Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 619, Section 33. Who cares what they believe?

The people at the illegal clinic weren't very resistant, or rather, they were already half-convinced when they saw NCPD Special Operations Officer Andy. When they saw KK, they all confessed to all their crimes, from kicking a virtual flowerbed on the roadside to verbally cursing NCPD Chief Johnson for being impotent, and even the energy bars they stole from their neighbor's sister when they were kids. They confessed to everything they could remember and say, and all they asked for was one thing.

To be lenient, a 30-minute execution is enough; don't let KK stay in the same room as them.

"Don't worry, you won't all be shot. As long as you specify the acquiring party and clearly explain the route, only two-thirds of you will be shot, and it won't be KK who will carry it out."

With Andy's reassurance, even those who knew they were the ones to be executed showed a slight sense of relief on their faces.

Those who live in the underworld are already aware of their fate; it's just that they'll be executed. If they confess properly in prison before being executed, they might be able to get a life sentence instead, which would be much easier than facing KK.

A bullet to the head is the end of it, but being in a room with KK, even for just ten seconds, means you never know what he might do.

Even if KK is in a good mood and plays a low-level torture game like skinning, dismembering, breaking bones, or ripping out marrow, it's still something they can't withstand. Compared to that kind of pain, being shot is an incredibly easy and satisfying death. Not to mention, if KK is in a bad mood, no one can say for sure how KK will torment them.

The fear of the unknown can be magnified infinitely in people's imaginations, especially for these guys who are used to seeing bloody scenes in shady clinics—the more they imagine it, the more they feel that being shot in the head is like heaven.

"Hurry up and sign it." One of the henchmen grabbed the pen with trembling hands. "I'd rather get shot right now than gamble on whether KK had a bad breakfast today."

“You’ve taken the wrong one. We use electronic signatures here, but you’ve taken a recording device.”

Andy prompted in a friendly manner, tapping the edge of the tablet with the tip of his pen. The blue light from the screen flickered on his underling's pale face. "Or do you want Carl to hold it and let you demonstrate how to use it?"

A series of screeching chairs suddenly erupted from across the interrogation table. The speed at which the three shady clinic staff members rushed to grab the electronic pen reminded Andy of the scene when he was panic-buying synthetic meat at the supermarket during a limited-time sale.

The speed and efficiency with which this group of unlicensed clinic personnel confessed was almost unbelievable. Meanwhile, on the other side of the one-way glass next to the interrogation room, Carl watched all of this and asked Johnson, who was walking over beside him, "Didn't you go to work?"

"I just finished my work. I heard you and Andy's escort team came over."

Johnson shoved his phone into his tactical pocket. In the reflection of the one-way mirror, the interrogation room underling was tearfully giving the coordinates of the cybernetic body warehouse.

“Seriously,” he tapped on the glass, “your photo should be printed on the first page of the ‘Notice to Suspects’—let the prisoners see your face first, and the interrogation time could be shortened by at least half.”

"Come on, I'm not some interrogation machine."

Carl said speechlessly, "I don't think I've done anything too outrageous. Why are all these thugs making me sound like a monster? V has killed more people than me and he's ruthless, so why is my reputation getting worse and worse?"

“I remember a while ago, an insider from the police station’s underground channel sent me a message saying that last Thursday, someone saw KK enter a cleaner’s house on the street, and then shortly after, he was licking something white that looked like brain matter as he walked out.”

When the NCPD arrived, every scavenger's head had been sliced ​​in half, white debris scattered all over the ground. A distraught man was there, wailing and screaming, as if he had witnessed something utterly horrific.

As Johnson spoke, he took out his phone from his pocket again, made a few quick gestures on the screen, and displayed the inside information from the underground channel to Karl. The screen showed a warning with a blurry image and blood-red text.

Watson District Morning Announcement: KK's favorite breakfast today is 'single-molecule line ready-to-eat' brain-based breakfast. Please do not leave the house while KK is eating.

"."

Is there such a thing as brain matter in the monomolecule line that's ready to eat after opening?
Last Thursday?
Carl recalled for a moment.

I remember he did seem to have dealt with cleaners back then.

But Carl remembers that he had just left home with an ice cream cone when he noticed a cleaner following him. He dealt with the cleaner normally, and then, to prevent the slightly melted ice cream from dripping onto his hands, he had to lick it as he walked.
He stared at the blurry, out-of-focus image on his phone screen—the person filming was clearly hiding at least two hundred meters away, and even the lens was trembling with fear.

"I've had enough of these bastards spreading rumors."

Carl stared at Johnson: "Others may not know, but you, Mr. Johnson, surely know. You've seen the police officers' body cameras, haven't you? I was just eating ice cream. And that distraught eyewitness was just an unlucky guy who was injected with a nerve stimulant by the cleaner. His screams were due to drug-induced cerebral cortex overload. How come this news is getting more and more outrageous?"

"Of course I know."

Johnson nodded matter-of-factly: "Nobody in the entire police department knows you better than me and Andy. Guess how many times we've dealt with the scenes you left behind, but those people will never believe it."

Johnson pointed to the other side of the glass, where, due to limited education, his speech was unclear, repetitive, and slow. After Andy reminded him, some of the staff were already on the verge of tears.

"They always like to judge others by their own standards. They don't even blink when they smash someone's knees with a steel pipe or dig out someone's internal organs, so they naturally assume that KK, who has such a big name in Night City, must be even more cruel, and that his methods are even more unimaginable to them. So when there are many such cases, everyone believes it."

"And that's how my reputation gradually became like an urban legend, right?"

Carl glanced at the people he had instructed: "If this continues, everyone will believe it. I'm afraid I'll scare a bunch of people away if I walk down the street."

"Will not."

Johnson crossed his arms, his thumb tracing the 'NCPD' etched lettering on his badge. "The people you rescued from the Cleaners, the people you personally saved from the gunfight—as long as they have all sorts of people you've helped, people we've helped, they can trust you. As for this group..."

Johnson's face was serious and disdainful. "Who the hell cares what those scum believe?"

“You swore, Mr. Johnson.”

"Then consider it a slip of the tongue. After all, I'm the director now, so I have to be careful with my words."

(End of this chapter)