chapter 9

"Well, I got kicked out, just as expected."

It was the second day since his arrival, and Karl had woken up in a hotel room in the Watson District. He received a message from Oliver, who had rushed back to Santo Domingo the night before.

"What do you mean?" Karl asked, washing his face as he stared at his young reflection in the mirror.

"What do you think? I can't go back to Santo Domingo anymore. I'm officially kicked out. I'll be in the Watson District soon. Let's meet at the restaurant in front of your hotel. You go ahead and order first. I'll have a steak—ten euros."

"You really know how to live it up," Karl replied.

Lacking a toothbrush or toothpaste, Karl improvised by scrubbing his teeth with his finger and some water. He rinsed his mouth, silently promising himself that he'd rent a decent apartment soon. This hotel was far from ideal.

He left the room and, since he'd already paid the night before, made his way to the restaurant across the street. On his way, he was nearly hit by a beat-up car. Karl's calm demeanor kept him from pulling his gun and teaching the driver a lesson. After all, this wasn't Gotham; there was no need to be so aggressive.

Karl ordered Oliver's steak and opted for some cold Chinese noodles for himself. He figured it would take longer for him to get used to insect-based protein than adjusting to the life of a mercenary. While waiting for the food, he grabbed a drink from the vending machine.

Yesterday's soda had been harsh on his teeth, so today he went for a different kind: Siris Classic Cola. The packaging gave off serious patriotic vibes—red and white stripes with blue stars. It screamed "America."

Karl took a sip, and his eyes lit up. He had to admit, Siris Cola was much better than yesterday's drink. Nothing quite like an American cola in America.

"Oh, you're drinking Siris Cola too! I love that stuff," Oliver said as he joined Karl at the table. He grabbed his own bottle of Siris Cola from the vending machine before sitting down. "In the Sixth Street Gang, we've got this funny saying: Siris Cola is the 'Patriot's Cola.' Drinking anything else is almost offensive. Even if you're holding another drink, you're supposed to salute it when you walk by."

"What a drink," Karl muttered. The marketing was clearly working wonders. Despite not being part of the U.S., Night City residents still clung to a certain sense of patriotism. Then again, the Sixth Street Gang was founded by American veterans, so it made sense.

"So, what's the plan today? Any leads on a middleman?"

"Nope." Oliver shrugged but offered a suggestion. "But my dad used to say, 'If you're gonna do something, do it right. Don't give up halfway.' He also mentioned that the Wild Wolf Bar in Heywood is a place to check out. People there are always looking to hire mercenaries, so we might pick up a job."

Karl's mind processed the info about Heywood. The district had a stark divide between its wealthy northern areas and its dangerous southern slums. Still, it had its own unique charm.

The food arrived.

"I thought the Valentino Gang and the Sixth Street Gang don't get along. Isn't Heywood their turf?"

"Eh, it's fine, Chewchew. I'm not with the Sixth Street Gang anymore, and besides, lots of us have personal relationships with people in the Valentino Gang. We'll be okay as long as we play nice," Oliver said, taking a hearty bite of his steak. "Mmm, this steak is fantastic—so juicy and tender."

Watching Oliver chew and talk with his mouth full, bits of steak juice flying around, Karl cringed and leaned away. The sight of meat juice reminded him of biting into a bug and having it burst in his mouth. Not the most appetizing thought.

"Alright, if it's safe, let's head there after we eat. What's the best way to get there—subway?"

"Don't worry about that. I drove here, and everything I own is in the car." Oliver pointed out the window to a black car parked nearby.

"It's a Quartz EC-L R275. My sister gave it to me for my 20th birthday. It's reliable, durable, and affordable. I know the roads around Heywood pretty well, so we can take my car."

Oliver paused for a moment and added with a grin, "It's a two-seater, and aside from my ex-girlfriend, you're the first person of the same sex to ride in it."

"I should be honored," Karl said dryly. He wasn't particularly knowledgeable about cars in this era, so he didn't dwell on it. He quickly finished his cold noodles, though he was getting tired of eating them. It was tasty, but after three meals in a row, he was ready for something else.

"Oh, speaking of thanks," Oliver said suddenly, "I stashed two Norkota D5 Copperhead kinetic assault rifles in the trunk. In case we run into heavy fire, we'll have plenty of firepower."

Norkota D5 Copperhead: the modern equivalent of the AK-47—reliable, powerful, and cheap. It's the assault rifle of choice in this era.

"An assault rifle? The recoil might throw me off completely," Karl said with a chuckle.

"Then just raise it up to your head and spray bullets," Oliver replied, polishing off his steak.

"You ready to head out, KK?"

"Let's roll, Oliver."