Cyberpunk: The Relentless

"Beep."

"Hello, is this Ms. Dakota Smith?"

"Where'd you get my number, kid? …Ah, whatever, drop the 'Ms.' Just call me Dakota. Now, tell me who you are."

Dakota Smith picked up the call, slightly surprised. As a fixer, she was usually the one reaching out to mercs, using her netrunners to dig up their info when necessary. Being on the receiving end of that was a first for her.

"My merc handle is KK. Don't know if you've heard of me."

"KK… The merc making waves in the city lately. Yeah, I've heard the name."

Carl's reputation had spread among fixers, especially those managing their own territories. Any serious fixer would at least know of him. But just because they knew his name didn't mean they'd reach out first.

This was due to the unspoken territorial rules among fixers. A merc was usually handled by the fixer of whatever region they were operating in. Only the most reckless fixers ignored these boundaries.

If KK was in the Badlands, Dakota naturally would've wanted to bring him into her network. But as far as her intel went, KK hadn't stepped foot outside Night City yet.

Had her information network failed to track him?

Curious, Dakota asked, "So, what's the deal, KK? You coming to the Badlands to solve some of my headaches? If that's the case, you're more than welcome."

A merc with a 100% job completion rate and a flawless reputation? No fixer would turn that down. She had a stack of difficult gigs piling up—having someone that competent around would be a blessing.

"If you've got any side jobs I can handle on the way, I wouldn't mind. I'm still in the city, but I'll be heading out soon. Thought I'd introduce myself to the best fixer in the Badlands before I arrive—and set up a contract while I'm at it."

"Set up a contract?"

Now that was interesting.

Out of habit, Dakota took a hit from the oxygen tank strapped to her belt, a practice she'd maintained for decades to keep her thoughts clear.

"You mean you're hiring me?"

"More or less. I need you to track a crew. A group of Night Stalkers hit a corpo convoy recently, and we need to find them."

"So, you're working for a corp?"

Dakota's question was met with silence, but she understood. That was as good as a confirmation.

Legendary merc Morgan Blackhand had once written a book—The Enforcer's Handbook. It laid out essential guidelines for mercenary work: what to do, what not to do.

Most well-known mercs had read it, and over time, many of its rules had become industry standards. One of them was simple:

Never disclose job details to unrelated parties.

Once a mission was complete, sure, you could brag all you wanted—down to how many leg hairs your target had through the scope. But during a job? A real merc never talked.

Carl, valuing his reputation as a merc, wouldn't spill any details—but smart people could read between the lines.

Dakota Smith didn't press the matter. Instead, she focused on the most important question.

"How much are you offering?"

The price determined the quality of mercs you could hire. Every fixer knew exactly how much money it took to secure a certain level of talent. Every fixer also fantasized about hiring top-tier mercs for just a few thousand eddies—but in the end, that was just wishful thinking.

Carl understood the business. He knew the rules. So, he gave a reasonable number right away.

"30,000 eddies. I can pay 10,000 upfront as a retainer."

Before calling Dakota, Carl had already discussed the payment with his crew over squad comms.

As the team leader, he would front the cost himself and deduct it from their total payout later. The client was paying him directly anyway, so it saved everyone an extra transaction.

"30,000, huh…"

Dakota's voice softened slightly, and there was even a hint of amusement in it. "That's no small sum for the Badlands."

So, what kind of merc could you hire for 30,000 eddies?

With 60,000, the Priest could have hired Carl's team for a gig.

With 30,000, Wakako had been able to hire them for their first job together.

In other words, it was enough to hire a merc team of Carl's caliber—at least in the Badlands.

Of course, the comparison wasn't perfect. When working for the Priest or Wakako, they had considered those jobs "small gigs." Normally, their price would be higher, but other factors had brought the cost down—like favors owed or having a netrunner to assist.

30,000 wouldn't land you a team like Carl's in the Badlands. But considering how broke most mercs out here were, that kind of money could definitely get you someone on the level of Badlands Mann or Badlands Brown—the kind of mercs with enough street cred to drink at Afterlife.

"Most mercs in the Badlands would kill for that kind of money. I just need to think about who's right for the job."

As Dakota considered her options, she knew one thing for sure—the Badlands were a rough place to live. Most mercs operating here didn't actually live in the wasteland; they stayed closer to Santo Domingo and only took gigs on the outskirts. Those types could handle simple jobs, but tracking down Night Stalkers? Not a chance.

For that, she needed someone with real experience.

And that gave her an idea.

Finding the Night Stalkers didn't necessarily mean hiring mercs. The nomad clans of the Badlands would be just as good a choice.

Dakota had deep knowledge of the local clans. One, in particular, came to mind—the Bakkers.

The Bakkers were in a state of internal conflict. After their old leader died, no successor had managed to hold power for more than two years. The clan was directionless and on the verge of splintering.

Recently, some Bakker members had even started negotiating with the infamous Snake Nation, much to the dismay of the younger generation. A number of them were actively seeking outside connections—hoping to change their clan's course.

As luck would have it, a group of these Bakkers had been operating near Night City for the past few months.

And from what Dakota knew, they were desperate for money.

They just might be interested in this gig.

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