Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 711, Section 125: Knowing Nothing

Three homeless men who had narrowly escaped the destruction of the Twin Bulls tribe pushed open the rusty iron gate, exhausted, never expecting to be met with precise grappling techniques.

When their faces were slammed hard against the musty floor, the first thought that flashed through their minds was absurdity—this wretched place is worth remembering?

The harsh winds and sand of the bad soil had worn their secondhand prosthetic bodies until they creaked and groaned. Every piece of furniture in the room exuded the unique aura of being "specially supplied from the junkyard": a limp folding chair, a low table propped up by tires, and a refrigerator that seemed to be coughing up blood when it was working—inside, besides a few cans of beer that were probably older than them, there was only half a synthetic pizza covered in frost.

No, is this necessary? Are they valuable, or are the houses valuable?

Selling all of them, including this junk, probably wouldn't even cover the cost of a single basic prosthetic body maintenance.

The three vagrants didn't even suspect that they were being hunted down by members of the Snake Gang.

It's important to understand that although they were the ones who managed to escape after their tribe was destroyed by the Serpent Clan, it was more of a matter of luck. When their tribe was destroyed, the Serpent Clan simply sent some people and teams to attack them, steal their valuables, and kill a few of them when they tried to stop them. After that, their tribe, which didn't have many people, disbanded.

Although they always talked about getting revenge on the Snake Gang every night while bragging over cheap alcohol—after all, a few of their brothers did fall in pools of blood that day—they knew in their hearts that it was as ridiculous as expecting the company dog ​​to remember the homeless man he had casually kicked on the street three weeks ago.

If the Snake Gang really cared about these small fry, they should have dealt with them as easily as stepping on ants when they passed by.

Surely it couldn't be that the hounds discovered them secretly stealing electricity and came to arrest them, could it?
Just as the three homeless men were wondering if they had been caught stealing electricity, Jack, who had subdued them, checked them and pulled out three somewhat old Lexington pistols.

"Lexington. Heh."

After letting out a laugh that could hardly be called a recollection, Jack, having finished his inspection, tossed the three guns aside and released them.

"Get up, slow down. You don't want to break a leg or an arm because of messy movements, do you?"

At Jack's warning, the three homeless men wisely and slowly rose from their knees, then raised their hands.

"What exactly is going on?"

The three homeless men's faces were still fixed on the moldy floor, none of them daring to look up—in Night City, seeing what you shouldn't see often means you'll never need your eyes again. Just then, an open palm suddenly appeared in their blurry vision.

The hand was unremarkable, with no signs of prosthetics or cheap tattoos typical of street thugs, but the stack of banknotes bound with rubber bands in the palm emitted an almost sacred glow under the dim light.

Euros, a thick stack of euros.

The three blinked in unison, as if to confirm that this was not a hallucination caused by drinking too much cheap liquor and the alcohol corroding their brains. Judging from the thickness of the glass, it was at least ten thousand euros—enough to buy countless shacks like theirs, or two thousand cases of expired synthetic beer.

"My God!" the youngest one couldn't help but exclaim.

When the Serpent Clan massacred their tribe, the loot they plundered, even after ransacking their homes, couldn't compare to this stack of banknotes. For these homeless people who relied on scavenging and making a living year-round, this amount was beyond their comprehension. V stared at the three blank faces, the banknotes crunching crisply between his fingers. He knew this expression all too well—just like himself when he earned his first fortune. In Night City, the magic of money could always make the homeless on this treacherous land instantly lose their minds and become dazed.

In the neon-lit city of the night, 10,000 euros can make ordinary shop assistants willingly work overtime for half a year, and can make mercenaries temporarily forget about the debt collection notices for their prosthetic loans.

But the value of this money varies drastically depending on who owns it: for the dashing corporate employees in top clubs, it's nothing more than a casual tip;

For the wanderers of the Badlands, however, it meant being able to bribe border checkpoints in exchange for three months of safe transport, or even to form a respectable armed squad.

At this moment, the banknotes that were enough to completely change the fate of the three homeless men were in V's hand, gleaming alluringly in the dim light.

With this money, let alone improving their lives, they could even rebuild a respectable "Double Bull Tribe"—this was the thought that flashed through the minds of the three former homeless people, now homeless.

However, none of the three dared to make any rash moves.

Although the color was dazzling and almost bewitching, nearly stealing their souls, their remaining rationality told them that they had no say in their current situation. With their lives in someone else's hands, the sudden display of money, regardless of the other party's motives, was not something they should covet.

Just as they couldn't resist stealing a glance at the banknote for the third time, and then forced themselves to look away again, preparing to continue looking down at the ground, V suddenly spoke, his voice carrying an undeniable authority:
"Don't overthink it. This money is indeed for you. We need to temporarily borrow your 'home' for a while. Consider this rent—or to put it more bluntly, hush money."
From this moment on, you all must stay obediently at home and be under our surveillance until we leave. Do you understand? This place has been temporarily requisitioned.

Is it for us?!

It's really for us!

Ten thousand euros, ten thousand euros!

Although they didn't know who these people were or what their purpose was, the three of them nodded hurriedly in front of the 10,000 euros, their movements so synchronized that it seemed as if they had rehearsed.

The eldest finally mustered the courage to speak: "We know the rules and would never do that."

“That would be for the best.” V interrupted him, his eyes suddenly sharpening. “Remember, this money isn’t payment; it’s money to buy your lives.” He paused deliberately, letting the weight of his words settle. “If you take the money, you have to hand over your lives to us for safekeeping.”

"us."

Before the homeless man could finish speaking, V shoved the money into the hand of the man in the middle. The other two men, who were looking down, immediately shut up when they saw out of the corner of their eyes that their companion had already received the money.

Then, they lowered their heads even further. After the middleman carefully placed the banknotes close to his body, he and the two people next to him tacitly put their heads down, stared at their feet, and slowly moved to the side, facing the wall, and squatted down again.

They knew nothing and saw nothing.

(End of this chapter)