Freaks. That was the first word that popped into Oliver's mind as he turned toward the people who had just entered the bar—the same people t

Freaks.

That was the first word that popped into Oliver's mind as he turned toward the people who had just entered the bar—the same people the bartender had cryptically referred to earlier.

'Maelstrom?'

It wasn't an unreasonable guess. Back in Night City, anyone with that level of crude, borderline-lethal cyberware—disfigured faces, random cyber-eyes jammed into their skulls—was almost certainly a Maelstrom ganger. Nine out of ten times, anyway.

But this wasn't Night City. This was Los Angeles—the so-called City of Angels that loathed Night City with a passion. The Maelstrom gang barely had turf outside a few neighborhoods in NC. These people... if you had to put a label on them, Oliver figured "L.A. Maelstrom" would be more accurate.

L.A.'s police department had been destroyed during the Second Los Angeles Riots. The only remnants of order left were federal troops stationed by New America. Unlike Night City, there was no NCPD network for Oliver to tap into via his cyberware to ID these guys. That meant no database to check, and no idea how to deal with these "locals."

While Oliver was still debating how to handle the situation, the newcomers had already clocked them as out-of-towners.

The one in front—who had three pairs of cyber-eyes embedded in his face around the eyes and cheekbones—immediately zeroed in on Oliver, scanning him up and down. His gaze lingered on Oliver's eye implants and visible arm mods.

After a moment, he gestured casually. The others spread out, taking seats throughout the bar and subtly surrounding Oliver and the others. Six-Eyes himself plopped down right next to Oliver, his seat half broken and barely supporting him.

He didn't seem to mind the wrecked furniture. Leaning forward slightly, his heavily modified voice came out smooth and artificially filtered through his throat mods.

"Out-of-towner?"

"That's right," Oliver replied, shifting in his seat. "Is that a problem?"

"Not really. Just curious," the stranger said, about Oliver's age. "Curious if you're from Night City."

Shit.

They really hate Night City folks here. Better not admit that.

Oliver remembered the intel they got out in the Badlands. He feigned confusion.

"What's so special about people from Night City?"

"Nothing really," the guy said with a grin that twisted grotesquely over his scarred face. "But if you were from Night City, we'd have to give you a real warm welcome... You know, since we're 'sibling' cities and all."

"Night City? That shithole?" Oliver rolled his eyes. "I heard it's full of cyberpsychos running amok, cops abusing power, and gangs like 6th Street and Tyger Claws going at it daily. If I were from there, I'd be dead already."

Six-Eyes' smile froze on his face like a bad mask, but he didn't press.

"Then where you from, friend?"

"Badlands. I run cargo. What, is that a problem too? You guys always this nosey?"

"Not at all." The man kept his smile plastered on. "Just trying to be friendly. It's not every day we get new faces around here."

He held out a hand.

"Name's Kim Ji-woon, from the Gear Crew. Just consider it small talk over drinks. Who knows, maybe next time we'll need a reliable runner like you."

Gear Crew?

Oliver was unfamiliar with the term, but the name caught his attention.

"Kim Ji-woon? Korean?"

"Korean-American," the man replied.

"Been in the States since my grandfather's generation."

Korean-American.

After the introduction, and seeing Kim's attitude, Oliver knew it was time to return the intro. His looks had been altered, and his name wasn't exactly rare. No reason to hold back.

"Oliver. Buckle family."

"Buckle," Kim Ji-woon recognized the name immediately.

Before he could say anything further, Oliver continued:

"Yeah, but now I'm with Snake Nation. Guess I should be calling myself Snake now."

When you operate outside your turf, you need a cover story. Before coming into town, the squad had agreed to use the Buckle name as their disguise. V, who was most familiar with the Buckles, was key in choosing this name. Now, V was connected in Oliver's comms, ready to feed him background info if needed.

They wanted to make some local connections. A few harmless half-truths could go a long way toward earning some trust—and maybe useful intel.

"Buckle turned Snake, huh? Heard of you guys. Didn't think you'd make it this far into L.A."

Kim Ji-woon began evaluating them. Snake Nation wasn't some low-tier group—they had corporate backing, and they weren't the type you messed with casually.

Just as Kim Ji-woon was about to say more, gunfire erupted outside the bar, shattering the relative quiet. The sudden barrage was followed by shouting:

"Gear Crew scum! Get out here so I can shove my Big Iron up your squeaky little asses!"

The moment the words hit the air, every member of the Gear Crew in the bar stood up at once. They didn't wait for Kim Ji-woon's orders—they just bolted for the exit.

Kim Ji-woon also stood up, and before leaving, he reached out and lightly tapped Oliver's shoulder.

"Welcome to Los Angeles, Oliver."

Then he vanished, leaving behind only a spinning, broken stool.

Sandevistan.

Oliver recognized the speedtech as gunfire outside intensified. He turned to Karl.

Karl was seated by the window, watching it all unfold. Sensing Oliver's gaze, he turned and smiled.

"I think I like this city."

The atmosphere was just too familiar.

No wonder they called it Night City's sibling.

Same chaos, different coast.

Just like when Karl first arrived in Night City—he was welcomed with gunfire.

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