5. Fear

Actually, before the gunshot rang out, Blanca had performed a gesture of tossing her hair, but when she truly drew her weapon and dispatched the corpo-rat in front of her with a single shot, Carl was still momentarily stunned.

He had not expected his employer to be so decisive; she drew her gun without a second thought.

Threatened by someone, and with evidence in the other party's hands? What to do?

Just kill him, of course.

Using force to settle arguments—it was clear that Blanca had learned the true secret of office politics. Based on this alone, Carl had to admit that Juanito, who had been blathering on and on earlier, was nowhere near his employer's level. There was a reason why his employer held a higher position in the corporation than he did.

After the momentary surprise at his employer's decisiveness, Carl moved just as quickly. Since the employer had fired, he naturally had to follow suit.

As he opened fire, a realization dawned on Carl: he had misunderstood his employer. Previously, when she said there were ten enemies, but the number he saw upon arriving didn't match, he had assumed her intel was faulty. Now it seemed there were indeed exactly ten people in front of them—no more, no less.

Blanca had intended to execute Juanito from the very beginning. The reason she was willing to listen to all that chatter and appear to be negotiating was likely just to confirm where her evidence had been leaked from.

As Juanito fell, Maelstrom members began to react, reaching for their weapons. Their guns, which had never been set to safety, could have turned Carl and Blanca into sieves in a second. But while they were fast, they were not faster than Carl.

In recent days, Carl had watched quite a few braindances at home. One of them he liked so much he had watched it twice: a title called "The Western Gunslinger."

From it, Carl had learned the American tradition of quick-draw.

The gunfire was so dense it sounded like a single shot. Once the echo faded, seven Maelstrom members had fallen. The Kenshin pistol had a magazine capacity of twelve rounds. It wasn't that Carl had run out of ammo; rather, he had fired seven shots in one go, and his hand could no longer withstand the recoil, causing him to lose his grip.

Although the Kenshin was a tech pistol with minimal recoil, it was not entirely without it. After seven consecutive shots, even a modified individual would feel their palm go numb, let alone Carl, a low-grade mercenary who hadn't even installed reinforced tendons or similar cyberware.

But losing his grip on the gun did not mean Carl couldn't finish off the remaining Maelstrom members before they could pull their triggers.

From Carl's hands, which had already dropped the weapon, two filaments resembling blood vessels emerged from his wrists, caught perfectly between his index and middle fingers.

[Monowire]: A single-strand cutting wire shaped like a long whip, with an edge only one molecule wide. When fully charged, it also possesses significant thermal energy. It is well-loved by hackers because, aside from serving as a weapon, it can also function as a hacking tool.

In simple, layman's terms: a melee weapon with the reach of a whip, the sharpness of a soft sword, and hacking capabilities. This was the second piece of cyberware Carl had spent all his savings to have Old Vic install.

Carl flicked his hands. The three Maelstrom members he had intentionally left for last—who were closest to him—stopped moving mid-draw.

"Whoosh."

Carl retracted the monowire, then leaned over slightly to scoop up his Kenshin pistol before it hit the ground.

"Splat!"

The moment Carl made contact with his pistol, blood erupted simultaneously from the waists and arms of the three Maelstrom members he hadn't headshot. Then, following the smooth, exposed cross-sections, the torsos and severed limbs of the Maelstrom members crashed to the ground together.

"Got to do laundry again."

To ensure a swift elimination, one always has to sacrifice something. Looking at his clothes soaked in blood, Carl sighed. He remained unaware of how terrifying he looked to an outsider.

Blanca, who had intended to provide cover fire should Carl fail to eliminate the enemies, stood frozen in place. The impact on her brain from witnessing the carnage Carl caused in a single instant was no less severe than when she first learned her secrets were in someone else's hands.

I hired you to protect me... but the speed at which you resolve threats is just too fast.

Blanca, who had prepared herself to be injured in a fierce firefight and had even contemplated the possibility of death, felt that her mental preparations had been in vain.

Her mission for Carl was, to be precise, to eliminate Juanito after she tossed her hair, and then provide cover for her escape amidst the attack of the ten men. That was the most perfect outcome Blanca had imagined. While there were some deviations—like her inability to resist shooting Juanito herself—the plan should have generally involved running away. A scenario like Carl slaughtering everyone in an instant was something Blanca had never even considered.

A perfectly good escape and protection mission, turned into a slaughterhouse by you. Are all mercenaries this capable nowadays?

Carl did not know Blanca's inner thoughts, because to him, this was only natural.

How does one protect an employer?

Kill everyone who poses a threat to the employer—isn't that the definition of protection? Could there be anything simpler?

Was he supposed to stand guard by her side, constantly worrying that the employer might get her head blown off by a stray bullet from somewhere?

Don't be ridiculous. As a mercenary, Carl was now a professional who had completed several missions; he knew his trade.

"Threats resolved. What now, employer? I remember there are three more downstairs. Should I take care of them while I'm at it?"

"Take care of them while you're at it?"

Maelstrom lives are lives too, Blanca had intended to say, but given that Maelstrom lives didn't actually count for much in her eyes, she simply nodded.

Carl executed the task quickly. He walked to the window and opened fire before the three Maelstrom members at the apartment entrance—who had heard the gunshots and were wondering what was happening inside—could even move.

Again, the gunfire was so fast it sounded like a single report.

"Resolved. What next?"

"Ding. 50,000 Eurodollars have been credited to your account."

"Oh, how refreshing. Then this job is considered settled."

Looking at the radiant smile on the mercenary—whose face was splattered with blood that was still trickling down his neck, yet he remained oblivious—Blanca's body trembled almost imperceptibly.

She had to admit that she was truly afraid now, though the object of her fear was not the people who had threatened her, but the mercenary who had come to protect her.