Gearbound: Cyberpunk 2077

While waiting for the food, José suddenly appeared nervous and asked, "Sir, may I ask you a question?"

Leo looked at him, slightly surprised, but nodded. "Go ahead."

"Were you hired by my father through an intermediary? As mercenaries?"

"We were before. But now, we're private military contractors—PMCs," Leo replied.

He had thought he might need to explain what that meant, but José seemed to understand immediately.

"Then… could you train me?"

"Train you?" Leo looked at him, puzzled, not understanding where this question came from.

Normally, after returning from this ordeal, Dante wouldn't let his son run around anymore, and José would be expected to enter the tire company and start learning the family business. That was the obvious path.

So what did José mean by training? Surely, he didn't plan to throw all that away to become a mercenary?

"I know I've never received any military training," José said quickly, "but I believe I have the talent. Maybe my father didn't mention it to you, but I graduated from New York University."

"You know NYU, right? It's one of the top universities in the New United States. If I can apply the same dedication I had for studying to military training, I'm confident I won't disappoint you."

Leo waved his hand. "I believe in your learning ability. But first, you need to give me a reason. Why would you leave your family's company behind to ask me to train you? Why do you want to be a mercenary?"

Leo didn't look down on mercenaries—far from it. But this profession wasn't for everyone. And someone like José, who clearly had other paths, wasn't suited for this line of work. Besides, if Dante González found out his son wanted to throw away the family business to be a merc, he'd never agree.

José hesitated for a second. "Honestly, there's no harm in telling you. This whole incident made me realize something: if I don't have strength, I'm nothing more than meat on a chopping block."

"If… if I were as strong as you all are, maybe María and I wouldn't have ended up in danger."

Although the kidnapping hadn't lasted long, and aside from having two fingers chopped off, he hadn't endured much inhuman torment, the experience had still left a deep psychological scar.

Before Leo and the others stormed in to rescue him, José had truly believed he was going to die.

And even after he'd been saved, during the Tijuana street firefight and the nighttime raid on the motel, he had been completely useless—unable to help at all.

That was why he wanted to become stronger, like them.

"So you're not looking to become a mercenary," Leo said after thinking it through. "You just want to learn how to fight."

He thought for a moment and realized there was no real reason to refuse. As a PMC, offering military training was already part of their business.

He had the facility—Rocky Ridge Mountain—and he had instructors. Mitch and Scorpion were both veterans with real battlefield experience.

And José wasn't aiming to take on jobs, just to train.

That made things simple.

He'd have Mitch and Scorpion take turns drilling the kid.

And to become strong, you needed more than grind—you needed investment.

Leo had already begun drafting a rough outline in his head.

First off, every client who graduated from the Aurora PMC training course needed a weapon. After all, this was a PMC—not some fast-track Wing Chun class.

They would teach hand-to-hand combat, yes—but this was 2077. In this age, firearms were king.

Beyond seven meters, nothing beat a gun. Within seven meters, a gun was still faster and more accurate.

The market was saturated with kinetic weapons, tech weapons, and smart weapons, from manufacturers across Asia, Europe, and North America.

With so many options, a rookie wouldn't even know where to start.

What then? Let them pick randomly?

What a joke. That'd be no different from a street punk grabbing a pistol to show off.

At Aurora PMC, they had professionals—experts who created personalized loadouts.

That was the first monetization channel!

The moment you say "custom-built," the price goes up—whether or not it's actually better.

And that wasn't the end of it.

Since it was personalized, the customer wasn't going to some random gun shop. Aurora PMC provided the weapons themselves—at better rates, too.

Leo could make anything sold on the market, as long as he had the parts and materials.

And the weapons? That was just one part.

Cyberware couldn't be neglected either.

This was 2077, an age of universal body modification.

And cyberware would be personalized as well—offering clients an experience even better than the big corps.

Leo had it all planned.

Once he returned, he'd ask Vik to come out of retirement and oversee Rocky Ridge.

Vik had been out of the game for years, but this wasn't a comeback—it was just returning to his old trade, only this time in a better environment, with better equipment, pay, and conditions.

Leo believed Vik would say yes.

It would cost a lot. But that was fine.

Money wasn't truly gone—it had just taken a different form to stay by your side.

While all these thoughts flashed through Leo's mind, only a few moments passed in reality. Looking across the table, he saw José still waiting for his reply.

Leo smiled. "Alright. If your father agrees, then once we're back, you can come to our base. Since we all know each other, I'll give you a friendly price."

But José shook his head, answering sincerely, "Sir, I don't need a discount. Just teach me everything you can—I can endure whatever comes! You don't have to hold back."

Leo said nothing more.

For now, José seemed serious.

Whether he was just caught in the heat of the moment, or truly determined—time would tell.

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A few minutes later, the server brought their food.

He announced, "Enjoy your meal," set everything down, tilted his head slightly, and left.

Jackie, truly hungry, grabbed two tacos—one in each hand—and bit into one fiercely. "That's more like it. The stuff in Night City could never compare. Even pigs wouldn't eat it."

Leo, curious, asked whether it was really that bad. Jackie replied that while a non‑Mexican might find it passable, for Mexicans it was truly unacceptable.

Seeing Jackie eat so savagely, Leo suddenly felt hungry—it was nearly ten in the morning and he hadn't eaten breakfast. He picked up a taco and took a bite. Though Night City did have Mexican restaurants and he had eaten from them, he still hadn't experienced such authenticity of Mexican food—until now.

After tasting the taco, Leo understood why Jackie had disparaged Night City's Mexican food—it was vastly inferior to this local fare. But though the food was delicious, Leo ate quickly, finishing his three tacos in just a few bites. Jackie still had two left and was stunned. "How did you eat so fast?"

Jackie had thought his eating style was fast, but Leo was faster. Normally, Leo chews slowly—so why this time?

"It's already getting cold. I'll take them to V," Leo said, standing and signaling to Lucy.

"After you finish, look into which San Diego freight company is most reliable. Have them send staff to the airport so that when we have about ten minutes before boarding, we can hand over the weapons case."

"Understood," Lucy replied.

Leo returned to the counter and waited; soon the server handed him a paper bag containing the two tacos for take‑out. "Here you go," the server said. Leo thanked them and prepared to leave—but at that moment, a harsh gunshot rang out from outside.

Everyone in the restaurant froze. Even travelers in nearby stores stopped in their tracks.

"What was that? Did that sound like a gun?" someone asked.

"Impossible. It must have been something else. We heard wrong."

Leo's face changed. He pressed his right hand to his temple as his tactical goggles illuminated the entire terminal.