Gearbound: Cyberpunk 2077-Chapter 130

Night fell again. A Villefort Cortes V5000 Valor (2040 model) cruised along the roads of Santo Domingo.

This was the most valuable model produced by the Villefort factory. The Cortes featured a streamlined, elegant design, attracting plenty of interest from corporate types, politicians, and criminals alike. Built using the same main frame as the Alvarado but fitted with only two axles, it was more prone to major mechanical failures. Yet its unforgettable engine gave the Cortes lightning-fast acceleration, and the reinforced chassis—developed in collaboration with Militech—provided extra security on Night City's perilous, ever-changing streets.

The sedan drove into an abandoned industrial park in Santo Domingo, descending into a dusty, web-filled underground garage. The overhead lighting flickered on and off, barely illuminating the area.

Maine's crew was already there: just Maine, Dorio, Rebecca, and Pilar. Sasha wasn't present.

A few meters from the group, the sedan rolled to a stop. The door opened, and Faraday stepped out. His polished shoes left a deep print in the dust. One hand stayed in his trouser pocket, the other swayed at his side in time with his steps. He stopped a short distance away from Maine, scanning the four with his four cybernetic eyes, then fixing his gaze on Maine.

"Where's the data I asked for? Hand it over."

His tone was strictly business. He didn't even remark on the missing team member—typical Faraday, a fixer who not only dressed like a corp but acted like one, cold and pragmatic to the core.

"We don't have it," Maine said flatly.

"No?" Faraday's brow furrowed, his face growing more hostile. "Then why call me here? You think I'm as idle as you?"

Maine's own expression darkened. "Faraday, how can you say that? You've got some nerve—do you have any idea how much you've screwed us over?"

Faraday's four lenses narrowed. "What are you getting at, Maine? Go on, say it again if you dare." A lowly merc like Maine had never spoken to him like this before.

"Don't pretend you don't know. We've worked jobs for you for how long now? Every time, you gave us minimal intel. We still got them done, one way or another."

"'Done?'" Faraday sneered. "How many times did I tell you to keep a low profile, only for you to make a scene so huge all of Night City knew your names?"

"Bullshit!" Maine barked. "Maybe we wouldn't have raised such a ruckus if you actually told us what we needed to know. You withhold details, then blame us for any problems."

"The less you know, the lower the risk—for me. I pay you to follow my instructions, not to think for yourselves. I give the orders, you obey. That's how this works."

"That's a load of crap, Faraday. You like treating me and my team like idiots, huh? If every fixer in town pulled stunts like you, the merc death rate would be triple what it is."

"Dangerous work is exactly what you mercenaries do," Faraday retorted, voice dripping with contempt. "If you'd rather sit around sipping tea all day, go ahead, but don't waste my time."

Maine sighed, then suddenly smiled. "Faraday, you still don't see why you can't compare to El Capitán?"

Faraday's face stiffened, as though Maine had stabbed a raw nerve. "Maine, don't you dare mention that name in front of me. You think siding with that corporate dog puts you on easy street?"

He slammed a fist on the sedan's doorframe. "Let me tell you something. Muamar Reyes isn't half what you think he is. Luck got him where he is, and luck's no substitute for real power. Only strength matters in this business, got it?"

He glowered. "That so-called 'El Capitán' will fall sooner or later. Then you and your so-called crew will come crawling back to me, begging for forgiveness.

Huh? What are you smiling at?"

Maine was indeed smiling, a smug grin that perplexed Faraday. He'd expected Maine to rage, not grin. What was going on?

"Faraday, you think I don't know your backstory?" Maine held up intel Leo had dug up from Rogue. "You weren't even originally a fixer in Santo Domingo. You started out around Pacifica but couldn't cut it there, so you slinked over here. You wanted to monopolize Santo Domingo's business for yourself and then latched onto Militech so you could become a corporate lapdog—hence the suit you wear all day. The real reason you hate El Capitán so much isn't just competition. You despise that he 'doesn't know how good he had it.' If you'd been in his position, you'd never have left a corp's embrace."

Maine slid down his shades a bit, revealing a scornful look. "Am I right, Faraday?"

"You're playing a dangerous game, Maine." Faraday advanced a step, and Dorio, Rebecca, and Pilar immediately drew their weapons—three barrels leveled at him.

"Don't move."

"What the hell?" Faraday's eyelids twitched. "You're actually gonna kill a fixer? You want your merc reputations destroyed? Once you break the code, do I have to explain the consequences?

Hurt me, and no other fixer will ever hire you again. That's Night City's rule."

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Maine drew his own Crusher power shotgun. "Yeah, those are the rules. But rules can be bent, and people are clever. If no one sees it, who's to say we did it? This is Night City—legends die all the time. One more dead fixer is hardly news."

Maine had never felt so free. He'd wanted to off Faraday for ages. The guy was no different from them—both lived under the megacorp's thumbs—yet Faraday insisted on acting like a corp himself, lording it over them. If they'd had better options, they wouldn't have stuck around him so long.

"Hey now, let's talk." Raising his hands, Faraday feigned compliance. "I admit, I was out of line. I can pay all your teammate's medical bills, yeah?"

"Should've done that from the start, Faraday," Maine said coldly. "You brought this on yourself."

"I realize that. Let me make amends. I promise this will never happen agai—"

Before he finished, a slit opened across his abdomen, revealing a built-in mini rotary gun that began firing frantically.

Maine and his crew dove for cover, gunfire lighting up the parking garage. Muzzle flashes illuminated the dusty space, tracer rounds streaking across the dark. Faraday backed toward his sedan while spraying bullets, the strobing flashes turning everything chaotic.

He didn't jump into the car to flee—three androgynous sex-dolls stepped out to flank him. Strictly speaking, these dolls weren't male or female, but each had a masculine physique while identifying as female. All three possessed the latest marionette chips, technology typically used to upload service scripts and erase memories for specialized sex workers—but it could also turn them into highly trained combatants at the flick of a switch. The downside was catastrophic brain damage over time. Their lifespans were short, but in these few fierce minutes, they performed like elite soldiers, pinning Maine's group down with relentless gunfire.

Crouching behind the car, Faraday retracted his belly-mounted rotary gun and drew a "Yukimura" smart pistol. He grinned, picturing Maine's crew pinned under heavy fire.

"You thought meeting me in some deserted place meant I'd come alone, unarmed? You really underestimated me."

"Faraday," Maine yelled, ducking behind a pillar, "you think three sex-dolls can take us all out?"

"Not by themselves, no," Faraday called back, "but I've got two more vehicles of backup waiting outside. One call from me, and they'll rush in here to finish you off."

Gunshots boomed, ricocheting through the concrete. The air filled with dust and smoke, muzzle flashes casting stark shadows.

"In my eyes," Faraday went on, "every merc in this city—yes, all of you—are trash. I've never once respected you. Even those so-called 'living legends' are the same to me. Maine, I said before I wanted to see your regret once El Capitán fell, but I've changed my mind. You dared raise your hand against me, so none of you gets out alive.

You hear that? Get in here and kill these worthless mercs already!"

He shouted into his comm channel, brimming with arrogance.

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