CYBERPUNK: Travel to 2075

Here's the revised version of the text with improved grammar and readability, along with the name change from "Carl" to "Karl":

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Cyberpunk: 2075 - Chapter 10: Jack Wells

The Wild Wolf Bar in the Haywood Valley area wasn't hard to find. In a neighborhood dominated by judicial buildings like city hall, the mayor's office, the courts, and NCPD headquarters, a bar so out of place was hard to miss.

After parking on the side of the road, Oliver hesitated about whether to put on the body armor he bought yesterday. He'd grown up in a neighborhood governed by the Sixth Street Gang, and as a former member of that gang, he still felt uneasy. Even though many members of the Sixth Street Gang were secretly on good terms with the Valentino Gang, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease. After all, they were now entering a Valentino-controlled area, and old affiliations could still get him in trouble.

While Oliver hesitated, Karl had already slipped on his body armor with practiced efficiency.

Seeing Oliver's indecision, Karl gave him a strange look. "What are you waiting for? We're going to look for work, and without proper protective gear or body armor, we'll look like amateurs. If I were the employer, I'd think you're an idiot."

Oliver realized Karl was right. His old gang mentality was influencing his judgment. Back in Santo Domingo, he never had to be on high alert because the Sixth Street Gang controlled the entire area. But now, as an unemployed mercenary, he had to think differently. Mercenaries needed to show off their best equipment to impress potential employers.

They weren't legendary mercenaries who could walk into a room, armed with nothing but a pistol, and still complete missions with ease. They had to prove their worth, not just rely on their reputation.

After strapping on his bulletproof vest and holstering his Nova revolver, Oliver made sure the gun was visible for easy access, like he'd seen in the movies. He had no idea that Karl, standing beside him, had far less mental drama while strapping on his Lexington. Karl also hesitated for a moment before deciding not to bring the Copperhead assault rifle from the car. It was, after all, just a bar—they didn't need to look too threatening.

Once they were ready, the two of them headed into the bar, catching the curious glances of Valentino gang members lingering outside.

Inside, the lighting was much dimmer than outside. There were no neon GG cards like those scattered on the streets. The bar was lit mainly by fluorescent lights, and the mood was surprisingly calm. If it weren't for the patrons drinking in small groups, the place might have looked closed.

Behind the bar stood an older woman with gray hair, wearing a leather jacket. Despite her age, she was full of energy, and if not for her hair, it would've been hard to guess how old she was.

"Oh, two new faces," the woman called out as she spotted Karl and Oliver walking in. "You're a bit early, but you're welcome here. What'll you have?"

"Mrs. Wells—can I get another bottle of blues vodka?" A voice from a distant table interrupted before they could answer.

"No, Ernesto, you've already had a bottle today. If you've got plans tonight, I'd suggest sobering up at the bar," she responded sternly.

"Come on, I'm waiting for Jack to come back so we can have a drink."

"Jack can't either," Mrs. Wells shot back.

The name "Jack" caught Karl's attention. Could she mean that Jack? Jack Wells? He remembered Jack from the demo as V's good friend and partner. But then again, it could just be a common name. Still, he couldn't help but wonder.

Mrs. Wells turned back to them. "So, what'll it be, kids?"

"I'll take a bottle of Brother's Lager," Oliver quickly ordered, picking a low-alcohol beer that wouldn't affect the mission.

"Alright, a lager. And you?" she asked, turning to Karl.

After a brief glance at the menu, Karl noticed something that looked like it had Chinese characters on it. "I'll have a cup of sweet tea and some French fries."

Mrs. Wells raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Find yourselves a seat, and I'll bring it over in a bit."

As she turned to prepare their order, Oliver pulled Karl toward a corner table where they could watch the entrance.

"You're ordering non-alcoholic drinks at a bar, along with fries? I wish I had your confidence," Oliver teased. Though he'd ordered beer, he preferred beverages himself. He just didn't want to seem out of place.

Karl shrugged. "I'll share the fries with you."

"Deal. I'll eat yours first, then order more if I'm still hungry. I love fries," Oliver said.

"I just hope they're made from real potatoes," Karl muttered, half-joking.

While they waited, they took stock of the bar's patrons. Most were regular drinkers, but a few looked like mercenaries, sporting bulletproof vests or visible prosthetics and weapons at their sides. It seemed Oliver's father had been right—this was a place to find work, though the majority here looked like low-level mercs, just like them.

Oliver lowered his voice, "You know, middlemen are just like mercs. The top ones get the big corporate jobs, while the rest handle smaller neighborhood disputes. But mercs without even low-level middlemen? They're pretty screwed."

Little did Oliver realize, he and Karl were now in that exact category.

Karl, half-listening, suddenly noticed a figure stepping through the entrance. The man was tall, blocking the light from outside. He had a black braid, obvious prosthetic modifications on both sides of his face, and his leather jacket was open, revealing a chest full of tattoos.

This guy looked familiar—too familiar.

It was Jack Wells.