Chapter 82 - 78 Thigh

Tonight’s schedule was to complete the final item of the deal with Kantao—handing over James Norris’s prosthetics.

In the car, Cheson asked curiously, "Buddy, why do you have a bump on your head? Did you get hurt?"

Lille responded calmly, "It’s nothing, I hit myself. Tell me about the situation on Kantao’s side."

"I don’t know who specifically is in charge over there, but it’s someone high-ranking. You know, Eastern Enterprises don’t usually show their faces in these matters."

"High-ranking? How high do you estimate?"

"It is said... equivalent to the deputy director of Arasaka’s operations department stationed in Night City. Quite formidable."

After Cheson finished, he took out a pack of cigarettes from his bag, but none of the three smoked.

"Not smoking is good... healthy." Cheson put the pack away and continued, "Here’s the thing, even though Kantao doesn’t like to get involved in these things, the wind suddenly changed recently.

They hinted at wanting to support an intermediary in Night City. However, the person must be strong, with tough bosses like you guys under them."

These words were comforting, and Jack and V both looked satisfied.

Lille just glanced at these two fools before saying, "You want to be this intermediary?"

"Uh... it would be nice to cling to this opportunity, but it depends on your opinions."

"Not happening." Lille shook his head.

Cheson’s expression froze, but he quickly recovered. "Alright..."

Lille added, "You provided too little information. Are you saying you want to give up the arms business to become an intermediary? Do you think I’m a fool?"

Cheson awkwardly smiled and immediately confessed, "Uh... okay, that’s my fault. Actually, I’m not asking for myself, just testing out your stance.

It’s a brother of mine, working as an intermediary in Saint Domingo, also retired from the company like me. This guy is quite stubborn after leaving, wants to do it himself.

But... you know, the most powerful guy in Saint Domingo is Faraday, someone closely connected to the company, ruthless.

My brother lacks such backing, so I was helping him make some connections."

"After all this talking, what’s your brother’s name?"

"Muael Reyes. He wanted to meet you in person at Afterlife, but you’ve been... laying low these days."

Upon hearing this name, Lille stroked his chin.

So it was this brother—my son... my foster son.

"Does your brother also run a second-hand car business?"

The "second-hand car business" Lille referred to was actually hiring mercenaries to steal cars, have mechanics fix them up, and then resell them.

A few were genuinely sold to him by rightful owners.

In the game "Cyberpunk 2077," he had already become the biggest intermediary in Saint Domingo, but now it’s still a guy named Faraday.

This Faraday loved bootlicking the company, even willing to sell his mercenaries to cling to the company.

He was the kind of middleman Lille described, with no sense of boundary.

Smart intermediaries always steered clear of this company bootlicker, knowing they would eventually fall.

Cheson nodded, "Yes, but his business just started. Word got to Haywood already?"

"Not that far, I just have my ways of getting information. Your brother is pretty sharp, but let’s skip the meeting. Just give me his number."

Cheson was a little disappointed that he couldn’t help his brother.

But he didn’t react too strongly. If he could help, he would. If not, so be it.

Lille hadn’t really revealed his opinion—after all, the biggest intermediary now was still Faraday.

"Alright, I’ll give you his number right away."

They drove through the crowded, damp streets of Night City, heading toward the exit of Hanford Overpass.

The meeting point was next to a restaurant called Fatty Chicken Wings. The area was sparsely populated, mostly by vagrants, with noticeably fewer cameras than other districts.

All in all, it was quite secluded and safe as a temporary meeting place.

It was a typical American diner, selling only fast food.

But Lille and his crew weren’t there for burgers. As they reached the meeting point, a low-profile Thrace Jefferson was already parked at the location.

Approaching the meeting, their car slowed down.

Lille asked Cheson, "Do you have an ammo factory? Handmade works too."

Cheson wasn’t sure what Lille was getting at, but he did have such a connection.

"Uh... I can tell you, but don’t sell me out. I do have a handmade ammo production line, you know."

Handmade meant workers inserted behavior chips to produce manually, collecting the chips after shifts.

Black market workshops, mostly illegal.

"Do you think you could produce smart ammo?"

Cheson was stunned, then asked uncertainly, "You mean..."

