Morton looked back, rembering the first ti he heard that na, and how he had judged it.
Back then, he thought he'd been played by three complete morons.
Now those sa three morons had saved his life. Which ant… he was the bigger moron?
Turns out, the real idiot was himself.
Of course, he could complain in his head all he wanted—but in the real world, the Burger King guy really was king now.
"Boss, want a smoke?"
Leo shook his head.
You couldn't bla Morton for his knees going weak. The more he thought about the ambush that night, the more it scared him.
Let's put it this way—if at the last mont, the person in that car had opened fire and killed him, the hot-headed idiot standing on stage…
Then his n would've been scared shitless and frozen.
And the enemy? They would've cut through a hundred guns to assassinate a gang boss, and walked out proudly while the rest pissed themselves.
They'd step over Morton's reputation and beco the top-tier rcs of the city.
Maybe the Sixth Street Gang would've disappeared altogether.
And before that—if it weren't for those three, he'd have been rotting in a ditch a long ti ago.
Sure, there were rumors that the rcs only ca to Night City because of those three—but tracing it back doesn't change anything. Morton knew the truth in his gut.
He turned to look at a few people kneeling in the open space.
These were forr henchn of Gunner, the traitors he hadn't managed to catch before.
Morton waved a hand and shouted up to soone on the second floor, "Fire!"
BOOM!
Several rockets rained down, blasting the traitors into bloody chunks. You could still hear them babbling sothing before it hit, but nobody cared.
The dead are like extinguished lamps. The paynt, however, ca fast.
[Transfer: 500,000 Eddies]
Each of the trio got 160,000. Leo still only had 10,000 on hand, but the good news was his debt to V was finally looking payable.
"Everyone wins!" Morton grinned from ear to ear, nearly hugging Leo on the spot.
Unfortunately, that wasn't happening.
Leo waved it off. "Cut the crap. We're done here. I'm taking those rcs."
"And lastly—Night Corp's power grid situation."
Night Corp wasn't like other transnationals. Its business mostly stayed within Night City's borders. Its military strength wasn't much.
But a local boss still beats a powerful outsider. Night Corp was the local boss.
Technically speaking, Night City had always belonged to them.
Morton sat down. "Their stock crashed yesterday. You probably already heard."
"They ssaged , told to find the people involved and send them over. But since you're taking them, I'm out of it."
"It's just... Night Corp's a big client of mine, so you see…"
Every district had its own power substation. In Night City, those stations operated at the rcy of the local gangs.
Sure, the corp could send their own troops to guard it. But if a gang ssed with it or threatened locals, profits would tank fast.
So they'd rather pay the gang a fee. Not too much—just enough to not cut too deeply into profits. Definitely worth the investnt.
Leo tapped the table and looked at Morton. "Ever thought about generating your own power?"
Morton froze.
Of course, he hadn't. Night City's infrastructure had always been handled by Night Corp. Who'd bother trying to take over?
The Sixth Street Gang already got decent protection money from the company—starting a power plant? That was a ss.
Too complicated. Too dangerous. Who knows what a pissed-off gacorp might do?
Sure, they all yelled "Screw the corps!" and "Kill the corpo dogs!"—but killing dogs and killing the whole corp were two very different things.
Talking big felt good. But really believing you could topple the system? That kind of thinking got you locked in the psych ward.
And the few who did try sothing? Most ended up as vapor trails.
Morton leaned back. "So you're asking to go die."
So, no.
Leo thought for a mont. "The Aldecaldos want to establish roots in the Badlands. They're setting up solar and wind power there."
"Coronado Farm mostly needs civilian power. I think small-scale generation is no problem."
What he didn't say: if conditions allowed, they could even get a patent from the biotech sector to grow Ethanol-2 crops and build a thermal power plant.
Morton straightened up.
This was real. They were talking about taking food off Night Corp's plate.
And it wasn't crazy.
Clean energy didn't require advanced tech. If Leo could produce first-gen cyberware and other gear, the Aldecaldos clearly had the know-how.
What needed handling was the supply chain and construction. Morton wasn't sure about that—but he knew Nomads were logistics experts. They lived off infrastructure contracts.
