"Us? Nothing much to say. Like most Edgerunners you know, we take jobs to earn money."
Mercer gave a brief explanation, but Bruce shook his head. "No merc would break into a Maelstrom stronghold to pull me out without having taken a job."
"Well, then think of me as a hero for fun? Just like how you enjoy putting on a suit and calling yourself Murk Man to fight crime, I occasionally do similar things out of interest."
After Mercer finished speaking, Bruce finally nodded. "A hero for fun? That's an interesting way to put it."
He fished out a cigar from under the workbench in the room, clamped it between his lips, and glanced at the others in the room. "Mind if I smoke?"
"Your place, no need to ask us." After Mercer replied, Bruce struggled to clip the cigar with one arm, lit it, and took a puff.
He took a deep drag from the cigar before turning to Mercer. "Go ahead, ask whatever you're curious about. For my savior, I'll tell you anything I can."
"What do you usually do?" Rebecca, curious herself, found a table to sit on, her short legs dangling and swaying since they couldn't reach the ground.
"Work during the day, come here at night, change into my uniform, put on my armor, then drive out to see where I'm needed."
After a pause, Bruce added, "I left a backdoor in the NCPD server. During the day, I eavesdrop and gather intel on crimes, then finish the work they left undone at night."
"So, you're basically doing NCPD's job?" V summarized.
After a moment of silence, Bruce nodded.
"What about your gear? Do you rely on just those basic cyberware to take on criminals?" V was curious about what kind of equipment a wealthy person like him would use.
Bruce pointed to a nearby wardrobe. "You can open it and take a look."
V walked over without hesitation and opened the cabinet, revealing a dark, uniform-like outfit and a pure black half-face mask.
V picked up the uniform and examined it. "Just ballistic plates and bulletproof fibers, nothing special, right?"
"The one next to it." After Bruce spoke, V opened the adjacent cabinet.
Then, she couldn't help but let out a soft "wow."
Inside the cabinet was a sleek black exoskeleton armor, compact, roughly sized for an average adult male.
But judging from the armor's mechanical structure and design, it was clearly a rare and expensive piece of equipment.
Mercer also grew interested and walked over to examine it closely. "Hydraulic Ram, leg cyberware enhancement, lithium battery powered, and even comes with built-in weapon systems..."
"You know mechanics?" Bruce sounded surprised. In his view, a young genius netrunner like Mercer shouldn't have had the time to develop expertise in multiple fields.
"I know a little. Yours draws a lot from the Militech Centaur's design philosophy, pretty easy to spot. It's fine against regular thugs, but against someone like V? Not nearly enough."
After Mercer's blunt critique, Bruce fell silent and sighed. "Originally, this armor could interface directly with my neural system and work in tandem with my Sandevistan. But I've removed the Sandevistan now."
He turned to V with a complicated look in his eyes. "The more powerful the Sandevistan, the greater the strain it puts on your nerves. I'd rather take it out than lose my mind and turn into a bloodthirsty maniac."
It finally clicked for V, and she lit up with excitement. "So does that mean... I could use this armor too? And it works with a Sandevistan?"
She turned to Mercer with an ingratiating smile. "A, look at this thing..."
"It'll boost your strength, but it'll slow you down. Even with a neural link, an exoskeleton like this will always have latency. For someone with your reflexes and raw power, it's not really worth it."
Mercer paused, thinking it over before adding, "If you really want to wear something like this, you've only got two options. One is to modify the exoskeleton into a specialized type of Powered Armor, something that enhances you without hindering your movement. The other is to go all-in on a full-coverage heavy armor setup, maximize offense and defense, and let your physique handle the strain. Let others break through the armor, only for you to emerge with a second wind..."
V didn't say a word, just blinked at him repeatedly; her intention obvious.
Rebecca snorted. "What about me, then?"
"You're actually a pretty good fit for this kind of exoskeleton. The Centaur-inspired design philosophy naturally complements Militech's Berserk OS, all about brute force and overwhelming power."
