The voice Royce squeezed out through clenched teeth wasn't loud, but even if they hadn't heard what he said, every Maelstromer in the room recognized that face the moment they saw it.
What should they call him?
Harbinger of death?
That title had recently shifted to someone named V—whose body count from solo gigs had already outpaced KK's.
Monster?
His level of chrome wasn't particularly high. His flesh was still clearly visible in parts—unlike Adam Smasher, who was a walking slab of metal. "Monster" didn't quite fit.
Then what?
Only one term, one that had spread far and wide—especially in some taboo braindances—seemed to work:
Cyberpsycho.
Every Maelstromer knew KK wasn't that heavily chromed. But once they'd heard the stories—how he fought, what he did—this was the word that came to mind.
Because in their eyes, only someone completely unhinged could go toe-to-toe with MaxTac or Adam Smasher and live to tell the tale.
Put simply, even among Maelstrom's insane ranks, KK was a madman on another level.
They might become cyberpsychos someday—if they lived long enough.
But KK already was one.
No one wanted to face a cyberpsycho.
And yet, here he was—watching them. And they had nowhere to run.
"Gotta say, your Maelstrom graffiti looks pretty dope."
Karl scanned the gang tags painted across the factory walls as he dropped from the steel beam nine meters above. He landed effortlessly in the middle of the floor—right inside the Maelstrom kill zone.
"Too bad the corners are a little messy. Whoever painted this clearly lacked finesse."
His tone was casual, almost cheerful. If you ignored the blood and bodies strewn across the factory, it was like he was admiring some gallery exhibit.
Royce didn't respond to Karl's words. He just stared at him, then asked the question that everyone in Maelstrom was wondering:
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Around him, the Maelstrom gangers slowly raised their weapons. None of them dared to make a move. Not unless Karl did first.
Whoever fired the first shot?
They'd definitely be the one to die first.
Back when KK first rose to fame, it was on top of Maelstrom corpses. Of course they'd thought about revenge—dreamed of it, even. But after watching his fights, none of them had the nerve.
Today's Maelstromers were no different. That's why even in the middle of an internal coup, Royce still asked his question.
"I'm looking for Brick."
Karl pointed at the man pinned to the ground—Brick, who was clearly stunned, like he hadn't expected any of this to involve him.
"Took a contract. One of your squads messed with something they shouldn't have. Client didn't ask for discretion, so here's the scoop:
You hit one of Rogue's shipments. She hired me to teach the boss of Maelstrom a lesson.
But…"
Karl's eyes locked onto Royce.
"Given Brick's current situation, it doesn't look like he's the boss anymore.
So I guess... I'm here to teach you a lesson, Royce."
We hit Rogue's cargo—so she hired KK to hit back?
The rest of Maelstrom was still trying to piece it together, but Royce? He understood immediately.
He'd sent the nearby squads to raid convoys as part of his coup against Brick—and clearly, one of them had hit Rogue's gear.
They'd pissed off Rogue.
Now Rogue had sent KK to settle the score.
And now everything was way more complicated.
If this had happened yesterday—or even this morning before the ambush—Royce would've welcomed it. Let KK go after Brick. Hell yeah.
Even if it happened just after the coup, he could've swallowed it. Maelstrom had over 1,300 members. Surely they could handle it.
But no. KK showed up right now.
What the fuck could he do?
Admit he was the boss? That meant becoming KK's target. And that only meant one thing: a fight.
Deny he was the boss? Everyone around him had just seen him crush Brick. If he backed down now, what would they think?
That Royce was a coward.
That he didn't even have the balls to own the title in front of KK.
And if that got out? He could kiss his rep—and his life—goodbye.
Maelstrom tolerated lunacy. It tolerated violence.
But it couldn't tolerate a boss who beat up his own and groveled to outsiders.
Meanwhile, Karl's logic was simple.
He'd come here to rough up Maelstrom's boss.
If Royce backed off, fine—he'd just break Brick's third leg and call it a day.
If Royce admitted he was boss—Karl would snap both his arms and legs.
A fitting "congratulations."
Karl stared, waiting.
Royce saw the looks on his own crew's faces—don't fucking embarrass us.
And he understood exactly what had to happen.
He hadn't overthrown Brick just because he hated him.
It was because Brick had started compromising—working with corpo insiders, taking their money.
Royce hated compromise.
Working with corpos was one thing—if they paid you. But buying their intel, kissing their boots, letting them pull your strings? That was lapdog shit.
And Royce was no one's dog.
You pay him to do a job? Fine. That's business. But bowing down to someone else's leash?
Never.
So Royce made his decision.
"I'm the boss!"
He shouted it with all the conviction in his body—then raised his gun and fired straight at Karl, not giving a damn about the Maelstrom gangers standing behind him.
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🔥 Cyberpunk: The Relentless
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