"Come take a look, my friend! I've got something here that'll definitely catch your eye." Hearing someone call out to him, Karl turned aroun
"Come take a look, my friend! I've got something here that'll definitely catch your eye."
Hearing someone call out to him, Karl turned around and saw a weapons vendor waving enthusiastically in his direction, inviting him over.
How many times had this happened already since entering the stadium?
He mentally tallied it.
At the EBM Petrochem Stadium, the moment Karl's team arrived, they split up. The place was absolutely packed—crowds everywhere, shops crammed side by side, countless goods on display. It was obvious that splitting up was the best way to cover ground and find what each person needed.
Even so, Karl was still taken aback by the density of people and the sheer number of vendors, all with slick sales skills. Take two steps, and there was a weapon stall. Another step, and a new vendor was in view. The entire stadium was full of them. Weapons of every type were laid out casually on tables and shelves, and the shouting around him was nonstop—just like walking through a bustling food street. Except instead of delicacies, people were selling firepower.
So the rumors were true—Dogtown really is a weapons market. I just didn't expect civilian arms dealing to be this lively, Karl thought.
But if vendors could operate this openly, it meant Hansen must've had a hand in this. No way a stadium full of gun stalls happened without approval. Even in 2076, where weapons were easy to obtain, walking around armed to the teeth was still a destabilizing factor. And Dogtown, as Hansen's private fiefdom with Barghest under his command, wouldn't allow something like this unless it served his interests.
Probably just a controlled way to offload surplus gear and make some quick eddies.
Karl gave a glance to the weapons the vendor was showing him. One look was enough—he turned away and kept walking.
Just the usual junk you'd find anywhere in Night City, he thought. Nothing worth checking out.
He kept moving, a little disappointed.
There were plenty of weapons here, but the quality was mediocre. Even the selection that Kenichi Shiro had once offered him back in Arasaka HQ was more exciting. Then again, those were weapons issued to elite corporate squads. It would be strange if this place could compare.
After all, arms dealing could go two ways: sell less but sell high, or sell trash in bulk. Hansen probably chose the latter route—offload gear he couldn't sell elsewhere and squeeze what he could from it.
Karl had walked a while now without bumping into any of his teammates. He was about to ping them on comms when he spotted an unusual vendor.
Unlike the others, this one had no flashy displays, no salesman calling out, and no table made of scrap metal. Just a plain cloth spread on the ground with various weapons laid out, and a man casually sitting cross-legged at one end. The man seemed completely unfazed by the chaos around him.
Karl was intrigued. A vendor not trying to attract customers? That was a first.
The man looked to be in his forties, buzz-cut blond hair, sharp blue eyes, dressed in nothing but a camo tank top and shorts. His bulging muscles strained the fabric, and even his exposed legs looked like they could crush steel.
Interesting, Karl thought.
There was something about this man—he gave off a vibe that matched his appearance. It was the same kind of energy he got from Brown or Maine.
In simpler terms: this guy was definitely ex-military. Not just that, but elite.
Karl was sure of it. Because the moment he looked at the man, the vendor, who had appeared distracted a moment earlier, instantly turned and locked eyes with him.
He'd sensed Karl's presence—just from a single look.
Their eyes met. The man tensed up, his alertness clear. Karl stepped forward calmly, crouched in front of the cloth, and pointed to the weapons on display.
"These look pretty standard, boss."
At Karl's motion, the vendor immediately shifted from a relaxed sit to a semi-crouch—like a sprinter ready to launch. He was coiled, ready to attack. But then he heard what Karl had said.
And didn't spring.
"Standard, huh?"
He sized Karl up. Realizing this wasn't a threat, just a customer, the man slowly relaxed. Not fully, but enough. He glanced at the weapons Karl had pointed to and responded:
"I don't sell high-tech stuff. I sell the stories behind these weapons."
"The stories?" Karl repeated, eyebrow raised.
Okay, now he was curious.
If this is some gimmick to con tourists, I've probably just stepped into it, he thought.
"Stories like what?"
Karl sat down at the corner of the cloth, making it clear he was willing to chat. The vendor mirrored the motion, folding his legs again. This time, his tone was more relaxed.
"Famous people."
"Famous people?" Karl repeated.
Now his curiosity was really piqued.
He looked back at the weapons with renewed focus. Sure enough, every one of them had signs of use—scratches, wear, faded markings.
Was the man saying all these weapons had once belonged to someone famous?
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