CYBERPUNK: Travel to 2075

There were twenty-seven mercenaries in total, and compared to the Arasaka security personnel, they were clearly outnumbered.

"Thirty-seven Arasaka security guards plus twenty-seven mercenaries. That makes sixty-four people. Are they planning to fight or escort?"

"If it's a fight, we're definitely short-handed," Oliver remarked, stepping out of the warehouse. His gaze fixed on a vehicle about two hundred meters away, surrounded by Arasaka guards. "Is that the employer's car? It looks strangely familiar."

"Oh my God," Jack muttered, his eyes widening as he spotted the vehicle. "Reffield's Sword of the Lady of the Lake—Guinevere. I know that car. I saw it at its launch press conference. I remember drooling over it."

"What now?"

"My mouth is watering too."

Karl stood silently, studying the car. Relevant details flashed through his mind:

Reffield's Sword of the Lady of the Lake—Guinevere: For car enthusiasts, the name Reffield is synonymous with wealth. This model, in particular, represents the pinnacle of luxury. Its price surpasses the GDP of many island nations. Equipped with a racing-grade engine and an interior akin to a five-star hotel suite, it boasts cutting-edge crystal-ball technology, allowing passengers to view their surroundings without windows. Moreover, its military-grade armor ensures unparalleled safety. On the streets of Night City, challenging this beauty with a standard car would be an exercise in futility.

"How much is this car worth?" Karl asked Oliver, Jack, and Mann, his companions.

"Ten million eurodollars?" Oliver guessed.

Jack, more knowledgeable about luxury vehicles, immediately corrected him. "Twenty-two and a half million eurodollars."

"That number feels like a dream."

Karl stared at the car, lost in thought. Selling such a vehicle could fund countless state-of-the-art prosthetics.

"Stop dreaming about what you don't have," Mann said dryly. Among the group, Mann was the most seasoned mercenary, having seen his fair share of luxury vehicles. Even though it was his first time seeing Guinevere, his reaction was subdued.

"I'm more concerned about something else," Mann continued.

"What's that?"

"We're dead."

"Why would you say that?" Karl asked, frowning.

"A person who rides in a Sword of the Lady of the Lake and is guarded by so many Arasaka security personnel needs disposable idiots like us? What kind of danger do you think they're expecting?"

"I have a guess," Karl replied, his tone calm. His next words, however, made everyone tense. "ACPA."

"ACPA?!" Oliver exclaimed, his expression twisting with dread. "Why do you think that?"

"Just a hunch," Karl said.

"How certain are you?"

"Fifty-fifty. Either I'm right, or I'm wrong."

"Great. That's as helpful as nothing," Oliver grumbled.

Despite his sarcasm, Oliver knew Karl wouldn't voice such a theory without solid reasoning. If they didn't encounter anything, great. But if they did... encountering an ACPA was almost a death sentence.

ACPA—Advanced Combat Powered Armor—wasn't just equipment. It was a walking, human-controlled tank. Oliver, a veteran of the Sixth Street Gang, had faced ACPAs on the battlefield before. Their mercenary-grade equipment couldn't hold a candle to such firepower.

"Let's not overthink. We've accepted the job, so let's do it. Our ride's here," Jack said, watching as several Villefort Alvarado V4F 570 Mission vehicles approached.

Villefort Alvarado V4F 570 Mission: A massive, luxurious vehicle often seen cruising the streets of Night City. Riding in one wasn't just transportation—it was a statement of wealth.

"I always wanted to ride in one of these when I was a kid," Mann said as he watched others board. "Sitting in this kind of car makes you feel rich. I didn't expect I'd finally get the chance on a mission."

"Are we forming a convoy through Watson District?" Mann continued. "This is going to draw a lot of attention. Honestly, if we just floor it in the Sword of the Lady of the Lake, we'd get there in ten minutes."

"And risk hackers controlling traffic lights or rerouting us into an ambush," Oliver retorted as he opened the car door. "For the record, if our employer is so rich, why not use a flying car? No road, no ambush."

"That works until some hacker grounds it," Jack said, climbing in. "What do you think, Karl?"

Karl sat in the passenger seat, allowing the autopilot to take over. "I think 80% of the attackers are likely moles within the security team. They'd know the convoy's route in advance. Otherwise, I can't see why we're using such a predictable method."

"You're saying there's a mole in Arasaka's security team?"

Karl nodded. "If you can't trust your own people, hiring mercenaries like us is only going to muddy the waters further. Mercenaries only care about money, after all."

Karl was convinced there were infiltrators—people like Blanca and Juanito—within Arasaka. But he couldn't understand why Arasaka couldn't root them out. Was it incompetence? Or was this all intentional, orchestrated by someone higher up?

If the target truly was Sakura, there were undoubtedly those who wanted her alive and others who wanted her dead. Protectors and attackers, both arranged by powers above, made this situation seem like a deadly office game.

This wasn't just a mission—it was a trial. A trial of Sakura, where countless lives hung in the balance.

And in Night City, trials always left blood in their wake.

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