[TN: I'm back from finishing my midterm, also cyberpunk 2075 was deleted by webtoon for some reason, someone reported for plagiarism, so that's dead in the water, so for now I'm just gonna focus on this]
The Maelstrom Gang robs and steals, but in a society where networks are fragmented and high-tech surveillance is everywhere, how do they pick their targets?
Everyone knows companies are stingy—so are all the people oppressed by the companies just helpless little lambs?
Of course not. The little lambs would've long since been roasted whole.
A homeless man at the factory gate can replace his blind eye and record the factory's shift changes and working hours for the Maelstrom Gang.
Unlucky workers who can't repay their loans will find ways to get money; employees fired without reason will find ways to get their own compensation; those who suffer work injuries without getting proper compensation will turn around and show the factories what the real iron fist of Night City feels like.
The tips the Maelstrom Gang receives are countless. If they want to stay active all year, there's basically no time to rest.
In fact, sometimes the locals even want the Maelstrom Gang to ruthlessly rob the companies.
"You're saying you weren't kidnapped?"
"No." A man with filthy, messy hair shook his head. "Yesterday, when I saw the team leader running away, I snagged a big bag of meds. Pretty expensive stuff. I saw where he hid his stash."
"You just sold your team leader out to the Maelstrom Gang like that?"
The man spat on the ground. "Fuck him. I wish he was dead."
The foul language made Jefferson's head throb.
He could see the fear and terror in the man's eyes, being in the Maelstrom Gang's turf—but he could also see the hatred he held for his team leader.
"Why? You guys got beef?"
"That old bastard made us pass messages to the Maelstrom Gang two months ago. When things went south, he turned around and docked our safety bonuses—and pocketed his own share of the cut!
They docked 800 eddies from us, and only gave us 900 to split! And he said he was sorry!?"
The man fumed angrily, and he wasn't finished yet—he ranted on about how the team leader manipulated production quotas and tried to make himself look good.
"He kept saying young people have to endure hardship, and by the time you're his age, you can enjoy life—enjoy my ass! He just sold his ass to the production manager!
Goddamn it, because I believed the bullshit he fed us, I can't even pay my loan anymore. My wife nags me every day to make more money to buy that 'high-intelligence' formula for our kid—
Sigh... bro, I know even more dirt about that factory. I just hope when you guys hit it, you can throw me a few scraps.
My kid needs formula to drink. The doctor said he's got a congenital heart defect. Only way to treat it is through loans.
But it's okay. Once he's six, he can start working too. I already checked the repayment schedule—between me, my kid, and his mom, we can keep up."
So here was a worker, a father, a husband—and also a criminal.
A criminal who planned to betray.
Jefferson was at a loss for words.
And he knew—this wasn't an isolated case.
Are these people miserable?
Very miserable.
But after seeing these people, his head throbbed violently, and he even thought: to a large extent, they brought this upon themselves!
The so-called "companies" that are evil beyond measure, if you narrow the definition, aren't necessarily complete perpetrators.
You have to understand, besides those corporate giants, there are also many small companies struggling just to survive.
When corporate security can't be guaranteed, costs go up, factory profits shrink further, and the companies, in turn, squeeze even harder on their "legitimate" living space.
This is another vicious cycle.
In Watson North, because companies were unwilling to move in, the area remained underemployed for years, and many people had no choice but to wander the streets.
Once he broadened his thinking, Jefferson's clever mind immediately thought of countless, complex social reaction chains.
He even felt a little lost: had he really never opened his eyes to see this city?
This was also Leo's small doubt about this mayor.
According to Jefferson's personal resume, he was a native of Night City, even born in Heywood, where his parents ran a restaurant.
He was born in 2031—back when Night City's skies were still tinted a faint red, shrouded under the radiation clouds from nuclear blasts.
Even if he had lived under a rock, he shouldn't have been completely ignorant of all this.
Sometimes, Jefferson gave Leo the feeling that he saw the mayor's seat merely as a switch to solve problems.
As if, once seated, every issue would obediently resolve under his control.
But how exactly to get there—the details and methods—were ridiculously vague, as shown by this very mission.
On a political level, Jefferson's ideas were very clear, but when it came to specifics, it was as if he became a different person.
