Chapter 44: V's Confusion

As Mercer sat back down at the bar, Claire still rose from behind it with a somewhat shaken expression, asking with concern, "Are you alright? That really was..."

He simply waved a hand. "First, get me an iced cola."

"What the hell... Are you okay?" Panam vaulted over the bar as well, eyeing Fenrir, who was still twitching on the floor, and kicking him aside in disgust.

She clicked her tongue, feeling that Night City was far more terrifying than she had imagined—lunatics who flew into a murderous rage over a single word were truly horrifying.

None of them had thought an actual firefight would break out. This was the Afterlife; who would dare start a bloodbath here unless they had a death wish?

The cyberware of the kicked-away Fenrir was still crackling with electric sparks due to overloading, making one worry it would catch fire the next second.

"I'm fine... It seems that surviving in Night City requires a bit more caution for a netrunner like me," Mercer sighed. "If V hadn't been here, I'd probably have a few extra holes punched in me by now."

"Hey, I told you, sister, these punks are all bark and no bite."

V's tough facade returned as she sat heavily nearby, raising a hand to Claire. "Give me a bottle of 'Four Hundred Rabbits' tequila, neat, easy on the ice."

Panam remained silent, though she looked somewhat annoyed and restless. She stared at Mercer for a moment.

"To start a fight right here in the Afterlife... Even if he didn't die today, Rogue would hunt him down and finish him later... Ha, and this gave me a firsthand experience of just how lethal a Sandevistan can be. As expected, a netrunner like me should stay far away from the front lines."

With that, Mercer gently tapped the table toward Claire, who still wore the look of someone who had narrowly escaped death.

Though Claire complained, her hands moved quickly. "I can't believe you guys. You just caused a massive mess and you can still drink?"

She placed the poured cola in front of Mercer.

"Can you blame me? That netrunner tried to hack me covertly first. I just retaliated, and then his big boss wanted to have a chat. So I figured we'd just exchange some harsh threats—and then the guy suddenly went out of his mind and threw a fit."

Speechless, Mercer picked up the iced cola handed to him by Claire, lifted his mask slightly, and took a sip.

Claire shook her head. Just then, she saw Rogue walking over from the depths of the bar with a dark expression. "What's going on?"

"The netrunners from both sides started fighting for some reason, and then this guy stood up and threw a fit after saying a couple of words. His teammate tried to inject him with a blocker, but before he could, Fenrir hacked him into three pieces... After that, this guy called A and this woman teamed up to take Fenrir down."

The bouncer briefly explained the situation, and Rogue turned her irritated gaze to Mercer. "I figured it would be you... You really are something else, causing this kind of trouble on your very first day here."

"To be honest, I really wasn't looking for trouble," Mercer stated truthfully. He genuinely felt he had kept a low profile, so how had things escalated to this point?

He and Panam both turned to look at V, who looked deeply aggrieved. "Alright, Edge, I admit I underestimated them at first, but it's not like I could just sit there smiling and apologize when he asked me to keep him company, right?"

Mercer found this entirely reasonable, so he turned back to Rogue. "Exactly, Rogue. That netrunner tried to break into my mind; I couldn't just open my brain with a smile and let him look around, could I? He hacked me, so I hacked back, and then his boss went crazy the moment our eyes met. I'm the one who should feel wronged. If I'd known, I would have struck first—run far away, locked down all their cyberware, and waited until they were useless before coming over to chat."

"Alright, alright, I'm not blaming you... I just know for a fact that a guy like you is bound to cause even bigger trouble down the road."

Rogue was certain of it—she knew some people were natural trouble magnets, the kind upon whose heads misfortune would fall just by walking down the street.

And Mercer...

Rogue glanced at Fenrir's corpse on the floor, thinking to herself: Night City might genuinely be turned upside down once again...

"Throw the corpse out to their own people, and get the wounded to a hospital immediately."