After that, Mercer turned back to Bruce. "How much did this thing cost you?"
"About 400k eddies for the base materials, but that's only because I had connections to source the parts directly. If you're starting from scratch and building it yourself... the cost is hard to estimate."
Bruce hesitated before continuing, "But if you're interested, feel free to take it and modify it. Consider it a gift."
"Damn, rich people really are something else!" V exclaimed, impressed.
Rebecca, however, asked thoughtfully, "Then what will you use instead?"
"I have a backup set at home. And..." Bruce suddenly seemed agitated, rubbing his temples with one hand. "I think I need some time off."
"Don't tell me we've talked you into retiring?" V said, a little embarrassed. "I mean, you're not that bad..."
"No, it's fine," Bruce cut her off, massaging his forehead with a deep frown. "Actually, what you said makes sense. Why haven't I ever thought about... investing in the NCPD to handle this kind of thing?"
V was stunned. "Don't tell me this is the first time you've considered something like that."
"I've thought about it, but..." Bruce inexplicably slammed his fist against his own head. "I don't know, I just feel like I should be fighting those criminals, I should be... taking revenge."
He murmured to himself: "You know, I used to be afraid of the dark, but my parents would always tell me, 'Don't be scared, there's nothing there.'"
"But on the day I saw my parents robbed and killed by some street thugs in that alley, hiding in the darkness was the only thing that made me feel safe."
"From that day on, I swore I would take revenge on this dying city, to bring it the destruction and justice it deserves."
"I'll keep doing this, always, until my heart stops beating."
Bruce seemed to suddenly zone out, his eyes growing vacant as he kept repeating: "I should do it myself, no; I must be the one to bring justice to this city. I have to do this, so I can't give up yet."
He looked utterly tormented, repeatedly pressing the hand holding his cigar against his forehead.
V grew nervous: "Shit, is he developing Cyberpsychosis?"
"He's had almost all his cyberware removed... but something's definitely off," Mercer remarked.
Just then, Bruce looked up at him, his expression suddenly turning serious as he fought through the discomfort to ask: "Tell me, if you were in my position, what would you do?"
"What do you mean?" Mercer clarified.
"I mean, if you wanted to bring justice to this city, would you choose to put on a costume and fight crime at night like I do?" Bruce asked.
"Of course not. Doing something like that occasionally to satisfy yourself is one thing, but if you really want to change this city, you need to make people see hope from the ground up, give them courage."
"More importantly, you have to take down those corpos."
Mercer paused before continuing: "As long as corporate tyranny goes unchecked and unresolved, this city will never have hope. Even a street kid knows that."
Bruce offered a complicated smile: "Yeah, even a street kid gets it. One more vigilante in black beating up criminals won't change this city... What have I really done? I shouldn't... but why do I..."
He slipped back into muttering to himself.
Now it was clear to everyone that something was seriously wrong.
Mercer activated the Spider Program, cautiously asking Spider Murphy, who seemed to have been monitoring Murk Man's movements all along.
But Spider Murphy didn't respond.
Mercer sensed that things were taking a troublesome turn.
He had thought this was just a small easter egg from the game; he'd just come to score a free Caliburn and see what this little reference looked like in the now-real Cyberpunk universe.
But now, Mercer had a feeling he'd been dragged into some huge conspiracy by Spider Murphy without even realizing it.
Reason told Mercer to stop here; digging deeper could mean real trouble.
But after a moment of silence, driven by emotion, he suddenly asked: "When did you first start wanting to become Murk Man?"
Bruce instinctively replied, "When my parents died right before my eyes, and I could only hide in a dark alley."
"Do you know who the perpetrator was? Where exactly was that alley? Why didn't they find and eliminate you? Where did you go afterward, and how did you grow up?"
Mercer's rapid-fire questions left Bruce gaping, suddenly at a loss for words.
[Mercer: Morning Star, dig deep into Bruce's background. Something feels off.]
