"Pacifica Free State... it's been a while since I've been out here." After passing through Oliver's hometown of Santo Domingo, the half-buil
"Pacifica Free State... it's been a while since I've been out here."
After passing through Oliver's hometown of Santo Domingo, the half-built, abandoned urban sprawl of Pacifica spread out before Karl's eyes—its bleak, forgotten state in stark contrast to the megastructures of Night City.
Looking over the wasteland, Karl suddenly remembered something.
"Come to think of it... weren't Maine and the others chasing Faraday into Dogtown using Captain's intel? Wonder how they're doing now."
Dogtown had once been just another district of Pacifica, but after the Unification War, it became the personal territory of ex-NUSA Colonel Kurt Hansen, forming an autonomous zone—a city within a city.
"Dogtown, huh? Let me check the map," said Oliver from the passenger seat. "Looks like we're not far from where we're supposed to pick up Dexter DeShawn. Too bad Dogtown's heavily guarded—you can't get in unless you know the right people. Otherwise, I'd say we check it out."
"What's the point of visiting that trash heap?" grunted Jack from the driver's seat. "That place is Hansen's private warzone—arms trafficking, shoot first, ask later, even law enforcement there plays by its own rules. Go sightseeing there and you'll get your head taken off."
"I heard some nomad crews tried to dip into their black market," V added. "Thought they'd make a quick profit. Most didn't even make it back in one piece."
Clearly, everyone here knew Dogtown—and no one sane just visits that place.
"You guys make it sound like hell on earth," Karl said, smirking. "But honestly? People shooting in the streets isn't exactly out of the ordinary in Night City either. The way you all talk about Dogtown like it's different… isn't that just local prejudice against a breakaway microstate?"
Karl paused, then added, "Besides, you never know when we might get sent there for a job. You're trashing the place now, but don't come crying when we end up knee-deep in that 'sewer.' Might wanna find a better metaphor, or it'll stick in your head when the time comes."
"Hanz, maybe?" Jack muttered. "Isn't he a fixer for this area? Maybe he runs stuff in Dogtown too?"
T-BUG's voice crackled in through the comms: "According to the intel, most of Hanz's contracts come out of Dogtown. If anything, the other parts of Pacifica are just side gigs for him."
"So we are gonna end up with Dogtown jobs," Jack sighed. "Just hope he doesn't give us something stupid—like clearing out one of Hansen's Ghosthound outposts. Finish a job like that, and you've got the entire Dogtown militia coming down on you."
"Why not go bigger?" V laughed. "How about taking out Kurt Hansen himself? Now that'd be fun."
"'Warlord of Dogtown'? More like 'jackass of Dogtown,'" muttered Oliver, repeating a common Six Street insult for the rogue colonel. But as he peered ahead, the sharp-eyed sniper suddenly spotted movement.
"I think I see Dexter DeShawn—and his bodyguard. That big guy puffing on a cigar over there."
He clicked his tongue.
"Did not expect that. I figured he'd leave a location and hide out 'til we got there. But no—he's just standing there in plain sight. Either he saw us coming… or he's just that confident."
"Either way," Karl said, eyes narrowing as they got closer, "it means one thing: he's sure this place is secure. And he has the resources to know it's secure."
"Or he's just a dumbass who doesn't know better. But judging from the way he's standing there, cool as hell with that cigar… nah. Too confident to be clueless."
Jack stared at Dexter DeShawn.
"If he's that sure this place is safe, it probably means the road back to Night City won't be."
"Let 'em come," V said, laughing. "What's the phrase in Chinese, Karl? 'For every soldier, a countermeasure. For every flood, a dam.' Something like that, right? Whatever. Anyone who shows up—kill 'em. No enemies, no problem."
"You've got some bloodlust, V."
They'd arrived.
As the team's negotiator, Karl stepped out of the car and walked forward, sizing up Dexter DeShawn—who, in turn, was doing the same to him.
Nicknamed the Black Buddha of Night City, the man definitely had the presence of someone who moved big money.
His skin was dark, his build heavyset but solid. His neck was thick, clearly the result of physical training. His close-shaved hair left almost a full bald look, and he wore dark sunglasses. Through the shades, Karl could sense his sharp, calculated gaze—exactly the kind of predatory look the streets had described for years.
Karl's eyes drifted down.
Dexter wore practical clothing: a deep crimson overcoat with a black shirt underneath—ideal for disappearing into the shadows of Night City. His left hand looked normal, but his right was replaced by a gold-plated cyberarm. The polished finish gleamed under the light.
Karl's mental HUD scanned it instantly.
"Gold-plated cyberlimb with enhanced strength output and behavioral calibration. Retail market value: approximately 300,000 eurodollars."
Yeah. That was expensive.
As Karl finished his assessment, Dexter DeShawn completed his own. His eyes lingered on Karl's hands—so unmodified they could've belonged to any civilian—then rose to his face.
And then Dexter smiled.
He extended his hand.
"Mr. Karl. It's an honor to meet you."
"The honor's mine, Mr. DeShawn."
They shook.
Karl, inwardly, was a little surprised.
Usually, he was the one calling the fixer "Mr." or "Ms." It was the first time the courtesy was extended to him instead.
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