Gearbound: Cyberpunk 2077

JoAnne's mind raced as she tried to figure out what the other person wanted. What was his goal?

"Emilia Mordon is a Biotechnica employee. Do you realize what it means to lay a hand on company personnel? I can trace your address in no time and send a security squad to wipe you out."

Leo already anticipated she would feign ignorance, so he cut straight to the point.

"JoAnne Koch, you got that R&D Director position through backdoor connections, didn't you? Don't you think this charade is pointless? Why not come clean?"

"Let me be direct: I know all about your dirty dealings, and I also know exactly how Emilia tried to threaten you before. All the evidence is in my possession right now."

JoAnne's eyelid twitched, but she kept up her act. "You're lying."

Leo let out a cold laugh and sent one of the video files he had just obtained to JoAnne. "Do you believe me now? Still think I'm lying?"

The short ten-second clip showed JoAnne ordering Emilia to dispose of infected Biotechnica soldiers who had cleaned up after JoAnne's mess. Though brief, it was enough to destroy JoAnne's façade.

At last, JoAnne dropped the pretense. "What do you want?"

"I'm a merc. Obviously, I want money."

"Fine. Send me everything you have, and name your price. I'll pay."

"No deal. I don't trust you."

She wasn't surprised. "Then what do you suggest?"

"One million. In cash. I won't accept a transfer."

"A million? In cash? Do you have any idea what that entails?"

JoAnne nearly choked on her words. A million? She only had a little over three hundred thousand in her account. Her monthly salary was substantial, but her expenses were also huge—a mansion in North Oak, Trauma Team Platinum coverage, a high-tier Delamain subscription, and countless pieces of designer apparel, shoes, hats, bags, luxury jewelry, plus all her private treatments at beauty clinics and wellness centers. It all added up.

A person who just makes money without spending it is basically a miser, right?

Leo silently agreed. Of course you don't have that much on hand. If, by some miracle, you actually did pay me, that would be troublesome in its own way.

"Tomorrow at three in the afternoon, meet me in Rocky Ridge outside Night City. If you don't show, or if you're even a minute late, your dirty laundry will make headlines on WNS."

"I know you pinned most of this on Diana Kuno, but think about it—when your scandal hits WNS, won't Biotechnica just cut you loose to protect itself?"

Before JoAnne could say another word, Leo ended the call. As he and Kiwi headed out, he tossed the phone into a bucket of water, making sure Biotechnica wouldn't track them through it.

…...

..

.

That night, under a star-filled sky with a gentle breeze, Leo rode his Fenrir bike out of Night City. He stopped in a secluded stretch of the Badlands far from the highway. After scouting around, he decided this location would do, then lifted a large case off Fenrir's back and opened it. Inside were several disc-shaped EMP mines.

Leo dug multiple holes, buried the mines, and covered them over without leaving any sign of disturbed soil. He wasn't worried someone might wander into his minefield by accident—this spot lay well off the road. People rarely ventured into the Badlands unless they had a good reason, and the area was risky to begin with. Even if someone did stumble in, 2077 mines came with fail-safes that prevented accidental detonations unless forcibly triggered by, say, a grenade or gunfire. In that case, it would be on them—"Heaven may pardon a sin born of fate, but not one of sheer stupidity."

With everything set, Leo remounted Fenrir and vanished into the darkness.

…

The next day, the desert sun blazed, and the high temperature made the air shimmer. The ground felt like a scorching metal plate. On the highway outside Night City, a convoy of vehicles headed toward Rocky Ridge. The place had once been part of a real estate development plan around Night City—satellite towns meant to soak those who couldn't afford housing in the city center. However, that plan, like many others in Santo Domingo and the Pacifica region, had collapsed. People who had invested lost everything, and Rocky Ridge turned into a ghost town.

JoAnne rode in the center of an armored SUV, having decided to meet Leo in person. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that the only foolproof way to handle the situation was to eliminate whoever possessed her incriminating information. She certainly couldn't produce a million eddies in cash on short notice, and she hadn't planned to pay anyway.

The demand for cash alone told her this opponent was a pro. Electronic transfers could be frozen or traced. Cash didn't have that problem. JoAnne had no intention of risking a payoff and hoping the blackmailer would surrender every piece of evidence, especially if she were in the blackmailer's shoes—she would never completely hand over everything.

She'd hold on to the juiciest bits for future leverage, milking the target over time. That was just common sense for maximum profit.

So JoAnne spent last night tossing and turning. She concluded her only real option was to handle this herself and stop the threat for good.

Originally, she could have simply ordered her soldiers to take care of it while she sat in comfort at the Biotechnica hotel, waiting for good news. But she needed to be sure. It was possible her adversary—being no amateur—would hide and wait to see if she arrived in person before revealing himself. Besides, her major's people had lost track of Emilia once before, leading to all this trouble.

JoAnne refused to risk another blunder.

As JoAnne stared out the window at the endless desert, a Brennan Apollo roared up alongside the convoy. Rather than emphasizing sleek elegance or luxurious consoles, the Apollo was built for rough, sandy terrain, complete with an enormous fuel tank, sturdy frame, and resilient suspension. It was a staple among Nomads who lived and breathed the harsh climate of the Badlands—able to go for miles without refueling, traverse rock-strewn terrain with ease, and outrun any pack of gear-swinging bandits.

The rider wore typical Nomad gear. JoAnne's expression instantly soured. She despised the way some people romanticized these "highway bandits."

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