> We used to fake it. Taste. Confidence. Everything.
The cursive neon sign above the entrance to Heavy Hearts flickered uncertainly in the daylight, its charm more suited for the nightlife it wasn't yet allowed to seduce. Built like a forgotten Egyptian relic, the pyramid-shaped structure towered above the fractured streets of Dog Town, emerald-green laser beams slicing skyward after dusk. It wasn't just a landmark like Sapphire Blue—it was an enigma, wrapped in heavy security and darker rumors.
No one really knew why this opulent structure dared to stand proud amidst the ruins. Maybe because Mr. Hands's office was rumored to be nestled in its upper levels. And someone, after all, had to keep the chaos of Dog Town running smoothly.
As Logan approached, two sharp-eyed guards flanked the doors, eyes falling to the kinetic rifle on his back.
"Sorry, pal. You know the rules. I'll hold onto this for you," one of them said coolly.
Logan lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Be my guest."
The guard tapped his earpiece. "He's here."
Whoever was on the other end—likely Mr. Hands himself—didn't object. Surprisingly, they handed Logan back his sidearm without a second glance.
Apparently, no one in Dog Town could pose a threat to Mr. Hands. Not with just a pistol.
After a swipe of the security card, the heavy doors clicked open.
Logan straightened his collar, cleared his throat, and stepped inside.
This was no place for arrogance or carelessness. An insult to a no-name fixer might be survivable. But Mr. Hands? One wrong word and you could lose everything—even your pulse.
Now cut loose from the Ghost Dogs, Logan understood this meeting could define his future.
Sure, he could've taken the easy route—burn his eddies on Glitter and gamble away his nerves near the black market trash fires.
But Colonel Hansen was still watching. And Logan had something to prove.
---
Ding.
The elevator chimed as it arrived on the third floor. Not high, but unmistakably exclusive.
A classical corridor stretched before him—velvet-soft carpet, gilded wall trim, polished wood that carried the scent of old-world money.
At the far end, a single wooden door radiated authority.
Logan knocked.
"Come in, my friend. No need to stand on ceremony," came the smooth, commanding voice from within.
---
The office was styled like an old European drawing room—sunken lounge in the center, high ceilings, muted gold lighting. Mr. Hands sat casually on a velvet sofa, fingers grazing the pages of a thick book.
Logan stepped in, stopping a polite distance away.
"Mr. Hands," he said with quiet respect.
The panel flickered in his HUD:
> [Character: Mr. Hands]
[Factions: Dog Town, Taiping Island]
[Favorability: -10]
[Development Value: Very High]
[Stage Reward: Raise Favorability to 0 → Body +2 | Epic Weapon Acquired: Technical Sniper Rifle — Nekomata (Haixiao Manufacturing)]
No more system hints. The starter perks had run dry.
Logan sighed inwardly. A negative favorability? Had Mr. Hands sniffed out something from his past life—or worse, from the previous body?
Still, the reward was irresistible. Epic-grade sniper rifles didn't fall from the sky.
Mr. Hands closed his book and glanced at Logan's prosthetic arm.
"That arm... primitive. Hard to believe you're one of Hansen's 'trusted men,'" he said flatly.
Logan fought the twitch in his jaw.
Wasn't he just tossed out of the Ghost Dogs yesterday?
If he was one of Hansen's chosen few, then what were those guys sipping champagne in Sapphire Blue?
Mr. Hands rose to his feet, voice steady and smooth.
"Ever heard the story of the African grasslands?"
Logan blinked.
"There, the buffalo roam free in herds—strong, protective. Even the lion, king of beasts, waits before striking. They're patient. They observe."
"And you, my friend," Hands narrowed his eyes, "are the lion Hansen has sent to deal with me."
Logan's brain kicked into overdrive. The tension was thick, the implication heavier.
> Defuse it. Fast.
"I think the Colonel just wants answers. The Ghost Dogs can't afford to investigate openly—especially not in Night City," Logan explained. "I'm just a hand on the wheel. I'll follow whatever route you set, Mr. Hands."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then the corners of Mr. Hands's mouth curved up.
"Good. I like that. You're smarter than most."
"I have no personal feud with Hansen," he continued. "But you… you need to drop the soldier act. Dog Town doesn't answer to bootlickers. It runs on Fixers and cyberpunks."
"Follow me. Learn. Adapt."
Logan nodded sharply. Their first exchange had gone... well. As well as it could.
---
Mr. Hands leaned forward, fingers laced together.
"I'm not some carefree kid like the rest of you mercs. I have a family. A daughter."
"I don't want trouble dripping into my house like oil under a door."
He raised a brow.
"Especially not when you're still under Hansen's leash."
"I understand," Logan replied firmly.
"Good. Then listen carefully—this isn't a warzone. It's a market."
"Think smart. Move smarter. You'll survive."
A file popped up in Logan's feed.
> Name: Sasha Yakovleva
Cyberpunk profile. Dozens of NCPD tags. Hacker. Off-the-charts reflexes.
Logan froze.
"You know her?" Hands asked. The question seemed casual. The tone wasn't.
Logan masked the reaction. "No idea she had so many priors. Looks young to be so infamous."
Mr. Hands smiled knowingly. "Age doesn't slow a smart hacker. Kids with fast hands and faster code are always dangerous. You see them in black-and-pink hoodies, labeled 'customer service,' and think nothing of it... until your bank account vanishes."
A photo popped up. Sasha, mid-laugh, flashing a "yeah" gesture as NCPD bots hauled her away.
"Whether you know her or not is your business," Hands added. "I won't pry."
"Go meet one of my hacker friends here in Dog Town. He's good—knows how to push and pull digital strings. He'll help you investigate."
"Keep Hansen's name out of it. Play it right, and the issue dissolves. Fail…"
He didn't need to finish.
Logan received the briefing chip with mission details. And just as he turned to go—
Mr. Hands pointed to the table.
"And my 'lion,' don't forget the Nekomata on the coffee table. Know what you're fighting for."
Logan didn't hesitate.
He reached for the shimmering weapon accessory—and in that moment, brilliant data-light engulfed his vision.
Reality twisted. The world shifted.
And with it, so did the game.