"Thanks for your business—
Wait, no, I mean… thanks for the contract. Come back anytime."
After wiping out the Voodoo Boys, the KK Squad was on their way home—Oliver behind the wheel, the rest packed in tight. As they pulled away, Karl waved goodbye to their client.
"Maybe next time, KK."
The NetWatch agent stood amidst a field of corpses. Watching the squad drive off, he simply gave a quiet smile.
Five minutes.
It had only taken them five minutes to completely flatten the attacking Voodoo Boys. Not a single one made it out alive—not even to report back. And that was without Karl joining the fight.
Good thing he had recordings. He'd definitely be submitting this to the organization later—just to make it very clear: unless absolutely necessary, do not provoke these people.
A merc crew this powerful, this efficient, and yet still reasonably priced and easy to work with… there'd surely be more jobs for them in the future.
The agent thought back to that moment earlier—watching the western movie with Karl. He sighed.
Shame the team moved so fast. He and KK barely got through the intro before it was all over. He'd even been looking forward to chatting about the plot with him.
Hopefully, next time.
"That crazy-ass squad."
Wildwoman slowly stepped up beside her client, spitting on the nearest Voodoo corpse.
"Crushing people like they were ants… now I finally get why they're so infamous in Night City."
"Your crew got sloppy this time. You dragged me into this."
The NetWatch agent gave her a sideways glance but didn't press the issue.
Instead, he asked,
"Tell me… if they really had come for me—how many people would you need to protect me?"
"How many?"
Wildwoman stared at the vanishing vehicle, then tapped her thick skull with a heavy finger.
"I might be pumped full of combat drugs, but that doesn't mean I've lost my brain. When I'm not running my Berserk mod, I can still think straight. That crew nearly took me out without even using KK. Forget how many you'd need to protect you—what you should be asking is, how many would even dare take the job?"
"Would you take it?"
"I would."
Wildwoman slammed her left fist into her right palm.
"I haven't gone head-to-head with KK yet. Until I do, I'm not backing down."
But then she added,
"That said… I don't know if anyone else would."
"Anyone else, huh."
The NetWatch agent glanced back at the Animals who were busy clearing Voodoo bodies. From the way some of them kept glancing toward the KK Squad's departing vehicle, he understood.
"A gang that worships strength… there must be some real warriors among you."
"There are a few, like me—who'd be curious enough to try.
But not many."
Wildwoman's final words marked the end of the conversation.
"Out of everyone who saw what just happened today…
besides me?
Not a single one of them has the guts.
'Boss of the Animals'?
What a joke."
"He's not even the actual boss here—just a temporary leader for the region."
The NetWatch agent watched the vehicles vanish around the corner, then turned and walked back into the Grand Empire Mall.
Time to get back to work.
If the Voodoo Boys welcomed him with that much aggression, it was only fair he returned the favor.
Inside one of the two departing vehicles, Karl sat in V's ride, chatting casually about the party that night.
The job was done. Payment received. But the post-mission party? That was sacred. It was V's first time in Night City, after all—they had to show the guy a good time.
Normally, any outsider entering the city would have to go through the Night City perimeter checkpoints. But as everyone knew, Taiping was a no-man's-land.
If you didn't want to take the standard Badlands route near Santo Domingo, you could just cut through Taiping and sneak straight into Santo Domingo. No checkpoints that way.
Of course, that also meant you had to deal with the risks of Taiping—and the local gangs in Santo Domingo who loved to prey on outsiders.
But for Karl's crew? Gangs like that weren't even a threat.
Who were they going to mess with? Oliver? Karl?
Even Will Cannon's elite squad—the guys who kept an eye on the Valentinos in west Santo Domingo—wouldn't dare pick that fight. And don't even mention the Six Street goons on the southern edge bordering Taiping.
"Oliver, are they... saluting us?"
Karl, mid-conversation with V about food, suddenly noticed a group of Six Street gangsters on the roadside.
They didn't flee—they stood at attention and gave a salute. And Karl could swear it looked like a real salute.
"Huh, they are saluting. That's weird. We're just driving by—what the hell are they saluting for?"
Jack, listening in on comms, glanced around too. Sure enough, they were saluting—but not at him. The salute was aimed directly at Oliver's side.
Strange.
If anyone was intimidating enough to deserve that kind of respect, it was Karl—not Oliver, the guy who got kicked out of Six Street barely a week after joining. Even if they were panicking, surely Karl would be the one they tried to flatter?
Oliver didn't seem surprised at all. Clearly, he knew exactly what was going on—and he didn't leave them hanging. He explained it right away:
"Remember that time the Six Street gang got trashed by the Valentinos and Tyger Claws? Jack's ex asked him to help out.
Well, all the Six Street guys who got wiped back then were Will Cannon's men. Since he lost too many people, he just gave up trying to hold the southern part of Taiping—aside from Dogtown—and focused west.
Now? Everyone around here works for my old man."
"Your dad?" Karl raised an eyebrow.
"Wasn't your dad just some minor Six Street captain?"
"He is a small-time captain.
He only got this stretch because nobody else wanted it.
Still counts."
Oliver smirked and glanced at the rearview mirror.
"They're not saluting us. Look closer. They're saluting the car behind us. I'd bet anything—my dad's in that ride."
He let out a soft snort.
"I told my sister I'd be passing through here. This old man… just said hi a few days ago, now he's showing up to check on me again. Whole parade this time—salutes and all. Dude's got style.
Hell, why didn't he just join NUSA? Go back 60 years, and even Johnny Silverhand would be saluting him."
Karl chuckled at Oliver's mock-complaints—clearly, the guy was happy.
But as he looked at the car trailing behind them, Karl caught on to something else entirely.
Was this about claiming turf, backing up his son in public?
The first time they'd rolled into the Badlands, they'd been cornered by Will Cannon's guys—right on this very street, in fact.
And yeah, sure, that was technically just a "friendly" check-in because they were afraid Oliver might cause trouble dragging Karl and Jack around—but still, they had been stopped.
And now? This territory belonged to Oliver's dad.
So what was this?
His father stepping in to say, "This is your land now. Next time you pass through, no one's gonna touch you."
Or maybe, he just wanted his son—kicked out of the gang—to know what it felt like to be saluted.
It was hard to guess a father's true motives.
But one thing Karl did realize:
Oliver's dad—despite being called a "minor" captain—definitely wasn't some nobody in Six Street.
A guy who didn't get along with Will Cannon should not have been able to claim this turf the moment Cannon's forces pulled out. Even if this area didn't hold much value, Cannon would've left it to someone loyal. No way he'd leave it to a guy with a personal grudge.
So… there had to be something else at play.
Which meant...
This territory? It's in their hands now.
In Six Street, they've got someone of their own.
.
.
.
📢 Chooms, Listen Up! 📢
From now on, you can jack in and get 20 chapters ahead on Patreon for Cyberpunk: The Relentless! 💾🔥
Stay plugged into the action, the chrome, and the chaos—early access is live and waiting for you. 🧠💀
🔗 Join here: www.patreon.com/c/MrMagnus👤 Patreon name: SrMagnus
Preem support as always, chooms. See you in Night City. 🌆💫