Carl sat in the passenger seat of the Hera, boots resting lazily on the dashboard, the dirty windshield throwing back slivers of neon from the Vista del Rey street signs. The city blurred past in sodium-yellow streaks and shifting synthwave echoes, but Carl wasn't seeing any of it. His mind was moving faster than the car, piecing together the scattered puzzle of the past few weeks—threads snapping into place like tension wires ready to snap.
He'd always had a talent for this—some called it intuition, others just called it freak luck. Carl called it what it was: summary. Pattern recognition. His edge in Night City wasn't faster chrome or a bigger gun; it was the ability to see things before they happened because he'd already figured out how they got there. Right now, that ability was firing on all cylinders.
Starting with the cargo.
Maelstrom had stirred the hornet's nest in Kabuki, territory owned by the Tiger Claws. They hit a Six Street shipment moving through Watson. Then they jacked a delivery linked to Blanca's employer. And just earlier today, a Militech field agent—half chrome, all attitude—was leaning on Old Freight for answers about freight routes between Heywood and City Center. That meant Militech lost cargo too.
He reached for his agent and opened a chat with Blanca. He already knew the answer, but confirmation mattered when the stakes were this high.Carl: Just reminding myself—you're still with Militech, right?Blanca: Still and always. Why—looking to join us?Carl: Nope, just keeping my records straight.Blanca: Something happen? You asking for work—or because of Faraday?Carl let that question hang unanswered. He'd already gotten what he needed.
Chrome-face agent? Connected. Blanca's whispers about transport data? Same. Her rivalry with Juanito wasn't just workplace drama—it was cover for something deeper. Carl recalled Juanito's sneer during their first job: "That delivery proof you torched? Don't worry—I've got plenty more." Blanca had been selling Militech intel long before Carl entered the picture. Maelstrom had been buying it.
Which meant they weren't just being chaotic. They were looking for something.
Something big enough to justify provoking Six Street, Tiger Claws, Militech—and maybe even the Valentinos if the jobs dipped far enough into Heywood. No one picked that many fights unless they were backed by someone stronger, someone feeding them coordinates, cargo times, weakness charts.
He blinked, mind shifting to that old rescue gig—the one with the Scavs. There'd been a glitchy visual, low-res footage pulled from someone's deck. A flash of something—maybe ACPA-grade, heavy armor, exo-tier. Combat gear that didn't belong in some scrap-shack warehouse.
The Scavs and Maelstrom worked together often enough. One gutted chrome, the other bled it. If that image had come from a chip extracted off a dead Maelstrom goon, it might explain the footage. Which raised another question: what the hell had they been chasing?
Then there was the cyberpsycho—the one Carl had personally dropped near Kabuki. Amid the screams and the unfiltered madness, the guy had muttered one word: Tiger Claw. The moment he said it, something flickered behind his eyes. Lucidity. Purpose. Like that name still meant something to whatever was left of him.
Carl hadn't thought much of it at the time. Now? Now it felt like a loaded trigger.
That psycho had been carrying a data shard. It bore a message:
"The cherry blossom born of chrysanthemum and rose has arrived in the City of Nightlight."
It sounded poetic at first—junk street metaphors. But not if you took it apart using the logic of the Tiger Claws. A Japanese-rooted gang obsessed with hierarchy, symbolism, ritual.
Start with flowers. Japan had two unofficial "national" flowers. The chrysanthemum—the symbol of royalty, the Imperial family. And the cherry blossom—sakura—beloved by the people, fleeting, beautiful, delicate. Then the rose—America's national flower.
So put it together.
The sakura is the child. The offspring of the chrysanthemum and the rose—an Arasaka heir and an American.
Carl's stomach tightened. The message wasn't code. It was lineage.
This cherry blossom—this target—was born of nobility on one side and American blood on the other. A child not fully accepted by either, perhaps, but one whose mere existence had political weight.
And now, they were in Night City.
If Tiger Claw and Arasaka knew? If Militech was involved? Then things were spiraling fast.
Carl leaned forward slightly, watching the city churn past through the fogged glass. Jackie was humming something under his breath behind him, oblivious. Oliver kept his eyes on the road, saying nothing. But Carl's brain was racing.
Tiger Claw was a proxy for Arasaka. Just as Six Street had been re-molded by Militech. Their upcoming escort job? It started in Arasaka's locked-down Watson seaport. No one got in without clearance. Not even corpos without a badge.
And Faraday—supposedly a Militech fixer—was brokering the job.
Why?
Unless the American parent—the rose—wanted their child protected. Unless Militech was lending a hand in secret.
A one-time alliance.
A truce.
That kind of truce didn't happen without blood on the floor first. Which meant whoever this sakura was—they weren't just important.
They were a goddamn powder keg.
And if Maelstrom was actively trying to find them—wrecking supply chains, intercepting convoys, buying intel off rogue corpo rats—then someone had slipped the leash. Just like Blanca. Just like Juanito. Which meant somewhere inside Arasaka, there was another leak. Another opportunist. Another hand stirring the pot.
Carl exhaled, fingers resting on the side of the door.
If all of this was right—if this really was a joint op between Arasaka and Militech, and if they were protecting this cherry blossom from factions on both sides—then he and the others were walking into the kind of shadow op people vanished for.
And if the ACPA footage meant anything?
This wasn't just a job.
It was a war dressed like a contract.
Carl closed his eyes for a moment, running the names, dates, and details through his mind like static through a repeater.
Maelstrom's aggression.
Blanca's leaks.
Juanito's schemes.
Militech. Arasaka. Tiger Claw. Cyberpsychos. Combat armor.
The message. The port. The mission.
And at the heart of it all: a cherry blossom, blooming quietly in a city that devoured beauty like it was just another commodity.
If he was right—if this mission was what he thought it was—then everything was about to break wide open.
And Carl?
He couldn't wait to see what fell out.