"You are...?"
Oliver was puzzled, but Maine imdiately stood up. "Dorio, what are you doing here?"
"You know her?"
Jack, seeing Maine reaction, started to catch on.
"She's Dorio, a mber of my crew."
Maine introduced her, then turned to Dorio and gestured toward Carl and the others. "Carl, Jack, Oliver—these are the friends I told you about. We t during the last job."
"I figured as much. Nice to et you all."
Dorio greeted them with a smile, but her expression quickly turned serious as she looked at Maine. "Maine, there's sothing that needs your attention."
"Sothing happen, Dorio? I was just about to have so drinks with Carl and the guys."
Maine could tell from her expression that it wasn't a minor issue. Dorio wouldn't have co looking for him unless it was sothing he needed to deal with personally. Still, he didn't mind discussing it in front of Carl and the others.
Dorio glanced at them, about to speak, but Carl waved his hand to stop her. "Maine, if your crew needs you, go ahead. We can always et up another ti."
Maine and Dorio treated them as friends, openly discussing their team's affairs in front of them. But there were things that, as friends, they shouldn't hear. Carl appreciated Mann's trust, but at the sa ti, he knew that there were things better left private.
"No rush on the drinks. Next ti, they're on , Maine."
Jack raised his half-empty glass in Mann's direction, and Oliver nodded, doing the sa.
Mann looked at the three of them, then nodded with a small smile. "Next ti, make sure it's the good stuff."
"You got it."
With Jack's promise, Maine and Dorio left Afterlife together. As they walked out the door, Maine raised his half-finished beer in their direction.
A proper drink next ti.
That was probably what he ant.
After Mann left, Carl and the others lost interest in staying at Afterlife any longer. The main reason? Carl.
The drinks at Afterlife were great, but there were no good fries here. And the more Carl drank, the more he felt like leaving.
"How about we stop by Mama Welles' for so fries, grab so drinks and snacks on the way, and head back to Oliver's place?"
"Don't make it sound like my place is your second ho, Carl. Also, why is it always my apartnt? Yours is just as good."
Oliver, now once again the designated driver, voiced his mild complaint as he got behind the wheel.
"My place, huh..."
Carl thought about it for a mont. "I an, I guess it's fine, but I still think we should go to yours."
"And why's that?"
"My place doesn't have a private phone line or TV subscription. Which ans if we hang out there and want to watch sothing, we'd have to pay extra."
Hearing Carl's reasoning, Oliver almost found it convincing—but then sothing clicked.
"Wait a minute. I'm pretty sure the TV deposit is just fifty eddies, and it's only one eddie per hour to watch. Aren't you loaded now?"
"It's different. Gotta save where I can and spend where I should."
Carl actually had a thod to his madness. Every ti they had a get-together, he was usually the one bringing most of the food and drinks. If he actually did the math, those expenses far outweighed any TV subscription fees.
But in Carl's mind, spending on things you eat and drink wasn't the sa as paying to watch sothing.
Before 2075, Carl would think twice before dropping ten bucks on a music subscription. But when it ca to grilled at? No hesitation—he'd order everything on the nu. It was just a habit he carried from before.
Sitting in the car as Oliver drove toward El Coyote, Carl glanced at his account balance—1.12 million eddies.
He had no idea what to do with all that money.
"You two got your eyes on any high-end cyberware? Maybe a gun or a car? I don't mind sponsoring a little shopping spree."
Oliver turned his head slightly from the driver's seat. "You're not thinking of upgrading yourself first?"
"I'll swing by old Vic's and upgrade my neural link to a better model, maybe get a monowire installed again. Shouldn't cost too much. Haven't decided if I wanna go any further than that. Gotta keep so flesh on , y'know? No way I'm ending up like Adam Smasher."
"That so?"
Oliver considered his own loadout. No reason to hold back with Carl—getting better cyberware could boost the whole team's combat power.
If they'd had better gear back then, Carl wouldn't have had to tank all that exoskeleton and ACPA fire alone.
But even after thinking it through, Oliver couldn't co up with anything worth upgrading.
He had enough money now—spending 100,000 on a high-end sniper rifle wasn't a problem. In fact, he had cash to spare. Didn't seem necessary to take Carl's offer.
"Jack, you need anything? I got so extra eddies too."
Since Oliver didn't have anything specific in mind, he turned to Jack and made a suggestion. "How about so Gorilla Arms? That'd stabilize your shooting a lot."
"No way I'm getting those."
Jack chuckled. "You all know I t Vic in the boxing ring. Back in the day, he used to be a boxer himself. The mont he saw fighters getting cybernetic arms, he knew tis were changing and retired. I wanna keep so of that spirit alive—help him win so fights. Wouldn't be fair if I rolled in with Gorilla Arms."
"What about a bike? I rember you had your eye on one before. That thing was pricey, wasn't it? Might be a good ti to grab it. Imagine taking Misty for a ride—she'd love it."
"You an the Nazare? That beauty?"
Jack grinned. "Already saved up for it—140,000. Gonna pick it up as soon as we get back. Don't need any help with that. Plus, I don't even know if Misty would wanna ride with . Maybe a car would be better?"
"Misty's the type to go along with whatever you like, man."
Carl leaned back and patted the car seat. "Speaking of rides, ever since I got my own car, we barely drive Oliver's Quartz Bandit anymore. Sitting in this thing now feels like we're in a Hera. Maybe I should swap mine for sothing better—sothing armored. I'd rather not deal with another ambush like last ti."
"Forget it. A ride that can tank a rocket? You're not getting that for a asly million. Don't waste your money. This car's fine. I like driving it, so don't change it."
Oddly enough, Oliver seed more attached to the Quartz Hera than Carl, who actually owned it. But that made sense.
Compared to Carl—who never touched the wheel, lounged in the back like a spoiled corpo, or just straight-up napped—Oliver, the designated driver, had spent way more ti in the driver's seat.
"Well, guess I'll keep looking."
How should I spend all this money?
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