7. Celebration and New Communications

"Thump, thump, thump."

"Coming, coming, who is it?"

Oliver had only just returned to his apartment to rest after having dinner with his sister. He hadn't even had a chance to sit down when his door was knocked upon. Muttering with a hint of annoyance, he first activated the room's security camera to check the hallway. Upon confirming the identity of the visitor, he walked quickly to the door and opened it.

"Karl? Why do you look so disheveled?"

"I took a freelance gig—that job from the corpo dog earlier. Made some money, so I figured I’d buy some stuff to celebrate. I already messaged Jack; he’ll be here in a bit."

Laden with bags, Karl walked into Oliver's room. After setting down the sacks filled with food and drinks, he pulled something out and handed it to Oliver. "Here, have some steak first."

"I just finished eating not long ago, and you’re shoving steak at me... wait, you said you took that corpo dog's gig? Why didn't you mention it to me or Jack?" Oliver took the steak from Karl, reacting with delayed realization. "We had things to do, yet you went off to do a job solo. You’re way too industrious."

"Fair point, but the client insisted on only one person. You know how the negotiations go—I just played bodyguard for a bit."

"Bodyguard?" Oliver scrutinized Karl, failing to spot any injuries on him. "Looks like the negotiations went well."

"Indeed, very well." Karl thought about it and decided he wasn't wrong; the client had no complaints, the other side had no complaints, and everyone was satisfied. It was quite smooth, really.

"Turn on the TV, will you? Let me see what kind of trouble people are getting into in the districts today."

"What could possibly be happening?" Although using the apartment’s TV required paying extra Eurodollars, Oliver wouldn't begrudge a friend the cost. He connected his device to start the TV. As he spoke about having just eaten, his mouth proved more honest than his words, and he took a bite of the steak he was holding. "Hmm, this flavor, this tenderness... it’s ribeye, right? This stuff costs twenty Euros a piece; I don't usually eat this."

"Exactly, so don't waste it."

"Of course I won't waste it. It’s just one piece, my stomach can still handle..." He stopped mid-sentence, looking at the steak in his hand, and noticed clear cut marks in the corner. "Wait a second, Karl, about what you said regarding not wasting food..."

Oliver instantly recalled the hardship he and Jack had endured at the Japanese restaurant, trying to handle all the food Karl would take a single bite of and then abandon.

"You didn't go and order everything again, did you!"

In disbelief, Oliver looked at the pile of bags Karl had dropped off, feeling a sudden sense of existential dread.

"No, just this steak felt like it shouldn't be wasted. Everything else is new... don't worry, most of what I bought are snacks. I’ll still eat things like potato chips, and there are plenty of chocolate bars, though they're just compound chocolate—couldn't find any real cocoa butter ones."

"That’s a relief."

Oliver finished the steak in a few bites just as Jack arrived. Jack had stopped by the Coyote Bar and brought along some of Mrs. Wells' fried potatoes.

"Oh, my favorite."

Watching Karl, who had surpassed him in his love for his mother's cooking, cheerily grab the large bag of fries and start eating on the sofa, Jack smiled and found a seat for himself. No sooner had he sat down than he felt something poking him. Looking down, he realized he was sitting on a submachine gun.

"Dios mío, a Saratoga submachine gun! Karl, where did you get this?"

"Picked it up after taking out a few Maelstrom gangers on the way over. That one's yours."

"This is a compact, punchy little beauty." Jack handled the submachine gun, admiring it, before, like Oliver, he realized what Karl had just said. "You said you took out who on the way over?"

Karl had no choice but to explain to Jack what he had done, just as he had to Oliver.

"Was it that same client again?" Jack pulled the slide of the submachine gun, listening to the crisp metallic sound—it was music to his ears. "Looks like it’s worth a proper celebration tonight then."

"My room is big enough; you two can crash here. Eat and drink as much as you want. If it’s not enough, there’s a vending machine where you can buy more, though the food in my room is mostly just burritos and such. Karl probably wouldn't like the meat in those." As Oliver spoke, the television screen, which had been playing daily news, suddenly cut to a new feed.

"Good evening, welcome to the emergency report on News 54. I'm your host, Jillian Jordan. Just half an hour ago, an incident occurred in Kabuki, Watson. A cyberpsycho went on a rampage inside a restaurant. The exact death toll is currently unclear. MAX-TAC has been dispatched to suppress the situation. Residents of Kabuki and the surrounding areas are advised to remain indoors until the situation is resolved."

"A cyberpsycho?" Jack stared at the footage flashing on the screen. "What number is this for the month?"

"There are more and more lunatics out there." Oliver fixed his eyes on the screen, noticing that Karl had stopped eating his fries.

Karl stared intently at the restaurant shown on the screen, his brow furrowing. "I was just at that restaurant buying stuff not long ago."

"The restaurant you bought your food from is the one on the screen?"

"The patterns on the packaging in the bags are still there; it’s definitely the place, I can't be wrong." Karl answered Oliver's question accurately, then popped a fry into his mouth. "Looking at the time, it was just a few minutes after I left. Which means if I had walked any slower, I would have run into that cyberpsycho."

"Is that supposed to be good luck?" Jack asked, not quite understanding Karl’s dissatisfied expression.

"I’d call it good luck for me." Karl recalled the service staff and cashiers who had been quite polite. "It’s just a shame; I won't be able to go back to that restaurant for a while."

But that was just the way things were in Night City in 2075.

"Beep."

Just as he was thinking, an unknown number called Karl’s comms.

'A spam call?'

Not wanting to be disturbed while eating, Karl swiped to decline, but the phone rang again immediately.

The second time, it was unlikely to be a simple spam call. This time, Karl answered. A moment later, a calm, steady voice came through.

"Is this Karl? My name is Faraday. I have a job here that might interest you."