Cyberpunk: I'm Not a Scavenger - Chapter 47: Mr. Blue Eyes (Patreon)

At the entrance to the underground passage leading to the Afterlife, Emmerick Bronson once again stopped a group of low-level mercenaries who had yet to earn the right to enter.

No matter how loudly they boasted about their achievements, he wouldn't budge. As Rogue's right-hand man, he stood here to keep reckless youngsters from marching straight to their deaths. Surely nobody thought he was just an ordinary doorman.

Just then, another figure came down the steps. The moment Emmerick recognized him, his cold expression gave way to a somewhat stiff smile.

“Good evening, Mr. King. Welcome to the Afterlife.”

Without being asked, he stepped aside and opened the door for Pantheon.

Pantheon gave him a slight nod, glanced at the mercenaries standing nearby, and entered the bar.

The moment he appeared, the noisy room fell briefly silent. Countless eyes turned toward him, some wary, some curious, and some openly hostile.

Pantheon paid them no mind. He walked straight through the crowd toward a booth in the corner, where Jackie, Maine, and the others were waiting.

“Hey! Amigo, over here!”

Jackie waved his thick arm enthusiastically. As soon as Pantheon sat down, he pressed a bottle of beer into his hand.

“So, how's it feel being the boss?”

Pantheon took a swallow, then pulled a pained face.

“Not bad. Would be better if the fixers stopped calling me every five minutes.”

“Bullshit!”

Jackie and Maine said it almost in unison. All three burst out laughing.

“Hey, Uncle!”

Rebecca poked her head out from behind Dorio, as cheeky as ever.

“Heard you pulled off another huge job last night! Why didn't you bring me?”

“That job had some pretty strict requirements.”

Pantheon smiled, clinked his bottle against Sasha's, and gave Rebecca a wicked grin.

“Requirements? Like what?”

Rebecca tilted her head in confusion.

“Well, you'd have to be at least one meter sixty tall.”

Only then did Rebecca realize he'd been making fun of her height. She sprang up and tried to punch him in the knee, but Pantheon held her at arm's length with one hand. Her short arms couldn't reach him no matter how she struggled.

After their little scuffle, Pantheon settled beside Sasha and asked an unexpected question.

“Have you guys picked up any gigs involving Biotechnica lately?”

“No. Why? Did something happen?”

Sasha propped her chin on her hands, clearly puzzled.

Pantheon scratched his head. Had he remembered things wrong, or had the butterfly effect already changed the course of events?

“Nothing. Just let me know if a job like that comes up.”

Sasha nodded, though she still didn't understand. Perhaps something about Biotechnica had caught his interest.

Her gaze strayed to Pantheon's arm. Remembering how he'd torn apart that combat armor with his bare hands the other night, she couldn't help feeling a little sorry for whoever might end up on the receiving end of those fists.

Pantheon was thoroughly confused by the look she gave him.

“Mr. King, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

While they were talking, a gray-haired man in a burgundy suit approached with a glass of wine. Three cybernetic eyes were arranged in a row on the right side of his face, making him look like something out of a fantasy novel.

“My name is Faraday. I'm a fixer working in Santo Domingo. I hope we'll have a chance to work together.”

The warm reception he expected never came. Pantheon ignored him completely, leaving an awkward silence hanging over the table.

Among Night City's fixers, Faraday had a reputation for being ruthless and cold-blooded, always putting profit first. People called him a vampire and a corporate lapdog. Pantheon had no respect for a petty man who'd sell out his own people for money.

Work with someone like that, and there was no telling when he'd turn around and sell you out too.

“King's in the middle of a conversation with the young lady. Let's not interrupt him.”

Maine put an arm around Faraday's shoulders and steered him away with a smile, giving the man a way out of the embarrassment.

Faraday's face twitched, but he said nothing and walked off. Judging from his expression, he'd probably decided to hold a grudge against Maine too.

“Maine, you're no amateur yourself. Why keep taking jobs from someone like Faraday?” Pantheon asked.

Maine didn't explain. He drank several mouthfuls of liquor and gave a bitter smile.

“Sometimes you don't get much of a choice.”

Pantheon thought about Maine's background and Faraday's connections to Militech. He decided not to press the matter.

They were making awkward small talk when a bodyguard in a black suit approached.

“Mr. King, Ms. Rogue is waiting for you. Do you have a moment?”

Pantheon set down his drink and nodded to Jackie.

“You guys keep drinking. I'll go see what she wants.”

The bodyguard led him across the bar to a quiet private room. When Pantheon opened the door, Rogue was sitting on a sofa with her legs crossed. Beside her sat a suited corporate executive, who studied Pantheon with obvious curiosity.

“Ms. Rogue, I'll leave the job in your hands. I won't take up any more of your time.”

The man rose to leave, smoothing his already immaculate suit. His voice had a magnetic quality, with a faint mechanical edge.

He passed Pantheon on his way out. Pantheon gave his face a casual glance and noticed an extraordinarily unusual pair of blue eyes.

Night Corp. Mr. Blue Eyes.

Pantheon knew who the man was now. Without thinking, he clenched his fists.

The door shut, leaving him alone with Rogue.

“Have a seat.”

Rogue gestured to the sofa opposite her. Pantheon sat down without hesitation and helped himself to an apple from the fruit platter on the table. In Night City, fresh, naturally grown fruit was a rare luxury, and it certainly wasn't cheap.

Rogue studied him with an approving look.

“The last time you came here, I figured you were just another hotheaded kid who'd gotten lucky and learned a few tricks.”

“Turns out I was wrong about you.”

Pantheon finished the apple in a few bites and tossed the core away.

“Ms. Rogue, you can get straight to the point. No need to beat around the bush.”

“Heh.”

Rogue chuckled. Her eyes lingered on the apple core in the trash, prompting a few more guesses about his background.

“I once knew a mercenary who went by King. He was quite a legend in his day.”

Pantheon raised an eyebrow. He hadn't expected to hear that, and now he was interested.

“Really? Where is he now?”

“Him? He retired from mercenary work ages ago. No idea where he ended up.”

Rogue sighed, a trace of sadness crossing her face. The people she'd known were disappearing one by one, until only a handful were left.

“Was that man from Night Corp?”

Pantheon abruptly changed the subject.

“You're observant.”

Rogue wasn't offended that he'd tried to find out about her client. If anything, she seemed to appreciate him more. She preferred dealing with people who could think for themselves. Stubborn idiots didn't last long as mercenaries.

“As it happens, the reason I called you here is connected to his job.”

Her eyes flickered as she forwarded the details to Pantheon.

[Gig: Into the Lion's Den]

[Night Corp had a shipment hijacked by the Wraiths while it was being transported through the Badlands.

The cargo is extremely sensitive. There can be no record of this operation in Night City's official systems, so Night Corp can't deploy its private security forces.

The Wraiths originally had a camp on a mountain near the Highway I-7 junction.

They may have realized they'd stolen something they shouldn't have, because they've since disappeared without a trace.

Your job is to locate the gang and recover the cargo.

I don't care how you do it. As long as the shipment remains intact, you could blow their entire camp to pieces with a Basilisk for all I care.]