With that, Rogue nodded at Mercer. It sounded like a warning, yet carried a hint of concern. "Don't cause trouble here. Fenrir had a decent reputation in this place. But no matter how powerful a netrunner is, they can't stop a bullet or a shell flying in from outside their field of vision, let alone a close-quarters Sandevistan."

Mercer nodded in complete agreement. "You're right. Once I get back this time, I'm going to sit quietly in my hacking chair for a while. Even if I have to fight, I never want to test the speed of a Sandevistan at close range again."

Having experienced being nearly sliced to death in a fraction of a second by a Sandevistan, Mercer decided to keep his talents strictly confined to the cyberdeck for now.

As for going out to brawl with these lunatics face-to-face... wasn't that what V was for? When the time came, he could just link into V's network from the rear and provide technical support.

Meanwhile, the rifleman who had been keeping his head down and covering his face wiped his eyes, shouldered the heavy corpse in silence, and began walking out.

"Please help me put the body in the car," the rifleman said. The two bouncers exchanged a look, feeling it was bad luck, but didn't say much else. They bent down to help carry out both Fenrir and the shotgunner, who was now in three pieces.

Another bouncer looked at the surviving netrunner, who was still breathing, and asked, "Do you want me to call an ambulance for them?"

"They have Trauma Team membership; just put them outside." The rifleman looked utterly defeated, too exhausted to even spare a word for Mercer and V, caring only about saving his comrades.

Mercer quietly watched them leave, then shook his head. "That guy is finished."

V, having settled down from her excitement, let out a sigh. "Ain't that the truth? His brothers died in the blink of an eye, and all of it caused by their own boss..."

"Still, you're amazing! You just sat there, spoke a few words, and the enemy netrunner's brain started smoking?! And that Fenrir guy—did you hack him too? In just over three seconds, you turned a top-tier mercenary into a cripple!"

V turned to stare at Mercer, giving him an admiring thumbs-up. "I've honestly never seen a netrunner that badass. Tell me straight, A, how many seconds would it take for you to hack me? Face-to-face like this!"

Mercer glanced at her, and suddenly V noticed a flurry of garish code flashing across her field of vision, accompanied by a crimson progress bar prompt.

[INTRUSION DETECTED!]

The intrusion progress bar flickered for barely a fraction of a second before vanishing entirely. In its place appeared a small penguin wearing a cigar and a scarf.

Appearing behind her retina, the penguin even gave V a little wave before automatically shrinking down into the bottom-right corner of her vision.

"What the hell!" V jumped, nearly startled out of her skin.

Mercer took another sip of his cola, smacking his lips as if savoring the flavor of V's neuralware data. "The network protection built into your cyberware is absolute garbage."

"Though you're not entirely stupid, I'd guess... well, anyway, your Intelligence stat can't possibly be very high."

After a brief pause, Mercer continued, "My advice is to install an ICE protection suite in your prefrontal cortex, just like that Fenrir had, or let me rewrite your neuralware software from scratch. Otherwise, forget about a netrunner of my level; even that four-eyed guy from earlier could have fried you in three or four seconds max."

V looked incredulous. "Doesn't that mean a mercenary like me is basically a free kill the moment I run into netrunners like you?"

"Not necessarily." Mercer briefly explained, "Generally speaking, this kind of direct-interface hack requires close proximity—at least close enough for optical sensors to pick up your network signal. Moreover, when most netrunners send out programs to hack someone, the computational load forces their brain into a temporary state where higher-level thought is suspended. In other words, while running a program, most netrunners become sitting ducks. As for me... my brain handles things a bit better; running one or two programs doesn't really interfere with my thinking. But if it's like just now, requiring me to concentrate fully on offense and defense, even my movements would slow down significantly while I crack the enemy's code."

Mercer's words put V somewhat at ease, though she couldn't help complaining, "You people are completely unreasonable... Amateurs like me have no idea how to counter that."

"Don't worry, average netrunners aren't that terrifying," Mercer said calmly. "Against ordinary netrunners, you just need to upgrade your neuralware model and slot an ICE program chip into the port to stall them for six or seven seconds."

