as nomads, their flaws become obvious—one by one.
"Of all possible identities to fake, why pick nomad?"
V munched on the fries Claire brought over.
"At least fake some wear and tear on your hands. Scuff up your skin a bit with some sandblasting. Those premium-grade chrome arms of theirs? Each one needs top-level maintenance. No way they could handle the dust storms in the Badlands. Just looking at them, they're practically gleaming. I'd bet those models cost a fortune—enough to supply a whole clan for months. I don't know any nomad family that generous."
Even the Aldecaldos—who, by now, were running smuggling operations along the Night City border with the NCPD and the 6th Street Gang—couldn't equip themselves to even a tenth of the level those "nomads" had. The idea that some ultra-rich nomad clan disbanded, and their top talents couldn't make a living so they had to come to Night City to work as mercs? Absurd.
"So it's safe to say their nomad IDs are fake."
Jack chewed on his salt-and-pepper fries. "Still, should we really dig deeper just out of curiosity? Everyone in this city's got secrets. A group of mercs with an agenda isn't exactly rare. Besides…"
He glanced at Yori. "We're poking around ourselves, aren't we?"
"I don't mind," Yori said, glancing back at the four again. "I'm curious too."
"You too, Yori?" Jack groaned. "Don't tell me I'm the only steady one in this crew."
"No, actually—I just received a message."
Yori shared a forwarded notice from one of his subordinates.
"Be advised: Militech agents active."
"Militech?" Jack echoed on the team comms. "What the hell are they doing here?"
"Well," Yori said, "Militech always seems to know Arasaka's business like it's their own. Same goes in reverse."
Yori clearly understood the corporate dynamic between Arasaka and Militech—but even he seemed surprised by Militech's arrival.
"It's strange. I chose this timing deliberately. No idea how they could've mobilized people here, when they should be locked in an internal struggle with the NUSA."
"Militech and the NUSA infighting, huh…" Oliver chimed in. "They're always at each other's throats over resource splits and political turf. But is there something specific going on right now?"
"The New United States presidential election," Yori answered, catching the team off guard.
"Even in past elections—when the outcome was practically guaranteed—both sides would still throw everything they had at each other until the very last minute. Sometimes even up until the president is officially sworn in. If we're going by the calendar, that's right about now. So how the hell is Militech free to move?"
Presidential election. Factional deadlock. Relentless struggle.
"We… might have something to do with that," V said awkwardly, glancing meaningfully at Yori. "I mean, considering all the gigs we've taken recently…"
"All the gigs we've taken…"
Yori got it instantly.
So Karl's team had disrupted the balance of that corporate infighting—tilted the scales enough for one side to free up resources and stick their hand into Arasaka's pocket.
"Looks like they're making a move."
Karl looked toward Yori. If Militech had anything to act on right now in Night City, it had to be Yori's other identity. Maybe they were targeting him directly.
But Seisen Arasaka had visited Night City before. Why didn't they act then? Why now? Or maybe their target wasn't Seisen Arasaka—but someone else carrying the Arasaka name?
Could this spark a Fifth Corporate War?
Or were these Militech agents simply pawns of some third party?
A third party…
Karl thought of someone.
Or rather—something.
When Karl first met Arasaka Seisen, a blue-eyed man in a suit—clearly possessed by a rogue AI piloting a cybernetic body—had been taken back to Japan to face Saburo Arasaka. Later, in Night City, someone originally scheduled to meet Seisen was murdered by a humanoid robot that had gone so far in mimicking a human that it abandoned all mechanical advantages to do so. If Karl and his crew hadn't intervened, Seisen might have been the one who died that day.
And even earlier—
At the Arasaka banquet, several AI-controlled agents had glowing blue lights in their eyes.
Karl turned his head.
But Dexter DeShawn and those four "newcomers" were nowhere in sight.
He hadn't been lost in thought for long. Dexter's enormous figure and dark brown skin weren't exactly inconspicuous under the dim green glow of the Afterlife.
Karl scanned the room—and quickly spotted them.
They were heading deeper into Afterlife, toward the private booths. One must've just become available. They were clearly moving somewhere more discreet.
Karl fixed his gaze on the last in the group—the one with the monowire.
At that moment, the person turned back.
It was a woman with piercing blue eyes. Her face was beautiful, but when Karl looked into those eyes, he felt only coldness and death.
It was like her eyes were just surface-level—a mask. Something real and hidden lurked beneath, watching him back.
Karl had always liked reading people's eyes. It felt like glimpsing a person's soul.
But this time…
Was there even a soul?
The word "soul" is steeped in mysticism. In simpler terms, Karl could've called it "humanity."
And right now—he felt none of it.
Their eyes locked for only a second before the blue-eyed woman turned away.
And in that fleeting moment—Karl saw something both unsurprising… and utterly jarring.
A streak of blue light—like a comet ripping across the midday sky—flashed by.
Subtle. But to anyone paying attention, blindingly obvious.
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🔥🦾 CYBERPUNK: THE RELENTLESS 🦾🔥
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