[Morning Star: Retrieving relevant data from NCPD and City Hall servers. Please wait.]
Bruce suddenly stood up, tossed his cigar to the ground, and began pacing restlessly. "I don't remember clearly; was the alley in Watson? Or Little China? I can't recall. I just remember it was dark, really dark... but there was an indescribable sense of safety. After that, I went back home, attended school, and eventually sold my parents' company."
"Who helped you with the sale? You must've been very young at the time, right?" Mercer pressed.
"A friend of my father's from Night Corp," Bruce answered.
"Did he have blue eyes?" Mercer asked urgently.
Bruce stared blankly into Mercer's eyes. "Yes... he had blue eyes... very much like yours." He suddenly trembled, as if triggered by some form of PTSD. "Do you know him?"
"Calm down, Bruce..." Before Mercer could finish, a message from Morning Star flashed before his eyes.
[Morning Star: Based on your request, I've reinvestigated all information related to the individual before you. Through cross-referencing, I've concluded that he is not the "Bruce Weyna" identified by your NCPD scan.]
[Mercer: What do you mean?]
[Morning Star: By comparing Night City's municipal and NCPD databases, I've discovered two distinct sets of records for "Bruce Weyna." One is the most recent data from the NCPD and City Hall servers, which your cybereye scan retrieved. The other is an older case file stored in the NCPD's archives, dating back thirteen years. The NCPD maintains a separate server for criminal case records, and within it, I found discrepancies between this archived data and the current "Bruce Weyna" file. I've sent the anomalous details to your cyberdeck. Please review them and draw your own conclusions.]
Mercer didn't respond but immediately opened the files Morning Star had sent. One was the data from his initial scan of Bruce: a Night Corp executive whose parents died when he was twelve. He later sold the family company to Night Corp, attended university, and has worked there ever since.
The other was a case file separately stored in the NCPD archives, a detailed record of the robbery and murder of Bruce's parents, including the incident report and profiles of those involved.
Mercer's focus zeroed in on Bruce Weyna' file within the case.
Sustained multiple gunshot wounds to the head and body, hospitalized in critical condition... then disappeared?
Mercer glanced at the case's recorded timeline. This file had likely been sealed and dumped into the archive server about five months after the incident, once the investigation was suspended.
Which meant Bruce had been missing for five months after the event?
[Morning Star: You should pay attention to his facial features.]
Mercer's expression shifted slightly. He immediately fixed his gaze on the facial comparisons in the two files, and within a second, he found the discrepancy as if playing a game of spot-the-difference.
He turned to look at Bruce, staring intently at his left cheek, then asked a question: "Have you ever had facial surgery? Corrective or cosmetic, anything like that?"
Bruce continued staring firmly into Mercer's eyes: "Me? No, I've never had any work done on my head."
"Then why are your eyes symmetrical? The file notes a relatively noticeable asymmetry in your eyes. Your nasal bridge also appears straighter now."
As he spoke, Mercer quickly pieced together a bold but possibly accurate theory in his mind.
"Bruce Weyna, were you really spared by the assailants back then? Did you hide in the darkness and survive? Or is it that you were actually shot in that incident too, and hospitalized with severe injuries?"
Mercer's words left Bruce utterly stunned: "I wasn't shot… I watched my parents die..."
"What exactly happened to your parents back then? Aside from the photos, can you recall anything?" With just one question, Mercer plunged Bruce into panic.
He couldn't remember.
He could only recall the moment his parents were shot and fell to the ground, something that should have been seared into his memory.
All he could summon was darkness, a warm, enveloping darkness.
"I can't remember…" Bruce stared blankly at Mercer.
After a moment of silence, Mercer asked, "Which hospital did you go to? What treatment did you receive?"
"I don't know…" Bruce remained clueless. "I don't remember going to a hospital afterward."
Bruce suddenly grew agitated: "No, I just didn't go to a hospital! Stop it; why are you telling me all this?"
"Are you sure? Let me see..."
