Intermission: Nyx
Kirill is an asshole. An overweight, over confident, overly connected asshole.
Which makes it all the more concerning when Nyx finds him sitting on a chair in front of her rented cargo container waiting for her to come home. Cigarette in one hand. Dostoevsky in the other. Playing at being the sophisticate.
Bastard.
“Ah,” he says, defaulting to well spoken English, here in the good ole’ broken up, fractured, once upon a time US of A. That he’s using an Oxford accent is just icing on the fake cake. Nyx knows he didn’t graduate from secondary school. God knows he spent enough time talking about it in Russia. “Ksenia. How lovely to see you again.” He folds the book. Doesn’t stand. Just makes it impossible to push past him and slam the door in his face.
This is a development. Nyx has been dodging her SovOil past for years. Successfully (since otherwise she would be on the rough side of dead). And now the fucking Mafia finds her? Either her tradecraft is slipping or someone out there has been talking.
Option one seems unlikely. Option two is rather impossible since she’s told exactly nobody about her past since arriving in Night City.
Kirill makes circles with his cigarette in the air. “Yes, of course you want to know how I found you. No. I will not spoil the surprise. Suffice to say, we always keep our investments in mind. And you, my dear, are quite an investment.”