The person from Militech was a woman in her forties, wearing sharp rectangular glasses and a perfectly tailored suit that radiated competenc
The person from Militech was a woman in her forties, wearing sharp rectangular glasses and a perfectly tailored suit that radiated competence and precision.
"What is the aning of this, Hansen?"
Though Kenichi Hoya had already deduced Hansen's intentions, he still voiced the question as the Militech representative arrived.
Hansen, despite his rugged appearance, revealed a sly and innocent deanor as he responded, "I don't an anything by it. It's just that, with such distinguished guests here, it wouldn't be right to cater to only one side. I figure... so things are better discussed openly."
"You an your version of an open discussion is having and Militech throw numbers at each other while you sit back and wait for the highest bidder?"
"I never said that," Hansen replied with a grin. "But if you want to see it that way, well... I guess you hit the damn nail on the head, Arasaka man."
"Enough with the empty words we all understand already, Kenichi Hoya."
The Militech representative, clearly familiar with Kenichi's identity, casually sat on the opposite side of Hansen. Her sharp eyes scanned the room, data flickering across her glasses.
"We're all here to do business. Naturally, whoever pays more gets the goods."
Kenichi didn't bother replying to her. His eyes remained locked on Hansen.
Now he truly saw Hansen for who he was—far more ambitious than he'd assud. The Kang Tao software prototype was extrely valuable, especially since it was a modified version ant to counter EMPs—sothing even other corporations hadn't yet stolen or replicated. Still, Arasaka's offer had been generous enough to seal any normal deal.
And yet, Hansen was playing hardball.
His greed was laid bare.
Kenichi realized that Hansen, despite solidifying his grip on Dogtown, had never stopped being the kind of man who thrives in chaos—always snatching chestnuts from the fire, always calculating the most profitable path. Even now, with power in his hands, Hansen was playing the sa ga.
And he'd tid it well.
Right when Kenichi thought the deal was nearly done, Hansen had brought in a Militech rep—probably knowing they'd show up. Kenichi had prepared for this possibility, which is why he opened with what he thought was an irresistible offer: access to the Hawaii shipping route. A power move. A clear olive branch. But Hansen?
Hansen didn't care for olive branches. He saw a feast—and if you offered him the whole roast, he figured you must have more to give.
Kenichi sighed inwardly, not in defeat, but in frustration. His misjudgnt had given Militech a foothold in the conversation. And now, he had to think on his feet.
If it had been any other corporation, he could've simply walked away. But this was Militech.
Both Arasaka and Militech had too much history—military, political, and personal—for either to afford losing face. Especially in front of Hansen.
During the Unification War, both sides had poured billions into high-tech warfare. Compared to that, this prototype was nothing. But letting the other side win?
Unthinkable.
Kenichi now realized Hansen had counted on that. He'd played his hand just right. Not far enough to offend either party outright, but just enough to make them stay in the ga and raise their bids.
It was dirty, but smart.
And if either side's executive walked away with the win, they'd grudgingly have to respect Hansen for it. Hell, it might even help their own careers.
As for the loser? Hansen never worried about losers.
If soone lost out on a deal like this and still managed to claw their way back to get revenge... well, then Hansen would tip his hat and call it fair.
So here they were: Kenichi calculating his next move, the Militech woman planning her bid, and Hansen ready to reap the benefits.
And all three of them were ignoring the other man on the couch.
They all knew he wasn't there for the formal negotiation. But in doing so—by sidelining him—they had committed a fatal error.
Because anyone in Night City—any gang mber, scav, or black braindance junkie—would've been kind enough to remind them:
That man sitting beside them was Karl.
A na that solves problems just by being spoken.
And if you ignored him, you paid the price.
"I rember a story," a calm voice broke their thoughts.
The three looked toward Karl, who was smiling gently.
His voice was smooth, magnetic, like a man offering casual history over drinks:
"I'm not sure if you've heard this one—it's an old tale from my holand. The story goes like this: A diplomat traveled to a foreign land to negotiate a deal. Talks were going well… until an envoy from that nation's sworn enemy arrived. The second envoy, skilled and charismatic, quickly won the king's favor, leaving the first one in the dust. So… what do you think the original envoy did to complete his mission?"
The story seed odd and out of place—but not for long.
Because Karl moved.
Thwip.
The whisper of a blade cutting air.
The knife plunged into the Militech woman's neck, clean and deep.
Her eyes widened in shock, full of disbelief.
But Karl didn't miss a beat.
"He killed the rival envoy," he said, voice calm as ever. "Fewer negotiators make for easier talks."
After all—
Karl was here to negotiate.
That was his job.
And carrying on the fine traditions of the past?
Well, there was nothing wrong with that.
Who said negotiations couldn't be... simplified?
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