As for local support, the Sixth Street Gang wasn't about to ss with Leo's partners—in fact, they'd protect them.
He wouldn't even need to say it. His n would instinctively stay out of the way.
So maintenance might actually be cheaper than the corps'.
The only major risk? The Badlands.
Building power arrays out there ant you couldn't avoid military tech. Night Corp could just hire soone to blow it all up.
But that was no longer Morton's problem.
He gave Leo a thumbs up. "I get it now, brother."
"We won't short you," Leo added. "As long as the station runs smooth, we'll even pay you. You just guard the substations."
"Deal," Morton grinned wider. "I'm not doing this for the money, of course. It's about mutual success and cooperation."
"About my second shipnt—"
"Talk to the Aldecaldos. I don't handle that."
Leo got up to leave.
"Oh, right," Morton stood up too, grabbing a briefcase from the table. "Here's the prize from that night."
"Figured you guys probably don't need money, but hey—good gear is always nice."
Leo nodded and accepted it. "Might be worth studying. I'll be in touch."
Watching Leo leave, Morton finally let out a long sigh.
Hiring rcs only ends once they're gone.
Truthfully, there was a really awkward truth about both Morton and the traitors—
Neither of them were strong enough to handle two squads of rcs.
Since the nuclear blast, Night City's street-level firepower had weakened quite a bit.
Just like how corps were extra paranoid rebuilding the Net after the Old Net collapsed, Night City had also gotten more strictly regulated over its many rebuilds.
So…
"We really need to rearm…"
Morton walked to the other end of the building. A soldier quickly stepped out from a nearby room and joined him.
"Boss, we lost a lot of people."
"Not enough compensation funds?" Morton frowned. "No way."
"That's not it. It's just... so senior officers didn't have any family…"
"You new here?"
The soldier nodded. Morton said slowly, "If they had no family, transfer their payout to . Think about it with that pig brain of yours. No family, and they still followed —that makes their big bro, right?!"
"Uh… what about the others?"
"The rest get their money as usual. And since you're new, I'm warning you—make sure it goes to the right people. Anyone skimming gets the sa fate as those guys earlier. Rocket. Bullet."
Rockets were expensive. Bullets were much cheaper.
Thinking of that, Morton asked, "Not much left in the account, huh?"
"Not really," the soldier replied. Then hesitated. "We found out sothing from those traitors. Gunner had them researching how to make hallucinogens using Beta Acid. We could maybe—"
"No," Morton shook his head. "Manufacturing is too much of a hassle. Look at this dump—how many chemistry majors do you think live in Santo Domingo?"
"Better to just rob people. Rember, we only do three businesses:
Guns, combat vehicle rental and mods, and security work. Everything else is side jobs. If we do expand, I'll tell you myself."
"Understood."
At the door, Morton looked up and noticed a long line of civilians outside the wire gate.
The soldier quickly explained, "Boss, they're all folks laid off by corps. No severance. Want us to 'get it back' for them."
"So are here to enlist too."
"Get it back," of course, ant selling insider info and helping the Sixth Street Gang run illegal ops.
Morton smiled.
Nice. Fresh blood and new inco streams.
Truthfully, he had other reasons for not making hallucinogens like Gunner—not that he'd admit it to his n.
Burger King was producing drugs now. What if they ended up in a turf war?
And that guy didn't seem to like drugs much.
If he showed up and cut you down in a flash—now that'd be embarrassing.
Better to play it smart. They rob corps? We rob corps too.
"Go check the armory inventory. What's your na?"
"Darius Miles, boss."
"Good. Darius, check the weapons, then go help those little lambs recover their severance.
Montum's on our side now. Tomorrow morning, I want to see us at least make one headline:
'Malicious Wage Protest! Unknown Ard Group Attacks Major Corporation. ssage on the wall: Give Us Our Damn Money.'"
Morton stretched under the sun—he still needed a cyberdoc to run a checkup.
Just then, he got a ssage.
[Sender: Sapphire Blue Nightclub]
[Dear Mr. Morton: Sapphire Blue will be hosting a banquet soon. As a valued VIP client, you are invited.]
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