"I want to get a legit line of smart weapon ammo from Kantao. We can talk about being intermediaries. This is something they’d find beneficial.

I’ll handle the negotiation, you handle the operation. We’ll split the profits seventy-thirty, you take seventy, I take thirty."

Cheson was ecstatic!

Smart ammo was top-tier.

Though street punks couldn’t afford it, it was pricey and aimed at those with some cash.

Netrunners, company executives with no time for target practice, lone wolves who’ve saved some money...

And when they used it, trigger down, it ran out fast!

"Uh..."

Cheson was organizing his thoughts—of course he wanted that production line!

And this wouldn’t be done in secret but directly from Kantao!

But if Lille just took care of the negotiation, three shares seemed too much—Cheson wasn’t being greedy.

Operating a black market factory required significant effort and cost, not to mention dividing the profit with Kantao—

Compared to Kantao’s annual revenue, it was small change. But if they didn’t care about small change, they wouldn’t be a super corporation.

Lille saw through this kid’s thoughts and impatiently said, "Then eighty-twenty, you take eighty, I take twenty. Final offer, no negotiation or I’ll just get a one-time payout from Kantao."

"Alright, alright, you’re the boss, boss, don’t get angry..."

The car stopped. Two black-clad bodyguards stood by the other vehicle.

Lille got out. V carried the bag containing James Norris Swain’s prosthetics, with Jack looming behind them like a mountain.

"Job well done."

The other side spoke in some Eastern dialect Lille didn’t quite understand, as he mainly spoke standard Mandarin.

No matter, he’d already fitted a translation implant.

As a commonly used language within Kantao, the translation implant would obviously translate this dialect too.

"Everything’s here, but regarding the payment, we would prefer a different arrangement—we’re looking for a long-term partnership."

The individual who spoke in the car never got out, just stayed seated.

Hearing this, his eyebrows raised, "If it was an average person saying this, I’d tell them you’re overconfident.

But you’ve done well on this one. I can listen to your demands, as long as they’re not too outrageous."

"Look, in Saint Domingo, in Night City, people love to shoot. You might not be interested in the bullet production business, but it’s perfect for locals like us.

I think we should set up an ammo plant in Saint Domingo—a small workshop, and with me backing it, it’ll be stable."

The person in the car was a bit surprised.

He thought Lille would jump at the chance to become an intermediary—after all, he believed Lille had the potential and conditions to do so.

A capable mercenary, a decent hacker, and reliable technical experts made for the best mercenary team configuration, and also essentials for an intermediary getting started.

"This job isn’t for mercenaries."

"I know. That’s why we need a professional—this guy here."

Lille nudged Cheson.

At this point, Cheson appeared more professional, shedding his street thug demeanor instantly.

With his tactical gear, he looked like a company sales agent.

The man in the car paused and then, interested, said, "Indeed, you look professional. Did you use to work in Dala Tech Sales? Why did you leave?"

"Layoffs. I couldn’t just wait to be laid off, so I decided to work for myself."

Lille wasn’t too surprised Cheson had worked for a company before.

What did surprise him was that the guy had worked for that Indian’s company—he’d always thought Cheson had retired from Military Technology.

After a pause, the man in the car said nothing.

Lille continued, "I know you want someone reliable to work for you long-term, but corporate methods don’t fly on the streets—

If I wanted to be a corporate dog, I’d take your entrance test. I’m not doing that.

But if we have this relationship, maybe I could have people keep an eye on your competitors for you—if you want to advertise a new weapon or something, I can help.

If not, you can just pay me more, and we’ll settle it at once."

Previously, Kantao wouldn’t have needed a mercenary like Lille to help with advertising.

After all, their top single-combat weapon spokesperson was Adam Hammer, a paid endorsement.

But now—they were developing an even better Swain.

"...Deal. Don’t disappoint us, it would be hard to clean up the mess—Type V5 operational data is included in the payoff. The goods?"

Lille signaled V, who took out a large black bag—an unsuspecting person might think it was full of trash.

Lille handed the bag to one of the bodyguards outside the car.

After verification, the bodyguard placed the items into a prepared box.

The person in the car suddenly said,

"Now, let’s talk about a second matter—

The gun you use in combat looks like a prototype weapon that went missing from our company."