Deep within The Dump HQ, the air was a mix of dust, metal, and cheap disinfectant.
The only light came from a few hanging work lamps, casting a dim, yellowish glow over the cluttered space.
Maine, Dorio, Rebecca, and Pilar were gathered around a rusty metal workbench, on which lay a scattering of second-hand cyberware they had just received from Gloria.
Some still bore traces of uncleaned bio-lubricant, while others had interfaces flickering with a standby glow.
Falco leaned against a nearby pillar, polishing his sunglasses.
Kiwi and Sasha were hidden in the shadows further away, encrypted data streams flowing across the glowing screens in front of them, occasionally emitting a faint beeping sound.
Maine picked up a complex mechanical arm, his large-knuckled, armored fingers carefully checking the hydraulic transmission rod at the elbow for signs of wear.
Just then, at the edge of his implant's vision, an encrypted and authenticated communication request silently flashed—it was the Padre's identifier.
He made a gesture, and the low chatter by the workbench immediately ceased.
Dorio took the mechanical arm from his hand, and Rebecca and Pilar also looked up, their gazes following him.
Maine walked behind a pile of discarded industrial parts, where the signal was relatively stable and it was more secluded.
He took a deep breath of the oil-scented air and connected the call.
"Padre," his voice was exceptionally low in the empty corner.
"Maine," the Padre's voice came through, as steady as ever, with a sense of calm born from experience, as if it could always penetrate the signal static and reach the listener's eardrums directly. "There's a commission, specifically for your team."
Maine didn't respond immediately; only a faint electrical hiss could be heard in the receiver.
After the direct conflicts with Militech and Biotechnica, especially Arasaka's bloody ambush and Morris's subsequent cold retaliation, any commission that sought them out by name was enough to make them wary.
He waited in silence, like a rock steeped in caution.
The Padre seemed unsurprised by his silence and continued, "The client is Valerie from Arasaka."
Maine's brow furrowed instantly, carving several deep lines into his forehead. "Valerie? The Deputy Head of the Counter-Intelligence Department?"
A hint of imperceptible tension entered his voice.
Not long ago, it was this woman who represented Arasaka to seek peace, barely quelling the storm caused by that foolish ambush with Abernathy's future and the corporation's compensation.
"What does she want? Did she hit a wall with the boss and now she's coming to us?" He could almost imagine Valerie's calculating face behind her corporate mask.
"Her intentions are not hard to guess," the Padre's voice still showed no emotional fluctuation, merely stating objectively, "After the last incident, Arasaka, or at least the faction led by Director Jenkins, has temporarily abandoned the hardline approach.
Valerie, as the implementer, needs to maintain a channel of communication, or more accurately, establish a 'connection'.
Direct contact with the entity behind you carries too high a risk, and approaching you—a renowned mercenary team clearly closely related to that entity—is a more roundabout strategy that aligns with corporate logic."
Maine pondered; the Padre's analysis was largely consistent with his and Dorio's earlier judgments.
Valerie's move was more about showing goodwill than calculation, at least on the surface; the corporation was trying to contact the power they couldn't directly touch through another means.
"What's the mission content?" Maine asked, pulling his thoughts back to reality.
Regardless of the other party's intentions, it ultimately depended on what needed to be done.
"She offered two options," the Padre briefly stated, "One is a standard escort mission, escorting a 'corporate asset' from Heywood District to an Arasaka facility in Charter Hill. The route is sensitive, passing through the borders of several gang territories, but according to the intelligence she provided, the threat level assessment is not high.
The other is data retrieval, recovering specific data packets from a server of an Arasaka peripheral subsidiary that has been infiltrated by a competitor, requiring a certain degree of infiltration and electronic warfare capability."
He paused briefly, adding crucial information, "The advance payment for both missions is quite substantial, far exceeding commissions of similar difficulty on the market. She emphasized that this is to express 'sincerity'."
"Sincerity..." Maine repeated the word, his tone carrying undisguised mockery.
In Night City, corporate sincerity was often directly tied to eddiedollars, and behind it, there was always a higher price tag.
