Chapter 42: The Inexperienced V

Actually, Mercer's first instinct was to watch her get into a fight—just to gauge V's true combat capabilities.

However, after activating his cyberware eyes and scanning V from head to toe, he suddenly found himself at a loss for words.

First off was a pair of off-brand optical implants. To be precise, they were decade-old surplus from Militech, scavenged goodness knows where.

Secondly, there was a pain editor. This piece of hardware was standard issue for most mercenaries, designed to dampen pain during combat and maintain battle effectiveness.

Yet, upon closer inspection, Mercer realized this too was an antique from some biotech corporation dating back six or seven years.

Aside from that...

She only had a pistol.

How should he put it? It possessed a rather retro aesthetic. Back in the early twenty-first century—the years when Johnny Silverhand was still playing guitar in his band—there was a legendary mercenary named Morgan Blackhand.

Morgan Blackhand was a staunch believer in raw flesh and blood, convinced that a well-trained physique, a sharp mind, and reliable weaponry were all one needed to face any enemy.

Judging by his track record, Morgan Blackhand certainly lived up to that belief. Not only did he carve out a fearsome reputation in the early 2000s and briefly become Militech's premier mercenary, but he was also the lifelong rival of Adam Smasher, that hulking devotee of full-conversion cybernetic supremacy.

As for V...

Well, it would be great if she possessed that level of badassery right now.

Watching V exchange heated words with those mercenaries as if they were about to step outside for a duel, Mercer sighed and walked over.

"V, my time is valuable..."

Hearing Mercer's voice, V turned her head to look at him, then glanced back at the group of mercenaries. She pointed a finger directly at the biggest one among them, maintaining a fierce expression:

"Big guy, I'll deal with you after I'm done with my business. Then I'll show you what a real pro can do!"

The bulky mercenary sneered. "Don't worry, I'll dismantle you until only your spine is left, then piece you back together and toss you in a dumpster."

V made a slashing gesture across her throat at the hulking mercenary, and then, with a swaggering turn, she sized up Mercer.

"You the fixer called A?" After she spoke, Mercer simply nodded and turned toward the bar counter.

V curled her lip, but thinking of her bank account, she obediently trotted after him. As they reached the bar, she heard a woman's scoff.

"Mercer, you're the one who dragged this moron in here? Impressive, she manages to pick a fight within three minutes of walking through the door... You surely aren't planning to hire her, are you?"

Panam felt that Mercer's judgment had failed him this time. Given the sheer idiocy this woman exuded the moment she stepped inside, what could she possibly accomplish?

V shot a cold glare at Panam. "Is this woman with you?"

"Panam," Mercer glanced at Panam, causing her to shrug, take a sip of her beer, and say no more.

Mercer turned his gaze back to V, looking her over once more before speaking in an even tone: "V... may I ask why you started looking for trouble the moment you walked in? If you really wanted to find me, a single phone call would have sufficed. You look like you were deliberately picking a fight."

V's eyes darted away. "No special reason, just wanted to test the waters and check out your scene..."

Seeing Mercer stand there, staring at her in absolute silence, she noticed tiny specs of blue light flickering within his unfamiliar, azure cyberware eyes like fireflies dancing in his pupils.

Mercer remained mute, fixing his gaze squarely upon her.

Uncomfortably, V shifted her gaze away and muttered under her breath, "Fine, alright. To be honest, I was just a bit excited... There are so many famous names here, big shots I've only ever heard of on the streets, so I couldn't help myself and wanted to strike up a conversation."

Mercer stared at her, utterly speechless. "And did you ever consider what you'd do if you actually provoked a fight?"

V laughed it off with complete indifference:

"Who the hell is scared? Worst comes to worst, I just turn tail and run. While you were out, I cased the joint—there's a back door here we can slip through. Even if you can't win, you can't back down with your words. Running the streets, you can't afford to let people talk down to you. The moment you show weakness and bow your head once, nobody will ever take you seriously again. Besides... that asshole had the nerve to call me 'little girl' and told me to join him for a couple of drinks. To be honest, I'm really not afraid. So what if he's a bit oversized and packed with chrome? Don't let that hulking mass fool you—with all those heavy subdermal armors, gorilla arms, and nano-buffer skull plating he's lugging around... I could tell just by watching him take those two steps that he's absolute garbage in a real fight. The guy probably wobbles just walking down the street! If bullets start flying, I could drill three holes in his head in a single second. Even if we went hand-to-hand, thirty seconds—at most thirty seconds—and I'd have that big lug pinned down where he couldn't even twitch."

Finished with her speech, V looked at Mercer with an expression of utter confidence. "Seriously, or you could just wait until I finish him off and come back. Add him and his little crew together, and I'll lay 'em all out for you before I return!"

What an absolute braggart... Mercer felt, to some degree, what Rogue must have felt when dealing with him.

"Those aren't gorilla arms."

Unable to listen any longer, Mercer interrupted her with a deadpan expression: "That's a wrist-mounted grenade launcher disguised as gorilla arms."

V's eyes widened slightly, her mouth hanging open as her boasts instantly died in her throat.

"Can't tell? Good thing you couldn't."

