Cybergate 2027 - A Baldur's Gate 3 / Cyberpunk 2077 Crossover

III

Astarion slipped, crouching, to the bedroom door and opened it just enough for a peek. Two men were standing in the living room, both clad in black tactical clothes, balaclavas concealing their faces. Each carried a magpistol in hand and a nasty-looking knife on his belt. No bags for loot... professional hitmen, most likely.

Garry was lying splayed on the floor, deader than any chance he'd ever had of developing a meaningful personality. His would-be entertainment for the night sat whimpering, gripped in place by one killer. She sobbed out incomprehensible words, obviously begging for her life.

"Don't worry," the man who restrained her said, "we're only here to off this sack of puss."

"But One , Shar's orders are—"

"I know the orders, Two , but she didn't forbid us from having some fun first, right?"

The man called Two snickered while the scantily-clad blonde thanked them in a relieved tone, completely missing the cruel intent behind their words. Regardless, if the hitmen were told to eliminate any witnesses to Garry's murder, that wouldn't go well for Shadowheart and himself.

Astarion dealt before with Sharans , a clandestine criminal syndicate that specialised in trafficking both rare items and people . When one desired a specific company for a night, no matter what unusual needs had to be fulfilled, Shar's organisation would deliver.

What did Garry do to upset those people? Did he know too much? Maybe he was late on a loan. His wealth always seemed suspicious considering the lack of observable work. Astarion had assumed he was another boring lucky investor... Perhaps he'd lost some of Shar's money... Something touched his shoulder, and he jumped inside his skin, turning to see Shadowheart crouching beside him, wearing only her knickers.

"You could've warned me first," he whispered.

She pointed toward his manhood. "How come you're still hard?"

That damned Disiac! He needed an excuse... In the living room, One was rubbing the doomed blonde's assets. "I'm, er, turned on by abuse." Did that make him look better than admitting to using aphrodisiacs—or worse?

After a moment of doubtful squinting, the influencer rolled her eyes. "Fine. Do something."

"What do you expect me to do?!"

"Don't you have a weapon?"

"I'm a politician, not some... rogue! And these are trained killers."

"Hey!" One of the trained killers said. "Is someone there?"

Flying shit on a candlestick. Astarion froze in place, leaning away from the door crack.

"Two, check out that noise while I guard the captive."

A feminine whine came from the living room, then soft footsteps approached them, pacing like a hunter closing in on prey. Shadowheart tugged on Astarion's arm. "Do we surrender or hide?"

"If he sees either of us, we're dead ."

Her eyes opened in shock. "But we didn't do anything."

"These people don't care." Where could they hide? The bedroom had a walk-in wardrobe with a shuttered door. He pointed, and they sneaked away from the entrance. Soon they settled between Garry's cologne-reeking clothes. Hopefully, the hitman wouldn't inspect the bedroom too eagerly.

"Can I go, please?" the blonde said from the living room while a gloved hand slipped through the door, a magnetic pistol gleaming in its grip.

"Shut it," One said, and an agonised squeal rang in the air. "Next time I won't hold back, got it?"