22. This Is a Trial

There were twenty-seven mercenaries in total, which surprisingly made them the outnumbered party when compared to the Arasaka security personnel wearing Arasaka uniforms.

"Thirty-seven Arasaka security guards, plus twenty-seven mercenaries—that makes sixty-four people. Are they going to war or providing an escort?"

"If it's a war, the headcount is still a bit too small."

Answering Jack's remark, Oliver walked out of the warehouse and looked at the vehicles parked nearly two hundred meters away, tightly guarded by Arasaka security personnel. "Is that the employer's car? Why does it look so painfully familiar to me?"

"Oh, my god."

Jack also caught sight of the car and let out an involuntary gasp. "A Rayfield Caliburn. I know that ride. I watched the release presentation when it first came out, and I remember drooling all over myself back then."

"And what about now?"

"Still drooling just as much."

"Hah."

Chuckling softly, Carl stared at the vehicle as relevant information flashed through his mind.

[Rayfield Caliburn]: To anyone who knows cars, simply hearing the name Rayfield is synonymous with wealth. Indeed, this is an automobile built exclusively for the ultra-wealthy. Especially the Caliburn, whose price tag already exceeds the GDP of many island nations. As a symbol of ultimate wealth, the Caliburn's engine can rival any professional racing car, and its interior is as luxurious as a five-star hotel suite. Thanks to crystal-ball projection technology, passengers can view the entire scenery outside without needing a single window. Of course, this also maximizes the safety of those inside. If you happen to encounter this little beauty on the street, don't even think about pulling out your Lexington to test her armor—it's military-grade.

"How much do you guys think a car like that is worth?"

Carl kept his gaze fixed on the Caliburn, directing the question to Oliver, Jack, and Maine nearby.

"Ten million eddies?" Oliver guessed.

Jack, who was noticeably more knowledgeable about cars, immediately blurted out the price: "Twenty-two million five hundred thousand eddies."

"That number sounds like a dream."

Carl stared at the car. If they sold that thing, how many of the latest cyberware upgrades could they afford?

"Stop daydreaming about impossible things."

Maine seemed the most nonchalant of them all. He had been a mercenary longer than any of them and had seen his fair share of luxury cars. Although it was his first time laying eyes on a Caliburn, once you got used to it, there was nothing to be surprised about.

Maine said, "Do you guys know what I'm thinking right now?"

"What are you thinking?"

"We're dead for sure."

"Why would you say that?" Carl withdrew his gaze, looking somewhat puzzled.

"Anyone who can ride in a Caliburn and has this many Arasaka guards protecting them, yet still needs disposable idiots like us to act as cannon fodder—what kind of danger do you think we're going to run into next?"

"I actually have a guess about that."

Carl dropped a term that instantly caused the expressions of Maine, Jack, and Oliver to drastically change: "ACPA."

"ACPA?!"

Hearing the word drop from Carl's lips, Oliver's face twisted. "Why would your mind jump to that?"

"I have some clues, sort of?"

"How confident are you?"

"Fifty-fifty. Fifty percent chance I'm right, fifty percent chance I'm wrong."

"You basically said nothing at all!"

Even though Oliver said that, he knew very well that if Carl didn't actually have some sort of lead, he wouldn't throw out a fifty-fifty proposition at a time like this. In other words, if they didn't run into anything major, fine; but if they truly crossed paths with trouble, there was a ninety-nine percent chance the opponent would be an ACPA.

Although Oliver used to dismiss ACPAs when talking to Carl and Jack, claiming they were just expensive corporate consumables, when facing one for real, he understood the lethality of an Advanced Combat Power Armor better than anyone. After all, the Valentinos—correction, the 6th Street gang—had stashed away light ACPAs, and their veterans had actually encountered them on the battlefield.

Sure, their mercenary crew was well-equipped, but they couldn't possibly compare to an ACPA. What was an ACPA? It was a walking humanoid tank.

"Stop overthinking it. We've already taken the job, so just fulfill our duty. Our ride is here."

Jack watched as several empty Vilefort Alvarado V4F 570 Emissaries rolled in from the distance and came to a halt in front of them, deducing that these must be the transport vehicles for the mercenaries and Arasaka security.

[Vilefort Alvarado V4F 570 Emissary]: An exorbitantly expensive and massive automobile. Cruising down the street in this isn't called going for a drive; it's called making a patrol. For many residents of Night City, the Alvarado is the ultimate embodiment of flaunting extravagant wealth.

"I always wanted to ride in one of these when I was a kid. What street kid wouldn't love a car like this? Getting inside makes you feel like you've finally made it big. Who would've thought that after becoming a mercenary, I'd get to casually ride in one just for a gig," Maine remarked, watching the other mercenaries board the vehicles as well. "Are we supposed to form a convoy and drive straight through Watson? Won't that make us way too conspicuous? If you ask me, since they've got a Caliburn, they should just floor the gas pedal and barrel through. I guarantee we'd reach the destination in ten minutes."

"And then get intercepted by a netrunner who alters the traffic lights or route, forcing a collision and trapping the target right where the ambushers are waiting?"

Oliver pushed open the door as he spoke. "Honestly, since the employer is this filthy rich, why not grab an AV? Fly right over from the sky—guaranteed no obstacles. Don't modern AVs come with anti-netrunner subroutines?"

"That only stops ordinary netrunners. What AV doesn't require control equipment these days? Do you really think whoever is targeting a VIP with this much manpower and money wouldn't be able to hire a top-tier netrunner? If we tried that, we'd probably crash the moment we took off, with nowhere to run in the sky," Jack argued, looking at Carl, who had already settled into the passenger seat of the car. "Carl, what's your take?"

"My take is that I'm keeping my eyes open. To be honest, I suspect there's a rat among the security detail. The moment the target moves, the enemy knows about it. Otherwise, I seriously can't think of any other reason why they'd insist on moving personnel in a street convoy."

"You mean someone inside the target's personal security detail might be working for the attackers?"

Carl shifted into the driver's seat. Since the luxury vehicle drove itself, he was just going through the motions.

"If they couldn't even trust the people closest to them, would they bother drafting in mercenaries like us to muddy the waters even more? And what are mercenaries anyway? We're just people who only recognize money."

By now, Carl was entirely certain of his hypothesis: within Arasaka's ranks, there were definitely moles akin to "Blanca" and "Juanito." What he still couldn't wrap his head around, however, was why a mega-corporation like Arasaka couldn't root out internal security moles.

Or perhaps... within Arasaka, moles of that caliber were deliberately positioned by higher-ups precisely because of the target's identity, meaning they couldn't be exposed—and weren't meant to be investigated?

If the target truly was Yorinobu—or rather, Hanako—then naturally, many people would want him (or her) to live, while just as many wanted him (or her) dead. Yet, arranging this kind of heavily guarded protection while simultaneously orchestrating potential ambushes brought to mind a term far more likely than mere corporate infighting.

That term was...

A test.

Or perhaps.

A trial.

A trial conducted using an untold number of lives, meant specifically for the scion of Arasaka.

There were always those who remained obsessed with cherry blossoms in the rain.