CYBERPUNK: Travel to 2075

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"So boring."

Karl sat at the bar in the Wild Coyote, grumbling to Mrs. Wells, Jack's mother. "No commissions coming through, Mrs. Wells. If this keeps up, we'll starve."

"There's no need to rush, Karl," Mrs. Wells replied with a kind smile, placing a plate of French fries in front of him. "Isn't it nice to have some downtime? Try these—my latest recipe."

"Oh, is this the salt-and-pepper fries I suggested?"

At the mention of food, Karl perked up, his earlier frustration forgotten. Watching this transformation, Oliver and Jack, seated further down the bar, exchanged exasperated glances.

Their team had been operating for a week now, completing five missions. In that time, Oliver and Jack had gained a clear understanding of Karl's personality. If they had to describe him in a single word, it would be something Karl had taught them in Mandarin: restless.

Karl wasn't the type to stir up unnecessary trouble, but he couldn't stand being idle. Unlike most mercenaries, who would take days or weeks off between jobs, Karl was constantly itching to accept the next mission—even before finishing the current one. He operated like a machine, relentless in his pursuit of work.

This trait had its advantages. Thanks to Karl's relentless drive, Oliver and Jack had improved their skills and padded their wallets considerably. Still, they were only human and needed rest, which is why they had dragged Karl to the bar to unwind.

"Quit sulking and have a drink," Oliver said, raising his glass toward Jack.

"Knowing Karl, he'll start another mission as soon as our reputation is high enough to attract bigger clients," Jack replied with a sigh. "But do you really think all these small jobs will make us famous enough to attract middlemen?"

"You want a big job, don't you? Like our first one?"

"Of course. Imagine pulling in €30,000 or €40,000 in one go. That'd make the risk worthwhile."

Jack's casual mention of death earned him a sharp glare from Mrs. Wells.

"Jack!" she scolded.

"Sorry, Mom," Jack mumbled, embarrassed. He had grown accustomed to making such remarks around Karl and Oliver, forgetting that his mother wouldn't appreciate them.

"It's best not to talk like that, Jack," Oliver added.

At that moment, Oliver's phone buzzed. It was his sister, letting him know she'd finally returned to Night City after repeated delays. She wanted to meet up.

"I've got to go," Oliver said, standing and downing the rest of his drink. "See you later, Karl, Jack, Mrs. Wells."

He left quickly, eager to catch up with his sister. Since being kicked out of the Sixth Street Gang, Oliver couldn't return to Santo Domingo without risking trouble. But his sister had no such restrictions, and he planned to treat her to dinner in the Watson District.

Not long after Oliver left, Jack's phone buzzed. His girlfriend, Misty—who also happened to be his landlord—wanted to go shopping. Jack sent Karl a quick message explaining his departure before giving his mother a vague excuse and slipping out. Jack's mother preferred his ex-girlfriend, so he avoided mentioning Misty whenever possible.

Within minutes, Karl was the only one left of the trio, still munching on fries at the bar.

What could he do?

One teammate had gone to see family, and the other was on a date. Karl had no such distractions. With a resigned sigh, he finished his fries and decided to head home to study hacking or watch brain dance wreath tutorials. At least those activities were productive.

"Thanks for the food, Mrs. Wells," Karl said as he left the bar.

Walking the streets of Heywood, Karl realized a glaring problem—Oliver, their driver, was gone. How was he supposed to get back to Watson District?

Subway? he wondered. I've never taken it before.

He shook his head. Better call a taxi.

Just as he was about to hail one, his phone rang. The caller ID made him pause. It was a familiar client—the same corporate type who had insisted his number would only be used once.

"Hello?" Karl answered.

"I have a mission," the client said curtly. "I need someone to act as a bodyguard during negotiations. €50,000 for the job. Meet me at the Motel in Watson District in one hour."

Before Karl could respond, the client hung up.

"Rude," Karl muttered. But €50,000 was €50,000. He wasn't about to let arrogance stop him from taking the job.

He decided not to bother Oliver or Jack with the details. Both were busy with personal matters, and Karl didn't want to interrupt their rare moments of peace. Besides, knowing their protective natures, they might abandon their plans to back him up.

It's fine. I've got this, Karl thought.

He flexed his recently modified cybernetic arm. Yesterday's upgrade had cost him most of his earnings, but it was worth it. Along with the JKE-X2 Kenshin, a tech pistol from Arasaka, he felt more than ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.

The Kenshin used electromagnetic energy to fire high-speed, all-metal rounds capable of piercing walls and subdermal armor alike. It was an expensive but reliable investment—one Karl was eager to test alongside his new arm modifications.

With a confident grin, Karl hailed a taxi and headed to the Motel.

Today's rest day had turned into a mission day after all.

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