But he also knew that the team needed to operate, to buy supplies, maintain equipment, and more importantly, they needed to prove to the entity deep within the workshop that, besides carrying out those unimaginable trans-dimensional missions, they still had the ability to independently handle affairs and create value in Night City.
Completely refusing contact with corporations was neither realistic nor could it be misinterpreted as weakness or incompetence.
"What do you think, Padre?" Maine habitually sought the opinion of the old fixer.
The Padre was rooted in Heywood, and his intelligence network and life wisdom had countless times helped mercenaries like them find a foothold on the edge of deadly whirlpools.
"The risk is controllable," the Padre gave his judgment concisely, "Valerie currently needs to ease relations, not create new conflicts. These two missions themselves do not involve Arasaka's core secrets; they are more like resources within her authority that can be mobilized to 'show goodwill'.
Accepting the commission can be seen as a tentative response, and it can also replenish your funds."
The Padre's voice lowered, carrying a note of warning, "But remember, Maine, when dealing with corporate people, especially when they are actively extending an olive branch, be extra careful about the costs beyond the terms."
"I understand," Maine replied in a deep voice, engraving the warning in his heart. "Thanks, Padre. Commission cut as usual."
"May your operation go smoothly," the Padre said, and the communication link silently disconnected.
Maine stood in place for a few seconds before walking out from behind the pile of parts.
The gazes by the workbench immediately focused on him. He didn't speak immediately, but first shared the mission brief from the Padre to the team's encrypted channel, then walked to the workbench and leaned his hands on the cold metal surface.
"It's the Padre," he began, his voice echoing in the silent hideout, "The client is Valerie from Arasaka."
"Arasaka? And that Valerie again?" Rebecca was the first to exclaim, her green cybernetic eyes widening instantly, flashing with incredulous light. "Are they never going to stop? Weren't they scared enough last time? Morris was..."
She didn't finish, but the scent of blood seemed to subtly permeate the air again.
"This time it's not aimed at the boss; it's specifically for us to do a job," Dorio had already quickly scanned the mission brief. She raised her bronze-colored face, her eyes calm. "The mission content seems... very normal, even a bit too simple, compared to the price they're offering."
She pointed to the prominent string of numbers on the brief.
"Easy money, light work?" Pilar rubbed his slender mechanical fingers, a complex expression of greed and suspicion on his face. "That sounds like the classic prelude to a trap.
Are corpo rats really that kind? I bet that server is hiding some biting virus, or the 'asset' we're escorting is just a ticking time bomb!"
"I'm afraid it's not kindness, it's an investment," Falco pushed up his sunglasses, his gaze sharp behind the lenses. "They see value in us, or rather, the value we represent. Now they're baiting us, cultivating 'relationships.'
A few eddies for a 'contact' that might be useful in the future."
Kiwi, who had been silently observing the data retrieval mission details, finally spoke, her voice muffled by her mask: "The server security protocol is standard commercial-grade; infiltration difficulty isn't high.
The firewall architecture is outdated. The mission itself... does seem like an excuse."
Sasha nodded slightly beside her, her voice softer but conveying the same meaning: "They're more likely trying to observe us through the mission process, to assess our current state and... changes."
Her words were not explicit, but everyone present understood what "changes" referred to—the modifications from deep within the workshop, far beyond this era's comprehension.
Maine looked around at his team members; different emotions were written on each face, but all conveyed caution.
He took a deep breath and slowly said, "Everyone knows this isn't an ordinary commission. Accepting it means we tacitly agree to Arasaka's attempt to 'establish contact,' which might lead to more entanglements later, like getting your hands wet with flour—impossible to shake off.
But refusing it... might also be interpreted as continued hostility, or that we're afraid to engage with them, which would equally lead to trouble."
His gaze swept over the gleaming second-hand cyberware on the workbench as he continued, "Moreover, we do need eddies, we need to keep this place running, to buy everything we need.
We also need to prove to the boss that we can handle these peripheral matters, not just... experimental subjects being teleported around."
He spoke the last few words very softly, but everyone heard them.
