However, facing Sasha's inquiry and everyone's hopeful expectation, Cairo merely asked them one question: "Why should I help you?"
The workshop fell into deathly silence. Only the energy core's low hum and equipment heat exchangers' faint airflow sounds echoed.
The excited hope on Maine's crew's faces extinguished like flames doused with ice water, leaving only wisps of smoke and bone-chilling cold.
Cairo's steady synthesized voice broke the silence, tone still lacking fluctuation yet precisely dissecting reality: "Assisting Sasha executing the 'Blackwall Announcement' plan has technical feasibility.
But directional Blackwall operations require corresponding costs.
Energy, rare materials, my time and specialized knowledge—all finite resources. You need to provide reasons sufficient to balance these costs."
His words carried technologists' characteristic directness. Crimson optical lenses steadily swept across everyone like conducting necessary assessments.
This purely rational scrutiny made Rebecca uncomfortable. She disliked this feeling of being quantified and analyzed.
Maine took a deep breath, stepping forward. His tall frame still carried some imposing presence before Cairo, but tone was earnest: "Boss, this time consider me—consider our whole crew—owing you a massive favor.
From now on, whenever you need us, as long as you ask and it doesn't cross lines, we won't refuse."
This was the heaviest promise he as crew leader could make. In Night City, a top merc crew's favor genuinely held considerable value.
He tried using street methods, trading future potential value for this critical assistance.
Cairo shook his head slightly, like correcting a technical parameter: "The 'favor' concept is too broad, difficult to quantify, unable to balance actual risks and resource consumption I'd undertake invading the Blackwall.
I understand this promise's weight in your value system, but to me it's insufficient offsetting full costs. This proposal is inadequate."
In his logical framework, unredeemed promises were indeed equivalent to empty checks. He needed clearer, more easily measurable costs.
"What about me?!" Rebecca suddenly lunged forward, green optics flickering with excitement. She practically blocked the medical bed with her petite frame, voice carrying burn-the-boats determination. "You do modifications, right? How about me? I... I can be your... your girlfriend! On call! Just help Sasha!"
Her words carried street girl's bluntness, throwing herself as final chips onto the table.
This was the most "direct" payment method she could conceive, though the idea itself carried naive impulsiveness.
Those words shocked Pilar into forgetting his aching chest. Dorio's brow furrowed tight. Maine immediately growled: "Rebecca! Don't talk nonsense!"
He knew Rebecca would do anything for Sasha, but this sacrifice wasn't what they wanted to see.
An extremely faint sound—like airflow passing—came from beneath Cairo's face mask.
His optical lenses lingered momentarily on Rebecca's obviously childish features and diminutive frame, tone steady but clear: "First, I'm not a lolicon. Your physiological characteristics don't interest me.
Second, though I retain partial biological instincts, emotional needs supersede purely physiological ones.
Your proposal violates efficiency principles and... lacks practical significance." He paused briefly, supplementing in objectively technical assessment tone: "From biological compatibility and social adaptability perspectives, this proposal doesn't meet optimal selection criteria and would cause me inconvenience."
Rebecca's face instantly flushed red—whether from embarrassment or anxiety unclear. She wanted to argue but Maine's gaze stopped her.
A sense of powerlessness enveloped her. She discovered that before this red-robed existence, even "sacrificing" herself seemed so unrealistic.
Maine realized Cairo wasn't deliberately making things difficult nor completely unmoved by Sasha's predicament.
He simply followed an efficiency-oriented exchange principle they hadn't fully understood yet.
He needed neither vague promises nor impulsive dedications.
Maine took a deep breath, suppressing inner anxiety, gaze firmly meeting Cairo's deep red optical lenses: "Boss, straight talk. You know we won't abandon Sasha's only hope. You know we can't afford your Blackwall tech costs. What exactly do you want? Please state clearly."
He abandoned maneuvering, prepared to accept most direct conditions.
Cairo seemed to acknowledge Maine's straightforwardness. He nodded slightly, finally proposing concrete conditions, voice steady and clear: "My requirements are clear. I need you, Maine, plus your entire 'Edgerunners' crew to swear fealty to me.
We'll establish solid subordinate relationships, not loose cooperation. You need to follow my commands, serve my objectives. This condition offsets costs and risks I'd undertake using Blackwall technology helping Sasha."
"Fealty?" Maine's brow immediately furrowed tight. That word triggered instinctive resistance.
As a Unification War survivor veteran, he'd witnessed too much corporate and high-position coldness and cruelty.
He left the military forming this crew precisely to escape being controlled by others, to preserve final autonomy in this city with trusted "family."
Swear fealty to another mysterious, unfathomably skilled "superior"?
This nearly touched his bottom line.
Memories flashed through his mind—comrades falling under corporate armed guns. That freedom bought with blood constantly warned him.
"What specific missions?" Maine didn't immediately refuse but pressed gravely. He needed assessing actual risks. "If just high-difficulty contracts, my crew can execute immediately, using mission payments to offset your intervention costs."
He was still trying, hoping to maintain relationships at relatively equal employment levels.
Cairo shook his head again, rejecting Maine's proposal: "No, Maine. You underestimate future mission danger levels and overestimate current crew capabilities.
With your existing condition—outdated equipment, insufficient cyberware compatibility, tactical thinking still limited to street conflict levels—executing my planned missions guarantees total annihilation."
His analysis was calm and accurate, like diagnostic reports revealing deficiencies beneath Maine crew's surface toughness.
His words clearly reached everyone's ears: "Crew survival itself isn't my primary consideration. That's merely losing some test data and potential tools.
But mission failure—that I cannot accept. This concerns matters far more important than Sasha's life, even than your entire crew's existence."
Cairo didn't hide his "pragmatist" position. This frankness actually seemed authentic.
In his view, Maine crew's value lay in malleability and future potential. Unlocking that potential first required bringing them completely under his control.
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