Chapter 12: Regina's Offer
POV: Tom
The encrypted message arrived while Tom was helping Judy install new security protocols on her braindance editing equipment—ironic work considering that Tom's Techno-Sovereignty could bypass most electronic security through simple touch interface. But working together on mundane technical problems provided illusions of normality that both of them needed after Viktor's examination had quantified Tom's transformation in clinical terms.
"Megabuilding H4, Rooftop, Sunset. Come alone. We need to talk. —R"
Regina Jones. The message carried the particular weight of someone whose requests were actually commands disguised as invitations. Tom's enhanced tactical analysis immediately flagged the meeting as potentially dangerous—isolated location, specific timing, requirement for solo attendance. But Regina had proven herself valuable as both information source and employer, and her jobs had funded his survival during his most vulnerable weeks in Night City.
"Regina wants a face-to-face meeting," Tom told Judy, showing her the message. "Rooftop conference at sunset. Private conversation."
Judy examined the communication with the suspicious expertise of someone whose survival had required careful evaluation of every social interaction. "That's either very good news or very bad news. Regina doesn't do social calls."
"Thoughts on which?"
"Based on last night's performance? Probably a job offer that leverages your unique qualifications." Judy's expression carried both pride and concern. "You've demonstrated abilities that make you valuable to people with resources and dangerous problems."
Tom considered the implications while watching the afternoon sun cast long shadows across Watson's urban landscape. His abilities had evolved dramatically since his first tentative jobs for Regina, progressing from simple data theft to surviving Scavenger ambushes with technology that defied corporate classification. His chrome integration had reached forty percent, marking him as either valuable asset or dangerous anomaly depending on perspective.
Regina's been watching my evolution. Analyzing my capabilities, measuring my survival rates, calculating my value as a specialist operative. This meeting is either recruitment or termination disguised as business proposition.
"I should go alone," Tom said. "If this is an ambush, no point in both of us getting caught in it."
"If this is an ambush, you'll need backup. Also, if this is a legitimate opportunity, you'll need someone to negotiate terms who isn't emotionally invested in proving themselves." Judy's tone carried the particular finality of someone whose decision was already made. "I'm coming with you."
Tom wanted to argue, but Judy's technical expertise and social analysis had proven invaluable in previous situations. Also, his protective instincts were increasingly focused on keeping people he cared about close enough to defend rather than hoping distance would provide safety.
If corporate black ops teams are tracking me, separation won't protect her. Better to stay together where I can respond immediately to threats.
They drove Betty to Megabuilding H4 as the sun painted Night City's skyline in shades of orange and chrome, neon advertisements beginning their nightly competition for attention and corporate allegiance. The megabuilding was a vertical city unto itself—thousands of residents crammed into housing units designed for efficiency rather than comfort, served by commercial levels that provided everything necessary for complete isolation from the outside world.
Regina waited on the rooftop garden, a small oasis of actual vegetation surrounded by hydroponic systems and water recycling equipment that represented luxury in a city where nature was commodity rather than given. She stood with her back to the elevator, watching the sun set over Night City's maze of corporate towers and gang territories.
Control of the meeting environment. Defensive positioning. Probably armed backup positioned where I can't see them. Regina's treating this as business negotiation with potential for violence.
"Mr. Adler. Ms. Alvarez." Regina turned as they approached, her expression carrying the professional neutrality that marked successful fixers. "Thank you for coming."
Tom studied Regina with enhanced senses that catalogued threat parameters automatically—concealed weapons, communication devices, biorhythmic indicators of stress or deception. She registered as alert but not hostile, confident but not overconfident. Someone prepared for multiple contingencies but hoping for peaceful resolution.
"You wanted to talk," Tom said. "Here we are."
Regina gestured toward seating areas arranged among the rooftop vegetation, creating an incongruously peaceful environment for what Tom suspected would be a life-changing conversation.
"I've been analyzing your work," Regina began without preamble. "Warehouse infiltration, Maelstrom negotiations, Scavenger survival. Impressive results achieved through methods that shouldn't be possible with known technology."
"I'm good at my job."
"You're good at surviving situations that would kill other people. You demonstrate technical capabilities that exceed corporate security parameters. You adapt to threats faster than anyone I've ever worked with." Regina leaned forward slightly. "I know you're special. Don't care how or why. Only care what you can do."
POV: Regina
Regina had spent twenty years in Night City learning to evaluate talent, distinguishing between street punks with delusions and genuine specialists whose abilities justified premium rates. Tom Adler was something unprecedented—a wildcard whose capabilities seemed to expand with each assignment, whose survival rate defied statistical probability.
Warehouse security footage shows impossible speed and adaptive armor. Maelstrom reports describe chrome that evolves in real-time. Scavenger intelligence suggests he survived coordinated ambush with superior firepower. Either he's incredibly lucky or he represents technology that's decades ahead of commercial availability.
The smart money was on advanced technology, which meant Tom was either corporate experiment or black market acquisition that had escaped containment. Either possibility made him valuable to clients who required capabilities beyond conventional mercenary services.
"I have clients with problems that require unconventional solutions," Regina continued. "Corporate intelligence gathering, black site infiltration, hostile takeover support. Work that pays enough to afford proper equipment, safe housing, legitimate documentation." She paused. "Work that requires someone with your particular qualifications."