ICE programs used to defend against netrunner intrusions generally had three designated slots.

First was the internal memory built into the neuralware itself. Major brands of neuralware came with company-developed proprietary firewalls, which were more than enough to handle average netrunners. If you were truly paranoid, you could acquire an ICE program chip written by a netrunner and plug it directly into the neuralware's expansion port. Against a face-to-face intrusion attempt, an average netrunner would typically need at least ten seconds to crack a chip-based program like that—plenty of time to perform an emergency disconnect from the network if necessary.

The second option was a cyberdeck, a piece of hardware usually installed only by netrunners. It offered greater storage space and a dedicated secondary CPU, allowing one to store multiple ICE programs much like quickhack routines. Although ICE was simply explained as a firewall, its full name was actually 'Intrusion Countermeasure Electronics.' Its function was to engage in real-time electronic warfare against incoming programs—serving not only for defense, but for counter-attacks as well. In theory, as long as the cyberdeck's CPU and human brain could handle the strain, multiple ICE programs could be run simultaneously to combat both intrusion and counter-intrusion.

The third option was installing professional ICE cyberware directly into the prefrontal cortex. This was equivalent to embedding dedicated electronic warfare hardware straight into your skull, packed with ICE programs and advanced co-processors designed to offload computational tasks from your biological brain. It was arguably the single best method for a non-netrunner to counter a netrunner.

Once equipped with such ICE cyberware, even Mercer would require a considerable amount of time to execute a face-to-face hack, the exact speed depending on the quality of the chips and programs housed within.

This made Mercer feel a nostalgic longing for the days when he was deep inside Arasaka, jacked directly into a massive mainframe—forget all these cumbersome precautions; once connected to the network, everything could be wiped out in a single second.

"Alright, well, A..." V looked at the virtual little penguin still smoking its cigar on the edge of her retina, wearing a strained expression. "Can you delete your program now?"

"No."

Mercer chuckled twice. "Don't worry, what I installed is simply an encrypted communication software."

"The comms software built into standard neuralware is an absolute whore—anyone with half a skill can inspect it, tap into it, and read whatever they want. It's completely insecure."

Mercer paused for a moment before adding, "My encrypted comms software simply latches onto your existing messaging client and only runs when communicating with trusted parties. Its background resource consumption is so ridiculously low you won't even notice it."

V still looked as though she had more to say, but Mercer merely laughed.

He turned around, locking eyes with V. "Once Rogue brings over the intel I requested, I'll officially issue you a job. If you handle this mission brilliantly, I'll consider bringing you onto my team permanently to oversee all field operations for my ventures. In other words, V, I came to find you for more than just handing out a gig. I want to partner up and work together. You don't need to worry about the pay; I'm always fair—you do the work, you get the cash. I guarantee you won't get shortchanged."

V hesitated, gazing into the eyes hidden behind Mercer's mask. "Why me? I mean... if you just needed someone for a job, picking me wouldn't be all that strange since I've got a bit of a reputation in Heywood. But if you're aiming to build a partnership right out of the gate, my little reputation doesn't cut it. You're a big shot who can joke around with Rogue, and I... give it to me straight, A, otherwise working with you won't feel secure at all."

Panam's ears perked up at this. Truth be told, she was intensely curious too—where on earth had Mercer managed to fish up such a fierce, striking woman?

"You mean I should be partnering with professional mercenaries from the Afterlife instead?" Mercer smiled, while V nodded with absolute honesty.

She spread her hands. "You can see my gear is total junk. I'm fine dealing with the punks out on the street, but against cyberware monsters like that guy from earlier... If he hadn't completely lost his mind and focused solely on you first, both of us would probably be dead right now. A, please, give it to me straight."

Mercer fell silent for a moment. Ultimately, he decided it was best to be relatively honest and have a proper conversation with V.

Whether he could truly recruit V depended entirely on whether his words could strike a chord with her.

And so, with a sincere gaze, Mercer looked straight into V's striking, optical-implanted eyes, and began to lay out his plans step by step.