Cyberpunk: The Ultimate Saga

"Biersen, where are we eating today?" Tarkov grinned, slinging his arm casually around Biersen's shoulder.

"High-end Japanese cuisine?" Biersen replied, gathering the last of his scattered documents.

"No way. I want hotpot!" Tarkov refused with a wave of his hand. "What's so special about sushi and sashimi? Chinese food is the king of all cuisines!"

"Alright, alright. Little Chinatown it is," Biersen chuckled.

Ever since Biersen began collaborating with Leon Black, his entire lifestyle had shifted. Every piece of intel he submitted was processed efficiently, and payment was nearly instantaneous. This surprised him—Tarkov had once told him that loot fencing required time and trusted channels, so compensation usually took a while.

But working with Leon was different. Lena Fox handled logistics like a machine—verifying the loot's worth, negotiating with fences, and making immediate payouts using her and Leon's private funds. As for collecting the money back? That was a long game they could afford to wait on.

For Biersen, this system was a dream come true. He felt energized, even a bit giddy with success.

---

At a cozy restaurant in Little Chinatown, a steaming pot of bright red hot broth bubbled between them. The smell of spice filled the air. With small glasses of baijiu in hand, the two men toasted and began eating with gusto.

"Haha! This is amazing!" Biersen roared, face flushed, clearly tipsy from the strong liquor.

"Yeah, this is the life," Tarkov laughed. He was much more composed, clearly the veteran when it came to surviving Night City's game.

"Biersen, you've been smiling a lot lately."

"Yeah? I guess I have. I'm really happy." Biersen laughed and slapped Tarkov's back. "It's like I've been reborn."

"That's good to hear," Tarkov said sincerely. "You used to look miserable."

"Hah, you're right. I was just scraping by." Biersen drained his cup and sighed. "If I'd woken up sooner, started sooner like you, I'd already be rich."

Tarkov's eyes gleamed with a strange light.

"Like me, huh? What's so great about me? Living alone, paycheck to paycheck. At least you've got a family. A kid on the way too, right?"

"Haha! True. You'll find someone too, Tarkov. With the money you're making, you'll be turning people away."

Tarkov sighed, downing another drink. "If only. I'm almost broke again."

"You? Broke?" Biersen frowned. "Didn't you say you were getting solid orders from that intel deal?"

"Well, that's the thing." Tarkov lowered his voice. "The security department's tightening up. Orders are fewer, slower."

"Huh. That's strange. I haven't noticed anything like that," Biersen said, puzzled.

Tarkov raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Wait, Biersen… you too?"

"Yeah, I've been selling intel too." He didn't bother hiding it—he trusted Tarkov. "But the orders haven't slowed at all. Honestly, I can't keep up with the demand. I was thinking about getting some help—was even considering you."

Tarkov gave him a sly grin. "Actually, I've got a job. A big one. Interested?"

"Me?" Biersen blinked. "Why me? What about your squad?"

"They can't take it."

"Why not?"

"Because it's a Militech order."

Snap.

That single word sobered Biersen instantly. He stared at Tarkov like he'd gone mad.

Tarkov just smiled. "Relax, man. Think about what you want more—loyalty to your employer or a mountain of eddies to sleep on?"

Biersen's mind raced. Sure, the payout sounded incredible, but if he were caught...

Wait.

Suddenly, a chilling thought dawned on him. "Wait… You're saying… those guys chasing me—they're not Militech?"

Tarkov pressed a finger to his lips. "Shh."

Biersen's entire body trembled. He'd never once thought to confirm who he was actually working with. They said they were Militech, but…

"Now do you see?" Tarkov whispered. "That's why I came to you."

Biersen said nothing, but the weight of realization was crushing.

Tarkov sighed and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I get it. It's hard. But you can't stop now. They know you. If you ghost them, they'll know you've figured it out."

Biersen's eyes dimmed.

"They pay you fast so you'll get addicted," Tarkov said softly. "They feed you to fatten you up—so it's easier when they finally gut you."

The change in Biersen had been drastic. Everyone noticed—especially Tarkov. Someone out there was targeting Militech. Whether it was Arasaka, Biotechnica, Kang Tao, or Zeta Tech, it didn't matter.

Tarkov didn't need to know who. He just needed to expose them—and Biersen was the bait.

---

That night, Biersen returned home, still in a daze.

His pregnant wife met him at the door, gently taking his briefcase and frowning as she peeled off his liquor-stained jacket. She didn't complain. Life had gotten better recently. Biersen was finally making real money—whether through promotions, bonuses, or something else.

She didn't care how. In Night City, a man was worth what he could bring home.

---

Biersen sank into the bathtub, the warm water sloshing over his tired limbs. Eyes closed, he replayed every decision, every intel drop, every payment.

"No such thing as a free lunch," he muttered.

He looked out the window at the dark, starless sky. The Corporate Wars had left deep scars on Earth. Less than ten percent of the planet was still habitable.

And yet... people still schemed, still fought.

Would it never end?

Would humanity only stop once one final victor stood alone?

Biersen didn't know the answer. He didn't even know what choice he'd make tomorrow.

But a choice—some choice—had to be made.

---

The Next Day

In a secure office, Lena Fox handed a data chip to Leon Black.

"Leon, this one's from a Militech insider."

"Oh?" Leon, mid-Tai Chi pose in the courtyard, smirked. "Now that's… interesting."

---

Santo Domingo – Valley District Basement

"Where is Evelyn!?" Dexter roared.

V's head snapped back from the blow. Blood dripped from her mouth. Her eyes were swollen and bruised.

"I-I told you—I don't know!" she gasped.

Dexter growled, grabbed her collar, and punched again.

"You don't know?! How could you not know?!"

He kept hitting until V's head slumped forward.

This is it, she thought. Am I going to die here?

She thought she'd covered her tracks. But Dexter had connections—real ones. He couldn't find Evelyn, so he targeted V and Jackie.

Jackie, the one constant link.

Once he had V, it didn't matter how she disguised herself—her body gave her away.

No Evelyn. No explanation. Just rage.

Now, he was trying to beat the truth out of her.

But even if she did know something, V wasn't telling.

After minutes of relentless violence, Dexter slumped into a nearby chair, panting and drenched in sweat.

"You're a tough one."

"Peh—" V spat blood. "Didn't think you'd dirty your hands. Thought you'd send someone."

"I'm not as stupid as you think," Dexter snapped. "I planned everything perfectly. You blew it."

"Dexter," V said hoarsely, "we need to work together if we're going to survive this. Even if you kill me, Arasaka will find you. You can't hide from them."

"If you're dead, there's no trail. They won't bother," he sneered.

"Do you know what I saw when I stole the chip?" V whispered.

Dexter's eyes widened. "Shut up!"

"I saw Yorinobu kill Saburo Arasaka."

Dexter froze in horror.

"I SAW HIM KILL HIS FATHER!" V shouted. "You're screwed, Dexter. Completely screwed!"

He panicked and resumed hitting her—but with less purpose now, more desperation.

Eventually, he stopped and lit a cigar, hand trembling.

"You really don't fear death."

"If I feared death, I wouldn't be me," V smirked, blood glistening on her teeth.

The weak light flickering overhead painted her face with a ghostly glow.

"Do you remember what you asked me when I took the gig?" she asked.

Dexter nodded slowly. "To be a nobody… or to be famous."

V hadn't answered back then.

Now she had.

Dexter looked at her, a strange excitement brewing behind his exhausted eyes.

"So what now?" he asked, knowing they were in it together now.

"If we can take down Yorinobu Arasaka…" he said, voice trembling with ambition, "We'll be legends."

pàtreøn (Gk31)