Dorio looked at Maine, her gaze steady and firm: "You decide, Maine. We'll all follow you."
She was the team's cornerstone; her support often represented the team's ultimate direction.
Rebecca pouted. Though still somewhat reluctant, she patted the heavy grenade launcher on her back, almost as tall as she was: "Fine! As long as they don't play tricks, just pay up!
Good thing, if they dare to pull any stunts, my new baby hasn't been broken in in Night City yet!"
Her eager tone lightened the somewhat somber atmosphere.
Pilar sighed dramatically, his shoulders slumping: "Alright, alright, let's hope we don't get into trouble again this time. But... that price is indeed tempting; it could buy a lot of good paint and new parts..."
Falco nodded, indicating no objection.
Kiwi and Sasha in the shadows also made subtle gestures of agreement almost simultaneously.
"Then it's settled," Maine straightened up, making his decision. "We'll take the data retrieval mission. The escort mission involves too many parties, has a fixed route, and is prone to complications. Data retrieval is relatively covert, has a clear objective, and allows for a quick resolution."
He immediately relayed the decision to accept the commission to the Padre via an encrypted channel and arranged preliminary handover details.
The sounds of previous activity resumed in the hideout, but an invisible string seemed to have been added to the air, subtly taut.
They had taken on not just a mission, but a signal, a line actively thrown out by Arasaka, which they had personally caught.
The other end of this line was connected to the corporation's calculations and probing, while this end was tied to their perilous future in Night City.
—
A few days later, Night City, Watson, an unassuming cyber-cafe booth.
Maine and Dorio sat on one side, opposite Valerie, who had come alone.
Today she wore a sharp, dark business casual outfit, without obvious Arasaka markings, but the material and details still revealed the corporate elite's meticulous taste.
With a perfectly professional smile, she pushed a data chip across the table to Maine.
"This contains the internal structure map of the target server, the security patrol schedule, and the precise identification codes for the data packets," Valerie's voice was steady. "There's no time limit for the mission, but we hope it can be completed within this week. The advance payment has already been made to the account provided by the Padre."
Maine didn't touch the chip; he just looked at Valerie: "Ms. Valerie, let's be direct. What does Arasaka want from us? I don't believe you're just trying to retrieve some insignificant data."
Valerie seemed unsurprised by Maine's directness. She leaned slightly forward, her hands clasped on the table, a posture that softened some of the corporate coldness and added a touch of candor: "Mr. Maine, after the unpleasant incident last time, Director Jenkins and I both deeply realized that confrontation is not beneficial for either side.
Militech seems to have found a... more efficient communication channel."
She paused deliberately, observing Maine and Dorio's reactions, but neither showed any expression.
She continued: "Arasaka has no intention, nor the ability, to challenge that 'Mister's' bottom line again. My role today is more that of a client seeking to establish a positive business relationship.
Your team's capabilities are well-known in Night City, especially after... experiencing some changes."
Her words were cautious, not directly revealing the enhancements Maine's crew had received. "Maintaining cooperation with excellent independent mercenary teams is part of the Counter-Intelligence Department's daily work.
These two missions are an expression of this willingness to cooperate, nothing more."
Dorio spoke, her voice steady: "Cooperation requires a foundation. We are just mercs who work for money; we don't participate in corporate games, nor do we make commitments on behalf of anyone."
"Of course," Valerie immediately agreed, her smile unchanged. "A purely mercenary relationship, clean and straightforward. You complete the mission, Arasaka pays the reward. If the cooperation is pleasant, there may be more suitable commissions for you in the future."
Her words left room for maneuver, not overly eager to demand more.
Maine picked up the data chip on the table and twirled it between his fingers: "We'll complete the mission. As for the future... we'll see."
He didn't make a definitive statement. Corporate money could be earned, but boundaries had to be clear.
"That's enough," Valerie nodded. She knew that achieving such a result on the first contact was already a success.
She stood up. "I wish you a smooth mission. If you have any questions about the mission details, you can contact me via this encrypted channel."
She left a comm code and then decisively left the booth without any superfluous pleasantries.
