"An activity recorder... that's one of those devices that constantly logs the carrier's location and conversations, right? And stores all that data," Karl said, clearly familiar with what Rogue had just mentioned.
Commonly used by corporate personnel, the device served both as a tracker and a surveillance tool. Corporations typically had entire departments dedicated to retrieving and reviewing employees' activity recorders to monitor daily movements—and even to investigate possible betrayals.
While its functions were practical, inside megacorps it had essentially become a mandatory tool. The lower one's rank, the more restrictions came with it. But at the executive level—especially someone like Hanako Arasaka—the recorder served more as a personal diary or emergency locator. Its contents typically included her recent schedule and private logs. No one had clearance to review it.
And yet, Rogue wanted access to this device.
Obviously, the person who truly wanted the intel behind Rogue's request wasn't Rogue herself.
Information on Hanako Arasaka's whereabouts wasn't something Rogue could just casually get her hands on.
With that kind of data, one could track her every movement—and with that knowledge, the power to act would rest solely in the hands of the intel holder.
Karl had been on a similar mission before. During an assignment with the New American Intelligence Agency, Lied had retrieved classified data on President Rosalind Myers' movements. That data alone had directly endangered her life. Hanako Arasaka's itinerary carried the same weight.
Yet Rogue had only asked for a copy of the data—not to steal it outright.
More importantly, during the window when Karl and Johnny would have access to the activity recorder, they'd be close enough to take direct action against Hanako herself. If that were the objective, they wouldn't need to go through the trouble of extracting data first.
That meant the person behind Rogue's request wasn't looking to harm Hanako—at least not yet. They simply wanted to know where she'd been, what she'd done.
A name flashed through Karl's mind—the one most likely to want that information.
Rogue's real client...
Michiko Arasaka?
To this day, Karl still received regular monthly payments from Danger Girl Investigations. His instincts stirred.
After all, he'd been on the payroll for years. If this little side job also happened to help out the company's mysterious boss—the one who never asked for favors but always paid on time—then yeah… he owed her this one.
For the first time, Karl understood the old tradition of "retaining scholars": You didn't ask them for anything. You just gave them money, security, and even took care of their families. Then, when the time came and you truly needed something—anyone with a shred of conscience would answer the call.
Karl had occasionally handled tasks for Danger Girl, minor ones. But the value of those jobs didn't come close to what he'd been paid. Whether he realized it or not, he had a debt to repay. Now, by doing this job, he could finally balance that tab.
So he picked up the chip Rogue had tossed and casually slotted it into his phone. As the data began loading, the phone's temperature skyrocketed. Streams of information raced across the screen like a torrent.
The intel on the chip was absurdly detailed—so precise, even locals would feel outclassed. Maps of Japantown, routes of the parade float, starting and ending points, surveillance nodes, sniper nests, access points—everything was clearly marked. The entire parade was laid out before Karl like an open book.
Even Johnny Silverhand, for once, showed restraint. Quietly, like a proper merc, he slotted in the chip and studied the data.
Then Rogue noticed something strange: heat.
Intense heat—coming from Karl's phone.
The data transfer rate was exceeding the device's tolerance. White smoke began curling from the casing. Its surface grew dangerously hot.
And yet, in Karl's focused eyes, the phone might as well have been cold steel.
Rogue had heard a rumor floating among fixers: Karl's phone had been modified. If it exploded, the blast radius would rival a micro-bomb.
She quickly calculated the distance between herself and Karl. Her pulse spiked. Just as she opened her mouth to warn him—
"Karl—"
BOOM!
Before she could finish, the phone sparked violently. It was seconds from blowing.
But in that split second—Karl moved.
Of course he'd noticed the phone's condition. He'd simply wanted to finish reading everything before it went off.
Luckily, he was fast enough. The data was already burned into his memory. As for the explosion...
Just as the fire flared up, Karl released the phone. It dropped straight down. Then, in a blur, he brought both hands together like lightning—palms facing, slamming shut.
CRACK! BOOMF! SSSZZZT—
The sound of metal crushing and a faint explosion burst between Karl's hands. What should have rocked the entire lounge was instead completely contained in his grip—just a few tiny sparks flickering out before vanishing.
Rogue broke into a cold sweat. She'd just brushed shoulders with death itself.
Karl, however, remained unfazed. Calm as ever, he said lightly, "I finished going over the intel. All clear."
He looked so composed, it was almost laughable—like a student calmly finishing their reading assignment. If you ignored the fact that his phone nearly exploded moments ago.
"You…"
Rogue stared at the charred remnants of the phone crumbling from Karl's hand. Wisps of smoke still rose from them.
Then she looked at Karl again. She didn't know whether she should resume the briefing—or gently "suggest" that carrying around an improvised explosive device wasn't exactly reassuring behavior.
But then a darker thought crept in.
Even if the phone only had the power of a micro-bomb, Karl had just caught it bare-handed—calmly—and contained the blast within his palms. That wasn't just about his famous cyberarms. That kind of strength…
"Karl?"
His voice snapped her out of it. She'd been lost in thought. But now, realizing the briefing had to go on, she quickly recovered her usual poise.
"Ahem… Good. As long as you've seen the data. Now that you know the plan, you two can begin the mission."
Her palms and back were still slick with sweat—but she managed to sound composed.
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-🔥 CYBERPUNK: THE RELENTLESS
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🔥 THE STORY DOESN'T STOP HERE. NEITHER DOES HE.
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Some crawl away.
Some disappear.
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⚡ NO BRAKES. NO MERCY. NO TURNING BACK.
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