Tom exchanged glances with Judy, silent communication that suggested they'd discussed this possibility during their drive to the meeting.
"What kind of work?" Tom asked.
"The kind that corporate security is designed to prevent. Advanced facilities, experimental technology, classified research. Clients who pay premium rates for guaranteed results." Regina gestured at the cityscape spreading below them. "You could afford to live in the upper districts, purchase military-grade equipment, hire your own security team. Financial independence in exchange for exclusive service contracts."
He's considering it. Good. The kid's smart enough to recognize opportunity when it's presented professionally. Question is whether he's smart enough to accept terms that protect both of us from corporate retaliation.
"What's the catch?" Judy interjected, her voice carrying the suspicious expertise of someone who'd spent years navigating Night City's transactional relationships.
"No catch. Standard exclusive contractor agreement with performance bonuses and equipment allowances. Mr. Adler takes assignments that match his capabilities, I coordinate client relationships and operational support." Regina's expression remained professionally neutral. "Mutual benefit based on proven results."
POV: Tom
Tom processed Regina's offer while his enhanced tactical analysis evaluated potential benefits and risks. Financial security would allow him to afford better medical care from Viktor, proper equipment for surviving corporate attention, and safe housing that didn't require him to sleep in storage rooms or his car. The work would also provide purpose beyond simple survival, utilizing his abilities for objectives that required his specific capabilities.
But accepting meant acknowledging that he was becoming what Night City had shaped him into—a professional mercenary whose humanity was measured in chrome percentages and whose relationships were defined by transactional utility.
"Way home" was always a fantasy. I'm not going back to software engineering in a world where corporate warfare is metaphorical and coffee costs reasonable amounts. This is my reality now. Regina's offering me a chance to excel at it instead of just surviving it.
"Terms?" Tom asked.
"Exclusive contractor status. You take assignments from me, I coordinate all your professional relationships. Seventy-thirty split in your favor, plus equipment allowances and medical benefits." Regina's tone became more serious. "Also, protective services. Someone's tracking you—corporate intelligence, bounty hunters, possibly MaxTac. I can provide counter-surveillance and safe houses in exchange for guaranteed availability."
"How do you know someone's tracking me?"
"Because last night's Scavenger ambush was too well-coordinated, too specifically targeted. They had intelligence about your capabilities and equipment designed to counter adaptive chrome." Regina leaned back in her chair. "Corporate black ops teams are building profiles on you. Better to have professional protection than hope amateur precautions will suffice."
Tom looked at Judy, who nodded slightly. They'd discussed this possibility during their previous conversations—his abilities were becoming too obvious to hide, and corporate attention was inevitable. Regina's offer provided infrastructure for managing threats that were beyond his current resources to handle independently.
"I reserve the right to refuse assignments that cross moral lines," Tom said.
Regina smiled—the first genuine expression she'd shown during the meeting. "Got ethics. Cute." Her tone became businesslike again. "Fine. You review assignments before acceptance, maintain veto authority over operations that conflict with personal standards. I coordinate clients who appreciate professional discretion over sociopathic enthusiasm."
"And Judy?"
"Ms. Alvarez provides technical support and operational coordination as needed. Same protective services, same professional standards. Consider her part of your operational team."
Tom extended his chrome-covered hand for a handshake that would formalize their agreement. Regina accepted without hesitation, her human skin warm against his technological enhancement.
"Welcome to the professional levels, Mr. Adler. I think you'll find the work more interesting than simple survival."
As they prepared to leave the rooftop garden, Tom caught Regina watching him with an expression he couldn't quite interpret—something between professional satisfaction and personal concern.
"Regina? Why make this offer? You could find other specialists with fewer complications."
Regina looked out over Night City's neon landscape, where corporate towers stretched toward a sky painted in advertising holograms and industrial pollution.
"Because complications are what make someone worth investing in," she replied. "Simple specialists solve simple problems. You solve problems that other people can't even understand. In Night City, that's worth premium rates and exclusive contracts."
Tom and Judy returned to Betty in comfortable silence, processing the implications of decisions that would define their future in Night City. Tom's evolution from desperate refugee to professional mercenary was complete, marked by formal contracts and financial security rather than dramatic revelation.
"How'd it go?" Judy asked as they drove through Watson's evening traffic.
"Just became a professional freak," Tom replied, though his tone carried satisfaction rather than regret.
"At least you're getting paid for it now."
Tom laughed, feeling something settle in his chest that might have been contentment. For the first time since waking in this impossible world, he had direction that extended beyond simple survival. Regina's offer provided purpose, security, and acknowledgment that his abilities were assets rather than afflictions.
His chrome hummed with quiet satisfaction as Betty carried them through Night City's neon maze toward whatever challenges awaited professional mercenaries in a city that consumed the unprepared and elevated the adaptable.
Maybe this is what evolution looks like. Not dramatic transformation, but gradual acceptance of what you're becoming and conscious choice to excel at it rather than simply endure it.
Night City stretched around them like a living organism of light and possibility, and for the first time, Tom felt like he belonged in its electronic heartbeat.
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