Watching Valerie disappear at the door, Dorio looked at Maine: "She's much shrewder than she appears."
"How could someone sitting in that position in Arasaka's Counter-Intelligence Department be simple?" Maine put away the data chip. "She knows that directly mentioning the boss would hit a wall, so she took a detour, starting with us. Using the mission as a pretext to slowly build a relationship."
"Are we really going to play this game with her?" Dorio asked.
"We set the rules of the game," Maine stood up, his eyes sharp. "She pays, we work. As for the 'relationship' and 'channel' she wants, that depends on the boss' intentions, not something we can decide.
When we need eddies and the mission risk is controllable, accepting her commission is fine. But if she or Arasaka makes any move that crosses the line..."
He didn't finish, but the meaning was clear.
Leaving the cyber-cafe, Maine and Dorio blended into the noisy crowds of Watson.
Valerie's bait had been swallowed, but in the shadows of Night City, who was truly in control—the fisherman or the fish—was never a certainty.
How long this newly established, fragile "line" would last, and what role it would play, depended on the ensuing game between both parties, and the ultimate will of the existence hidden deep within the wasteland workshop.
Morris's detailed report regarding Maine's crew's contact with Arasaka was uploaded to the workshop's central information processing system according to protocol after the incident.
Following Osiris' pre-set information filtering protocols, the report was automatically categorized as "Non-Urgent / Non-Technical External Dynamics," received by a duty servo-skull, and stored in the read-pending database, without triggering a high-priority alert.
At that time, Osiris was completely immersed in his research.
He first optimized the energy diversion structure of the dimensional teleporter, then immediately dedicated himself to the final assembly and calibration of the exoskeleton power armor and power gauntlets.
During such critical research phases, any external information that did not pose a direct threat or involve core technological exchange would be systematically deferred.
After setting the last calibration parameter, Osiris slowly disengaged from his highly focused work state.
While flexing his slightly stiff mechanical fingers, he habitually whispered to the hovering servo-skull: "Buddy, let's see what miscellaneous tasks have piled up during this time."
His gaze calmly swept over the list of pending items, finally resting on the information about Arasaka.
"Ah, this," he said softly, with a hint of realization in his tone, as if he had finally remembered an insignificant minor matter, "It seems some corporations have finally learned manners while we were focused on research."
As the report was opened, the information about Arasaka's attempt to make contact officially entered his view.
He manipulated a mechanical tentacle to pull up the report, his crimson optical lenses rapidly scanning the text.
In the silent workshop, only the low hum of energy conduits and his calm, almost self-muttering voice echoed.
"Buddy, look at this," he whispered, as if habitually, to the servo-skull hovering nearby, even though the metal skull would only silently execute pre-set commands, "Arasaka... finally got a bit smarter, knowing to extend feelers instead of swinging clubs."
He continued browsing the report, his thoughts flowing through the data, and words emerging with them, more like he was organizing his own thoughts: "Overtures... as expected. It's nothing more than them getting hurt last time, and now they've caught the scent of technological scraps leaking from Militech. Seeking profit and avoiding harm, typical corporate logic."
His gaze lingered briefly on the section of the report analyzing Arasaka's potential motives, and a slight mechanical whirring sound came from his neck.
"These behemoths, Buddy, are essentially no different from automated mining machines. Input resources, output profits... as long as they don't jam my gears or contaminate my energy, their internal struggles and greed are just background noise."
He closed the report interface and archived it in a directory labeled "Potential Transaction Nodes."
"No immediate response needed. If they behave, perhaps in the future, like with Militech, we can toss out a few useless technological scraps in exchange for some rare minerals or peace and quiet we need. But if..."
His tone did not show any significant fluctuation, but the words that followed carried a hint of cold resolve: "...if any party misjudges the situation again, thinking they can test my bottom line.
Buddy, then our speed in clearing waste will have to be faster and more thorough than when we dealt with Biotechnica and that unfortunate Arasaka executive. Noise must be eliminated."
This monologue ended there.
Osiris' attention had completely shifted from the report, as if he had merely brushed a speck of dust from a precision instrument.