Mercer turned and rummaged through his safehouse for a while, eventually pulling out a portable scanner used for checking physical condition.
"This scanner is yours, right? You left it here."
After Mercer spoke, Bruce nodded subconsciously.
Mercer then tossed it to him: "Scan yourself. Check if there are any signs of surgery on your head."
Bruce clutched the device uneasily, unsure why he felt so unsettled. But after a deep breath, he carefully scanned his entire body with it.
Once the scan was complete, he operated the microcomputer connected to the scanner and said in a tone of disbelief and dread: "Impossible… I've never had surgery. Absolutely not."
Mercer walked over, took a look, and stated: "There are signs of cranial repair. The surgical traces are very old, done with high-grade bionic artificial bone. You can tell from the shadowed areas; the aging markers don't match the rest of your skull. There are also multiple gunshot wounds and surgical marks on your body. Think carefully; do they align with the injuries you remember sustaining?"
Bruce grew increasingly uneasy and panicked, simply picking up the device to scan himself again.
Meanwhile, V and Rebecca were utterly stunned; neither of them could make sense of what was happening. Things like blue-eyed man, Night Corp, past injuries, what was going on?
"Mercer, what's happening?" Rebecca couldn't help but ask.
"I think we've gotten ourselves into trouble," Mercer answered truthfully.
He turned to look at Bruce, his expression growing heavier. "Mind if I run a program check on you?"
"Go ahead," Bruce gritted his teeth, setting the scanner aside.
Instead of operating directly, Mercer used the miniature cyberdeck in his secret base, essentially a micro laptop, to connect to Bruce's neural link.
Then, typing on the keyboard, he began searching and examining the programs in Bruce's mind.
After about three minutes, Mercer stopped. "Found it. Hah, it's a monitoring program after all. Which means we've probably already been discovered. Or are you watching me right now, Mr. Blue Eyes?"
As Mercer posed the question, Bruce suddenly froze in place. His body trembled slightly, and after a few breaths, his eyes rolled back as he collapsed against the table behind him.
But before he could fall, his eyes returned to normal; only for his cybereye to begin glowing with a blue light as soon as his pupils focused. Soon, Bruce's eyes had turned a striking, vivid blue.
Bruce's expression became eerily calm. Those shimmering blue eyes locked with Mercer's, and he smiled. "You seem to know me, Mr. A?"
"I've heard things. So, he's your test subject?" Mercer's words prompted V to instinctively raise her pistol, while Rebecca tightened her grip on Guts.
Both girls wore expressions of shock; in the blink of an eye, Bruce seemed like a completely different person!
No, it wasn't just a seeming change; it was as if he was being controlled by someone else, or perhaps even possessed.
What the hell was this thing?
"In a manner of speaking. More accurately, we spared his life."
Mr. Blue Eyes looked at Mercer and chuckled. "Now, now, no need to record this with your cybereye. We won't be able to have a proper conversation that way. I'd rather not see headlines about plummeting stock prices sent to the media. You wanted to see me, so here I am. I thought you might want to sit down and have a proper chat."
Mr. Blue Eyes pulled up a chair, sat down, crossed his legs, and elegantly picked up another cigar. "Would you mind cutting it for me? I'm not quite used to managing with one hand."
When Mercer remained unmoved, Mr. Blue Eyes sighed and slowly snipped the cigar tip himself before placing it in his mouth and lighting it.
"Let's keep this fair. One question for you, one question for me. If either of us refuses to answer, our conversation ends there. How does that sound?"
Mr. Blue Eyes made his proposal.
Mercer nodded and asked first, "So you used him to test your subliminal conditioning program, turning him into the hero he is now?"
Mr. Blue Eyes smiled. "You're trying to confirm multiple answers with one question. But yes, you guessed correctly."
He exhaled a puff of cigar smoke, then spoke unhurriedly: "Now, it's your turn to answer my question. What is your true identity?"
"Currently the leader of an Edgerunner squad. You can call me A," Mercer replied calmly.