Mercer sighed and tapped the table. "Furthermore, that big guy isn't even the leader. At best, he's number two... See that skinny beanpole? The one standing next to him keeping quiet? That's the actual leader of their squad. Sandevistan, muscle reinforcement suite, and a smart submachine gun tucked into the small of his back... He deliberately only displayed a fraction of his cyberware data. The rest are completely hidden from your optical scan—though I can see them. Mantis blades, secondary heart, and his frontal cortex likely has Militech ICE installed as well. Ah, and two more pieces of cyberware: one mounted on his spine, the other on his thigh. I'd need to study the exact nature of those modules; the shape of their network signature is quite unique, likely custom modifications cobbled together by some backyard mechanic or elite fixer. Don't let his unassuming appearance fool you; he's the most heavily chromed of the bunch. I'd wager his internal circulation system has been surgically altered, too."

Mercer's words left V increasingly silent. She clenched her fists, lowered her head, and remained quiet.

Yet Mercer continued his interrogation: "That street-smart routine of yours will get you killed out here, V. This isn't some dive bar you usually frequent; this is the Afterlife... Weren't you quite thrilled just hearing the name earlier? How did you forget so quickly that nobody who comes here is a pushover? See that four-eyed idiot? The one who installed an extra set of optical implants just to look edgy? That's a netrunner. Care to bet that your signal has already been locked onto, and the moment you prepare to leave, he'll be ready to fry your brain? He hasn't made a move yet only because he saw me... Oh, this moron thinks he's clever, blending his network signal fluctuations into the Afterlife's server traffic using a camouflage routine... Wait... he's still attempting to tunnel in with a spoofed signal... Death wish!"

A brilliant flash of blue erupted from Mercer's eyes, making his gaze behind the mask seem to burn with azure fire: "Let me give him a warning first, teach him to crawl back where he came from... What kind of brain-dead idiot dares to cross me?"

Without a moment's hesitation, he pierced straight into the rogue network signal disguised as the bar's subnet that was attempting a clandestine connection.

Instantly, the opposing netrunner felt an overwhelming deluge of data flood toward him from Mercer's network like a tidal wave. By the time he realized he was being counter-hacked, Mercer's icebreaking programs were already gouging into his ICE.

The netrunner didn't have time to speak; his eyes widened as his cognitive processors surged to maximum output. Even then, he remained confident—what kind of small-fry script kiddie dared to counter-hack him?

Discarding all concealment, he drove his brain to full capacity and fired up his cyberdeck to its absolute limit!

Yet, the next second, sheer terror gripped him as he discovered the anomaly: "No, impossible!"

Mercer's intrusion speed was terrifyingly fast. By the time he detected the first virus routine breaching his defense systems, Mercer already had a dozen more sub-routines executing deeper hacks!

Instinctively, he forced his ICE programs into maximum electronic warfare, attempting to match processing power with Mercer.

Then, the netrunner's expression warped into something utterly horrified, resembling someone staring straight into the face of a ghost.

*Damn it, how many concurrent programs is he running at the same time? One, two, three... No, no, no!*

*I can't hold him off... I can't stop this!*

"Ahhh!"

He let out a blood-curdling scream, his face flushing crimson as his eyes rolled back white. His brain was suffering catastrophic overload, and his entire body convulsed like a landed fish before he slipped straight off the booth's sofa and crashed onto the floor.

Everything happened so fast that even his companions failed to react in time.

Because the netrunner had never anticipated being instantly neutralized, he hadn't raised any prior alarms—evidently, his judgment was deeply flawed.

As the netrunner's screams echoed through the room, every mercenary in the private booth snapped their heads around toward Mercer and that rival squad simultaneously.

Mercer raised his middle finger at the bewildered and suspicious group of mercenaries, openly admitting responsibility for the act:

"Try to hack me one more damn time, and I'll fry the brains of every single idiot in your crew until they're completely dry!"

Claire, who had been spectating comfortably from behind the bar, could no longer ignore the situation and hastily intervened: "Hey! Don't start trouble in here! Take your problems outside to settle them."

The members of the mercenary squad abruptly surged to their feet, several pistols and submachine guns instantly leveling at Mercer.

The bulky mercenary shoved his arm forward, his entire gorilla arm abruptly shifting and transforming to reveal a pitch-black, yawning muzzle:

"Damn it, you fried his brain?! You're asking for a death sentence!"

"That moron fried his own brain," Mercer retorted with a cold sneer. "He insisted on pitting his pig-brain against mine in a direct clash... Does he even have the qualifications for that? Send him to a hospital now, and he might still be saved. But if you keep those guns pointed at me...

The outcome won't be nearly as certain."

Concurrently, Mercer quietly tunneled into their subnet.

Netrunners served as the network nucleus of any team. While engaging in digital combat and driving the enemy netrunner into cerebral overload, Mercer had successfully infiltrated their local subnet.

Unsurprisingly, this mercenary squad placed absolute trust in their netrunner, linking every member together through a subnet anchored by him.

Right now, their minds were fish on a chopping board—Mercer was fully prepared. At the slightest indication of a firefight from the opposition, he would instantly upload lethal payloads across the board.

"Dammit... Quick, hit him with stimulants! Get him to a ripperdoc!"

The bulky mercenary was frantic with rage, his eyes blazing.

Behind him, however, the lean, gaunt mercenary fixed Mercer with a chilling, cold gaze, his voice measured and unhurried: "You guys carry him out... I'm going to have a nice, long chat with our netrunner friend here."