"How do I know it's real?" That was Karl's imdiate reaction after understanding what the weapons vendor was implying. Sure, the weapons sh
"How do I know it's real?"
That was Karl's imdiate reaction after understanding what the weapons vendor was implying.
Sure, the weapons showed obvious signs of wear—they'd clearly been used. But to claim they'd belonged to "famous" people? There was no proof. These weren't unique relics with certificates of authenticity. They were mass-produced weapons. Who could say whether they were once used by a big-na rc... or just so low-level Scav?
"I only sell the goods and tell the stories. No proof provided."
The vendor's answer ca cool and flat—very different from the other sellers Karl had encountered. His deanor wasn't a put-on, either. If he wasn't acting, then it ant he genuinely believed in the authenticity of his stock.
Karl gave him a look.
Data scanning...
Lie detection based on physiological response complete.
No signs of lying. At least not consciously. It was still possible the guy was using a neural implant to help control his responses, but... a baseline of trust was there.
Worth testing.
Karl's eyes fell on the weapon nearest him—a Constitution Arms Defender light machine gun. A pretty common piece in the street wars, usually favored by people with gorilla arms and subdermal armor. In the right hands, one of these could tear through crowds with ease. Karl had seen plenty during past ops.
This one had clearly been modified—he could spot ergonomic grip adjustnts made to better fit the user's palm. A mod like that ant stability and control during extended bursts.
Interesting.
Karl could already picture how it had been used: a lone rc or gang soldier standing their ground, holding off a mob with sheer firepower, pushing forward as they unloaded clip after clip, the gun jerking upward only to be forced back down by brute strength.
"This one looks like it's seen so action," Karl said, glancing up at the vendor. "What's its story?"
The vendor gave it a quick glance, then answered flatly:
"Ever hear of a legendary rc called Sunrise? This was his."
"Sunrise?"
Karl ran the na through a few language filters in his mind, landing on the English translation. Yes—Sunrise. That was a na he recognized.
Of course Karl knew Sunrise.
Maybe not before, but after getting to know Maine's crew, he'd learned so backstory—especially about Pilar and Rebecca. Their father had been none other than the legendary rc Sunrise. He wasn't as famous as Karl was now, but back in his pri, Sunrise had been a force to be reckoned with at Afterlife.
Under his protection, Pilar and Rebecca had once lived a relatively peaceful life. But after his disappearance—and their mother vanishing when Rebecca was only six—their world fell apart.
Sunrise's old crew picked their inheritance clean, draining the accounts and leaving the two kids on the streets with nothing. Luckily, not everyone forgot their old ties. Wakako Okada, a fixer who still valued loyalty, gave Pilar stable gigs and helped him take care of Rebecca, until they eventually t Maine and joined his crew.
It wasn't the most dramatic sob story in Night City, but if this LMG really had belonged to Sunrise... well, that was sothing.
I think Maine's crew is still in Dogtown, Karl thought. Might as well buy them a gift.
He asked the price.
"Ten thousand eddies."
Ten thousand? For a gun that might be legit... or might be total BS?
Sure, Karl didn't mind spending that kind of money on friends, but no one likes getting conned.
"If you don't like it, don't buy it," the vendor said with a shrug.
He wasn't pushing the sale. No discount. No persuasion. Just take it or leave it.
Was it confidence? Or just an act?
Karl's eyes swept over the rest of the weapons—and then stopped. His gaze fixed on a handgun sitting at the center of the cloth.
"This one. Mind if I take a look?"
"You can. Thirty seconds max."
With the vendor's permission, Karl picked up the pistol and inspected it briefly. Then he smiled.
"Looks like your stock really is the real deal," he said.
The vendor blinked in surprise.
Most custors demanded proof. But this one was praising him unprompted?
He didn't know how to respond.
The vendor started to introduce the gun's history.
"This handgun belonged to—"
"No need," Karl interrupted. "I know exactly whose this is. How much?"
Caught off-guard again, the vendor still gave the price:
"Twenty thousand. It's—"
"This is KK's gun, isn't it?"
Karl grinned, running his fingers along the familiar grip of the Kenshin pistol.
Been a while, old friend.
After that one op left both of Karl's arms mangled, this gun had vanished—no doubt flung who-knows-where in the chaos. He never thought he'd see it again.
"This is thirty thousand."
Before the vendor could react, Karl had already wired the paynt.
Wait—
I didn't even tell him my account!
The vendor's pupils shrank. Karl was already picking up both weapons to leave when the man blurted out:
"Wait."
Karl turned back.
"Hmm? Sothing wrong?"
"...Don't you think that's expensive?"
"Expensive?"
Karl bead.
"You think you know how to spend money better than ?"
Twenty grand? For the chance to reunite with an old companion?
That was nothing.
He didn't care if the pistol was technically his to begin with. If soone had gone through the trouble to salvage it from whatever rubble it landed in, and bring it back into circulation... then paying a finder's fee was only fair.
Besides—why twenty grand?
Because I felt like it.
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