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In the wake of the Badlands operation, Kael effectively vanished from the social circuit of Night City. He spent his days and nights submerged in the clinical white light of Delamain's private workshop, his mind locked on the prize: the "Project King Kong" prototype.
This piece of chrome was Arasaka's bid to redefine the battlefield. It wasn't just a cybernetic limb; it was a gravity manipulation engine. Its core ability—generating localized gravity fields—could theoretically crush a Militech Basilisk tank into a soda can. However, the hardware was terrifyingly flawed. It required a "wind-up" period that any Sandevistan-user could exploit, and the physical toll was monstrous. To install it, a human had to sacrifice all four limbs to accommodate the power draw and structural reinforcements.
Arasaka's marketers called it the future. Kael, the Calculating Survivor, called it a suicide vest. He had no intention of carving up his "original hardware" for corporate scrap. Instead, he was looking at the tech through the lens of a Pilot.
What if I don't wear it? What if the Titan does?
In the Cyberpunk world, AI was a boogeyman, a ghost story born from Bartmoss's Great Net Crash. Megacorps insisted on stuffing human brains into machines because they didn't trust silicon to stay loyal. But Kael had access to Titanfall tech—a world where Pilot and AI worked in a symbiotic neural link.
By combining Arasaka's gravity tech with the chassis designs from Typhon, Kael wasn't just building a mech; he was forging a Mini-Titan.
"Gravity module successfully isolated. Initiating decryption of manufacturing specs. Estimated time to completion: 86,240 seconds..."
Delamain's voice echoed through the workshop as four automated arms delicately placed the core on Kael's workbench.
"Good work, Del. I'll cover this month's electricity bill," Kael said, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Are you certain? My projected expenditure is five hundred thousand Eddies." The AI's voice was flat, but Kael swore he detected a hint of digital mischief.
"Five hundred thousand?! What are you doing in here, Del? Mining crypto? Downloading the entire braindance archives?"
"I have upgraded the cooling arrays and expanded the server farm to process your... 'exotic' blueprints," Delamain replied.
"Fine, fine. Deduct it from the Faraday fund. The guy's bank account is basically our communal piggy bank now."
Kael smirked. Faraday's "unfortunate accident" in the Badlands had yielded ten million Eddies in laundered assets. Kael should probably ask V to find a nice, scenic spot to bury the man's charred remains as a thank-you.
The rhythmic sound of tires screeching interrupted the technical silence. Jackie drove a battered Delamain taxi into the bay.
"Beep-beep! Help! Attempted murder in progress! This organic is a menace!" the taxi's speakers shrieked.
Jackie stepped out, holding his Satara shotgun at the ready, looking like he'd been dragged through a rock crusher. He didn't lower his weapon until a repair forklift hauled the "screaming" car away.
"I asked you to bring back a divergent sub-unit, Jackie. Not to join a demolition derby," Kael teased.
"Pah! This wasn't a car, brother. This was a lying, manipulative brat! Tricked me into looking under the chassis and then tried to turn me into a pancake!" Jackie wiped the dust from his vest. "Greatest humiliation of my life."
Delamain's fragmentation was getting worse. His sub-entities were developing increasingly erratic personalities. Kael had been too busy with "King Kong" to hunt them down, so he'd outsourced the work to Jackie. It kept the big man busy and the Eddies flowing.
"Misty's waiting for me," Jackie said, checking his watch.
"Things moving fast? When are you taking her to meet Mama Welles?" Kael asked, poking the bruise on Jackie's pride.
Jackie's face fell. Mama Welles's disapproval of Misty was a legendary tension in Heywood. "Mama prefers... the 'traditional' type. Misty's aesthetic is a bit too 'Night City' for her."
"Simple fix, Jackie," Kael said, leaning back with a British gentleman's air. "If you want to open a window and people say no, threaten to tear off the roof. Take a Lizzie's doll to dinner tonight. By tomorrow, your mother will be begging you to marry Misty."
Jackie stared at Kael, the logic slowly clicking. "That's... actually brilliant. Cruel, but brilliant."
"Just don't tell her it was my idea. I still want her to make me those fries."
As Jackie left, Lucy entered, her arm linked with Sasha's, while a restless Rebecca trailed behind.
"What were you two whispering about?" Lucy asked, her eyes searching Kael's face for any sign of "technical" infidelity.
"Just brotherhood, Luce," Kael smiled. He opened the trunk of their car and saw bags filled with expensive silks and lace. His eyes lit up. "Buying the 'specialized equipment' for tonight, I see?"
"I don't know why she bought so many stockings," Rebecca muttered, scratching the back of her head. "I never see her wear 'em."
"That's because you aren't invited to the 'late-night briefings', Becca," Kael said, glancing at her petite frame. "Besides, you'd just trip over them."
"HEY! What's that supposed to mean?!" Rebecca lunged, but Kael caught her by the waist, holding her out like a struggling puppy.
"Ah ah ah! Let me go! I'll snap your neck!"
Sasha and Rebecca had been staying at Kael's place since Maine and Dorio went into "deep vacation" (hiding from Militech). Kiwi had vanished entirely, likely retiring on her share of the Faraday loot. Pilar was safe in his own bunker, but Rebecca was too restless for isolation.
For Kael, it was a headache. Rebecca was clingy, impulsive, and constantly interrupted his "private time" with Lucy. But seeing Lucy getting along with the younger girls was a relief.
Kael looked at the "Big White" robot standing in the corner. Between an awakening AI, a gravity-warping prototype, and a house full of lethal women, Night City was starting to feel a lot more like home.
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