Mr. Blue Eyes shook his head and said, "That's not what I'm asking. I want to know about your... well, your true identity."
"...You're not asking if I'm human, are you? Well, I can tell you this, man; I'm one hundred percent genuine flesh and blood."
After Mercer finished speaking, Mr. Blue Eyes finally nodded, studying him: "You're strange. Alright, but I don't think you're lying to me."
Following a brief moment of silent contemplation, Mercer posed a remarkably bold question: "Do you have any connection with Alt and these rogue AIs?"
"You'll have to tell me which rogue AIs you're referring to when you say 'these rogue AIs.'"
Mr. Blue Eyes looked at him with some surprise: "It seems you don't just know of me; you're very familiar with me."
"Have you reached some kind of agreement with Alt?" Mercer changed the question.
Mr. Blue Eyes smiled: "No, we merely know each other. What are you worried about? Have you met Alt? That's quite an achievement; she generally doesn't like dealing with people."
V muttered: "Another woman, Alt. Who's that?"
"How should I know," Rebecca muttered back.
The two non-Intelligence builds had zero understanding of netrunner matters; even if they'd heard something about it before, they'd basically forgotten it right after. Naturally, they knew nothing about the name Alt, which would make the Voodoo Boys jump with excitement if mentioned.
"Is that your question?" Mercer didn't answer directly.
"Alright, then I'd like to ask: what is your purpose in coming to Night City?" Mr. Blue Eyes' gaze fixed on Mercer, as if trying to see through his psyche via the eyes visible behind his mask.
"Make money first, then accomplish something great," Mercer said.
Mr. Blue Eyes shook his head again: "Just simply want fame and fortune? What is this 'great undertaking'?"
"I want to make the world a better place, so first I have to make this city better. And to do that, I need to accomplish something great. Are you satisfied with that answer?"
Mercer's response made Mr. Blue Eyes laugh: "Hmm, I'm very satisfied."
His eyes flickered with a faint blue light, then he tilted his head, narrowed his eyes, and finally said: "I see. Alright, then. As for Bruce here, you can deal with him however you like. He no longer has any testing value."
"His assets will be frozen, but that car he gave you is yours; I won't take it back."
"Ha, using a poor innocent guy for experiments, then leaving him to die when it's over, not even sparing his family's assets."
Mercer's slightly mocking tone only made Mr. Blue Eyes shake his head indifferently: "If we hadn't needed him, he would have died in that alley years ago. We gave him over a decade more to live."
"So Night Corp killed his parents to acquire their company, then saved him to use as a test subject, and that's called 'giving him a chance to live'?" Mercer continued sarcastically.
"No, we did not plan that murder; Night Corp prefers normal business competition and cooperation. Night City was built for that very purpose; we don't like seizing assets through murder."
"We merely used legal, compliant contracts and reasonable sums to buy their company after confirming his parents' deaths."
"If not for us, do you think a twelve-year-old child, even if he survived on his own, could have held onto his family's assets?"
After speaking, Mr. Blue Eyes looked at Mercer's expression and simply smiled: "It seems you don't wish to continue this conversation with me."
"Indeed, because being used feels terrible. Don't let the door hit you on the way out." Mercer's tone was icy.
Mr. Blue Eyes shook his head and sighed, "I truly never expected to encounter something like this. Well then, I believe we'll meet again someday."
After speaking, Mr. Blue Eyes', or rather, Bruce's, eyes suddenly trembled and returned to their normal color. Staggering a few steps, he stared blankly at Mercer and the others for several seconds before suddenly asking, "What just happened?"
V and Rebecca remained silent, their eyes fixed on Mercer.
"Mercer... are you okay?" Rebecca was the first to break the silence.
Mercer shook his head. "I'm fine. Just give me a moment; I'm chatting with someone online."
His cybereye glowed faintly as he focused on the chat interface of the Spider Program displayed before him.
On the screen, the message Mercer had sent still showed no reply.
[Mercer: I thought we could have been friends, Murphy.]
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4000 words.