For him, the corporations' movements had been categorized, evaluated, and clear response principles formulated, and the matter was considered dealt with.
His core thoughts had unhesitatingly turned to the next item on the agenda, an encrypted report from the Warhammer Universe sent by Sekhmet, which was the real problem requiring his computational power to analyze.
Osiris' mechanical fingers tapped lightly on the control panel, expanding the encrypted file into a projection.
"Buddy, it seems the news we've been waiting for has finally arrived," he whispered to the silent servo-skull, the focal length of his optical lenses subtly adjusting, locking onto the key information in the projection.
The report clearly confirmed two things: Forge World Neksum had completed the review of his previously submitted exploration report, and more notably, his Archmagos promotion ceremony had entered the substantive preparation phase.
"At least three weeks faster than expected," he continued to himself, his mechanical tentacles unconsciously tapping the edge of the control panel, making a rhythmic clicking sound, "Even with Vox personally pushing it, the Adeptus Mechanicus' bureaucratic gears rarely turn so smoothly."
This sudden progress surprised him slightly.
According to the Adeptus Mechanicus' usual conduct, processes involving promotions typically required weeks or even months of tedious paperwork and layered approvals to complete.
"Buddy, what do you think?" He turned to the servo-skull, as if seeking the opinion of his silent companion, "Is our supervising Archmagos suddenly in urgent need of strengthening faction power, or... did that rogue AI sample from this world unexpectedly demonstrate value we hadn't anticipated under Mars' evaluation standards?"
Several possibilities flashed through his efficient logical core.
However, he quickly reined in these divergent thoughts.
"Needless speculation, in the absence of data support, this is just a waste of time." He decisively closed the projection. "Since the promotion channel has opened, this aligns with our core interests. As for the specific reasons..."
His voice carried a sense of conclusive certainty: "We will naturally ascertain the truth once we return to the Forge World."
At this moment, what he needed to do was make thorough preparations for this important return journey. The current situation was clear: he needed to return to the Warhammer Universe as soon as possible to complete the promotion process.
"The Archmagos's identity isn't just a title, Buddy," he continued to himself while pulling up other related data interfaces, "It means authorization to independently lead large projects, the qualification to mobilize more Skitarii Corps, the right to request a personal forge ship, and... access to strictly sealed knowledge. This is an indispensable part of our plan."
However, before initiating the trans-dimensional teleportation and returning in person, he had to ensure that this temporary hideout and research base in the Cyberpunk World could operate stably during his absence.
"We can't leave and then have our base taken out right after." He pulled up recent status reports for The Dump HQ and Maine's crew, and combining them with the current power dynamics in Night City, began a rapid and meticulous risk assessment.
"Militech," he reviewed relevant data records and transaction logs, "through previous transactions and deterrence, is currently in a relatively stable 'cooperative' state. As long as we don't actively cut off the supply of those technological fragments, they should not risk provocation in the short term."
"Biotechnica..." His voice carried a lingering chill, "Although seemingly silent, the resentment left by Elliot Kwan's death will not easily dissipate. Vigilance is required."
"As for Arasaka," he pulled up the latest Counter-Intelligence Department activity records and Morris's cleanup report, "Having just paid a price, they should now be busy with internal reorganization and tentative contacts. The risk of large-scale action is relatively low."
His analysis turned to Maine's crew: "The team has completed initial enhancements and modifications, and their combat effectiveness far exceeds the average street level. They rely on our strength and also hold us in awe... but their ability to independently deal with corporate-level conspiracies is still limited."
Finally, his attention returned to the real-time data stream of the dimensional teleporter.
"Although it has been optimized multiple times and stability has improved, teleporting a unit with such a high energy signature as myself..." He quickly calculated the energy requirements and spatial structure tolerance limits, "still requires precise preparation. The round trip, plus necessary Dwell time, is expected to take several weeks to several months."
Osiris' mechanical body rotated slightly in front of the control panel, his crimson optical lenses sweeping over the orderly equipment and flashing indicator lights in the workshop.
"It seems, Buddy, that meticulous arrangements need to be made before we depart."