"You handled that Dogtown business pretty well." "Huh?" Karl, just waking up, blinked at the voice on the other end of the line. His mind, s
"You handled that Dogtown business pretty well."
"Huh?"
Karl, just waking up, blinked at the voice on the other end of the line. His mind, still foggy, quickly snapped into gear and identified the speaker.
"Mr. Kenichi Shiro?"
A call this early in the morning just to offer praise for the Dogtown mission? Kinda weird.
"You must have a lot of free ti."
"..."
Karl's words made Kenichi montarily freeze. He had planned to say sothing encouraging—like a superior acknowledging a subordinate's good work. But with that one line, Karl threw him completely off.
Kenichi had just pulled an all-nighter processing files. With a narrow window before the next batch arrived—physical, confidential docunts—he'd used that sliver of downti to call Karl, genuinely wanting to offer praise.
From past experience, people usually reacted to his complints with at least basic courtesy. But Karl?
"Do you have nothing better to do?"
That one sentence nearly made Kenichi's brain short-circuit with frustration.
He took a deep breath… and hung up.
"Hello? Mr. Kenichi Shiro?"
Karl frowned as the call dropped, staring at the end-call tone.
What the hell?
All he did was ask if the guy was off work, and the guy hangs up?
Was that just his last task of the day—drop a complint and go pass out?
No way he stayed up all night, right?
Weird dude.
Karl yawned and checked the ti: 8:50 AM.
Slept in a little. They'd gotten back from Dogtown around midnight, then had to haul Jack's new armored vehicle out to the Badlands and stash it with Dakota Smith's crew. By the ti they were back in the city, it was pushing 4 AM.
He'd barely gotten 4 hours and 50 minutes of sleep.
Should he go back to bed?
The thought ca and went.
He was already up—might as well stay up.
He scrolled through his ssages while prepping breakfast. Turns out Oliver, Jack, and V had already gone back to the Badlands. Apparently, they hadn't slept at all—just grabbed so parts in the city and headed right back out. Their ssage said they were modifying the vehicle for transport missions.
Karl rembered V ntioning it before bed, but he hadn't expected them to actually pull an all-nighter.
Bunch of vehicle maniacs.
Karl: You sure you guys know what you're doing? Don't wanna see that thing explode mid-run.
V: Worst case, I'll just Sandevistan my way outta there. I worked with similar hardware in my Nomad days. The Russians left a manual—I can read it. Just needs so tuning.
Karl: I don't know jack about vehicles. Do what you want. Just don't get us stranded in the Badlands hauling crates on foot.
Jack: Relax, bro! It's rock solid. I read the manual too. If I can understand it, you know it's built simple and tough. Classic Russian stuff.
Hopefully it really doesn't blow up.
Karl took twenty minutes to cook two breakfasts. He stored one in the warr with a note for T-Bug and sat down to eat the other while checking notifications.
Bacon and fried egg sandwich on toasted bread, with a glass of orange juice. Real food from Dogtown—way tastier than the usual synthetic stuff.
His inbox was packed, as always. Aside from ssages from friends, most were from fixers fishing for availability. Once they knew Karl's team was free, they'd hit him up day and night like clockwork. Sotis, they wore him down enough to take on a few small gigs.
He suspected those savvy fixers already figured out his team couldn't say no to a bit of persistence.
Still, with everyone busy modifying the truck, Karl had no interest in picking up solo work today—so he turned them all down.
So it's just like I imagined… Being well-known ans picking your jobs. But getting pinged every damn day doesn't feel any less tiring.
So what to do today?
Get his cyberware tuned up at Viktor's? Buy so new braindances?
Karl stepped into the elevator and slotted in his facial masking chip.
It was a leftover from their Dogtown job—ant to keep people from recognizing him while walking the streets. Kenichi Kazuya had gifted it afterward as part of the mission paynt.
The chip used facial projection tech to mask his appearance. It wouldn't fool top-end scanners or anyone getting handsy, but it worked fine for dodging random panic reactions in public.
The people who panicked at the sight of him were usually gangers, shady braindance dealers, or stray Scavs. Scanning them individually was a hassle. Like roaches—gross to look at, but killing them just ruined your whole day.
He didn't pick a bizarre disguise—just his old academy look.
While he walked the street thinking about what to do, a woman passed him by—and sothing about her caught his eye.
She had long, chestnut hair cascading smoothly over her shoulders. Her eyes were bright and calm, her cheeks slightly flushed, and her skin pale and flawless.
No doubt, a beautiful woman.
But it wasn't her face that caught Karl's attention.
It was her hand.
As she passed in her dress, he noticed the markings—augnted fingers.
And those markings were unmistakable.
Mantis Blades.
His step faltered, and he turned to look again.
He recognized the model instantly.
Sunset Mantis Blades.
More specifically: the Sunset Type 20-13.
It was an older model—still high-quality. Even compared to today's best, it held up well.
But in Karl's mory, it had one fatal flaw.
Its neural processor had a compatibility issue with the prefrontal cortex.
And that ant nearly everyone who installed it...
...ended up with cyberpsychosis.
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