Cyberpunk: I'm Not a Scavenger - Chapter 57: Corporate Agents (Patreon)

Night Corp chose a valley on the outskirts of Night City, close to the Badlands, for the handover. The Aldecaldos unloaded the cargo crates and drove away at once.

The gig involved confidential Night Corp business. Aside from Rogue, anyone who knew about it was bound to attract the corporation’s attention. The risks hardly needed explaining.

Fortunately, Pantheon had prepared for that possibility. A little surprise for Night Corp waited in the back of his vehicle. Whether he would need it today was another question.

Pantheon leaned against the car door, staring vacantly into the distance with a piece of grass between his teeth. The nomads had barely left when the whine of an approaching AV came from the direction of Night City.

An utterly ordinary, unmarked aircraft descended toward the valley.

Two corporate agents in black suits stepped out, followed by four security robots carrying Dian smart submachine guns.

The agent in front was bald, with no eyebrows and a strange barcode tattooed across the back of his head.

“King?”

The bald man’s voice sounded computer-generated, utterly flat.

“You completed the assignment far ahead of our projections. The corporation is pleased.”

“Congratulations on proving your value, Mr. King.”

Pantheon nearly laughed around the battered blade of grass in his mouth.

“And if I hadn’t? What would you have done? Killed me?”

The bald agent gave no answer. He merely tilted his chin toward the cargo, signaling his colleague to inspect it. Agent No. 2 was a young man with a buzz cut. His expensive military-grade cyberware had convinced him he was above ordinary people.

He approached with a scanner and conducted a thorough X-ray and biometric examination of all three crates. When every reading checked out, he nodded to the bald agent.

On his way back, he noticed Pantheon’s careless, almost insolent posture, and an irrational surge of anger rose inside him. To an elite Night Corp employee like him, mercenaries were stray dogs willing to risk their lives for cash. How dare one of them act so casually?

Commoners were supposed to bow and scrape when people like him appeared. Otherwise, what had been the point of all the scheming and effort it took to get into the corporation? If nobody treated you differently after you became a corpo, you might as well never have joined at all!

“Hey, merc.”

Agent No. 2 approached with a sneer, looking down his nose at Pantheon.

“Watch your attitude. Show the corporation some respect.”

The cyberware embedded in his arm began to glow. Apparently, he meant to teach this insolent street kid a lesson.

Pantheon was still brooding over the tragic novel he’d read and had no intention of entertaining this idiot. But what could he do when the man seemed so eager to get himself killed?

“If you’re going to be a corpo dog, at least know your place. Your master hasn’t said a word. Why are you barking?”

Before he finished speaking, Pantheon moved. Agent No. 2’s advanced implants just barely let him follow the movement. His brain reacted. His body did not.

Thud! His vision blurred, and his head slammed into the car door.

He strained with all the power of his military-grade cybernetic arm, but he couldn’t overcome Pantheon’s sheer physical strength. A few meters away, the bald agent watched without making any effort to intervene.

Agent No. 2’s face was covered in blood. Still refusing to yield, he deployed a projectile launcher from his cybernetic arm. The idiot really didn’t know when to stop. Pantheon’s patience ran out.

He seized the man’s forearm and ripped it clean off, skin, bone, and cyberware together. Then he kicked the agent across the ground to his bald superior.

Killing him here would only cause trouble with Night Corp. “He scratched my car. I’ll keep this as compensation.” He hefted the military-grade projectile launcher. It would fetch forty or fifty thousand eddies on the black market.

“No Sandevistan signal detected... Physical modifications unknown. Conventional strength exceeds normal cyberware limits... Reaction time under twenty milliseconds...” The bald agent had used the beating to collect Pantheon’s combat data.

Only when Agent No. 2 landed at his feet did he finally speak, his expression unchanged.

“Enough, No. 2. Mr. King is our business partner. Mind your manners.”

“U-understood.”

Clutching the stump of his arm, Agent No. 2 lowered his head. His eyes seethed with hatred, but he dared not move. Pantheon gave him a cold glance and memorized his face. That man had earned himself a death sentence. Pantheon would settle the score when the chance came.

“The cargo checks out. The balance will be transferred to the fixer’s account as agreed.”

The bald agent ordered the security robots to carry the crates aboard the AV. At the aircraft door, he turned and gave Pantheon a faint nod.

“A pleasure doing business, Mr. King.”

“Safe travels. Don’t let me keep you.”

Pantheon waved as the AV rose and disappeared into Night City’s clear sky.

...

Inside the AV, the bald agent made a neural-link report to a superior whose face was obscured. “Pantheon, codename King. Assessed threat level: high.”

“His strength and reflexes exceed military-grade cyberware limits. His combat ability is far beyond that of an ordinary mercenary and approaches the peak of human performance, the level commonly called legendary.” “He shows no visible signs of significant modification. Based on his dealings with Moore Technologies, we suspect concealed bodily modifications and enhancements to his natural physiology.”

The figure on the other end fell silent before asking a question. “What are the risks if we try to eliminate him by force?”

Data streamed across the bald agent’s vision as he ran his calculations. “The target is exceptionally dangerous in combat. Success or failure, an operation against him would draw the attention of rival corporations.”

“He has a complicated network of contacts, making retaliation highly likely.”

“Rogue would not tolerate us breaking the rules she has established.”

The bald agent paused for two seconds to let his superior consider that.

“Eliminating him by force could provoke a backlash from Night City’s entire underworld.”

“He also appears willing to work with major corporations and has shown no strong desire to oppose them.”

“I recommend continued cooperation and long-term observation.”

The unseen superior tapped his desk and suddenly thought of a name.

“Morgan Blackhand.”

He nodded slowly, accepting the assessment.

“Very well. Follow your recommendation. Leave things as they are for now.”

The bald agent ended the call and looked out the window. The AV had passed Westbrook and reached the Northside Industrial District. Rusted pipes, abandoned factories, and towering smokestacks formed a forest of steel.

The aircraft descended, avoiding several conspicuous gang camps before landing discreetly inside an ordinary-looking industrial park. The bald agent led his men into the factory. Agent No. 2 followed in silence despite his serious injury.

Eager to demonstrate loyalty, he took a cart away from a security robot and struggled to push it with his remaining arm. The robot hesitated, raised its weapon at him in apparent confusion, then lowered it again.

As they proceeded down the corridor, Agent No. 2 repeatedly opened his mouth as if to speak, then thought better of it. Not until they wheeled the cart into a freight elevator did he finally work up the nerve to say something.