Of course, Leo could probably guess the reason. He was just trying to confirm it.
One could glimpse a bit of Jefferson's political philosophy.
Jefferson pressed his hands to his forehead, sweat pouring down the sides of his face like he was performing a dangerous netrunning hack.
Suddenly, he stumbled back a step! Startling everyone present.
"I need a break..."
He staggered out of the room, pulled a pneumatic injector from the pocket under his jacket, and pressed it against his neck.
Pssh.
The drug entered his body, and Jefferson slumped onto a table, visibly relieved from some of the pain.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead and cheeks. "Sorry, maybe the recent work pressure has been too much... but about the Maelstrom gang..."
"I can tell," Leo said, closing the door behind him. "According to our previous contract, I can provide you with a large amount of intel to help you wipe out these criminals.
By my initial estimates, the crime rate can drop by about 10 points—maybe even slightly below the city's average.
But compared to your rich districts, I'm guessing that's still not low enough."
Meaning: taking down the Maelstrom and the residents associated with them would only impact the crime rate by around 20 points.
But what about the rest of the crime?
The answer was becoming obvious, shattering the last bit of hope Jefferson clung to.
Leo took two steps forward, stopping in front of a second room.
"Inside here are some residents who hoped to buy functional cyberware from the Maelstrom. Not exactly legal—and some even wanted combat implants."
"Which, of course, are illegal." Leo shrugged. "Other than that, it's just the usual small fry: street brawls, hit-and-runs, road rage shootings... A few minor crimes too, like insulting corporate reps or improper pizza consumption... Crimes you're probably more familiar with than I am."
"But those people are out of my hands now. Let's get back to our agreement—
If we just deal with these people, I can help you drop the crime rate by another dozen or so points.
We could even follow your earlier idea: simply take out the ones sticking their heads out too far.
What do you want me to do? Conveniently, the NCPD Commissioner is right outside—am I wrong?"
The NCPD Commissioner was indeed outside, in the car Reeve had indicated.
If Jefferson decided to keep using this method to gain an election advantage, they could immediately start shipping off the criminals in hand.
"I..." Jefferson had just pumped himself full of stimulants, but even that couldn't suppress the pain now. Still, he knew this was a critical decision—one he couldn't avoid thinking through.
Crime harms society. But if criminals are part of society...
What exactly was he trying to protect? The people? Or society itself?
The so-called "ordinary citizens" of Night City weren't some kind of pure white lotuses.
They weren't a flock of helpless little birds waiting to be saved.
They had their own lives, their own petty schemes. Cowardly yet vicious.
They feared gangs but colluded with them. They bowed and scraped before corporations, but wouldn't hesitate to stab them in the back.
Muddled values, blurred sense of good and evil—that was the true face of Night City.
Jefferson's brain throbbed sharply: he knew this, he thought he knew this.
But maybe all these years of success had made him arrogant.
He wanted to invest in education, teach people what was good and what was bad.
He wanted to build a powerful social institution, assign everyone a job, and create an orderly society.
As if the "common people" had always been tragic victims, waiting all along for a savior.
But that wasn't the truth.
Bang!
Jefferson's knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor.
Leo reacted quickly, pulling another stimulant from Jefferson's suit and injecting it without hesitation.
Pssh—
"We're not finished here yet, Mr. Peralez. Or were you planning to go home and rest first?"
The stimulant entered again. Jefferson's pain didn't lessen much, but it gave him enough strength to stand.
"No... Let's finish this!"
"Good." Leo nodded. "Then tell me your choice."
"...I want to hear your opinion," Jefferson said, lifting his head.
"My opinion?" Leo smiled. "These people are short-sighted, only able to see the shallowest parts of the world; greedy, abandoning thought at the first sight of profit; cowardly, afraid of those stronger than themselves.
But if you defeat the people they fear, reshape their worldview, and point out a path toward a brighter future...
You'll find they suddenly become so obedient and adorable—far-sighted, restrained, even brave."
Jefferson bowed his head, chewing over these words. Then he suddenly looked up and said, "You can't just be a merc."
"I am a merc. I'm just smarter than most."
(End of Chapter)