The apartment unit was minimalist—a wall-mounted bed, a compact bathroom, and a circular couch in the living room surrounding a holo-projector that, lacking a subscription, was stuck playing a nonstop loop of advertisements.
Beside the couch was a small room, probably being used as a storage space.
As for the "kitchen," it consisted of nothing more than a vending machine and a microwave placed on a side table.
If he remembered correctly, all 2,000 units in this megabuilding had identical layouts. And for the countless homeless on the streets outside, even this barebones setup would be considered a "paradise."
Lin Mo recalled reading about this in a magazine once and sighed.
"Have a seat," said Hiro Kitagawa, gesturing toward the couch.
Lin Mo sat down, taking in the surroundings.
Even though the apartment was a mass-produced unit, it was easy to tell the resident's tastes from the decorations: plush dolls, makeup scattered on the table, feminine clothes, and a soft pink rug—all of it screamed "girl's room."
That's when Lin Mo noticed a photo frame on the table.
"Is this your sister? She's pretty cute," he said, picking it up.
In the photo was a man—Hiro himself—smiling at the camera, with a young girl in a school uniform perched on his shoulders, laughing joyfully.
"Yeah. She was cute then, and now she's even more beautiful. Sometimes I wonder if we're really siblings, considering how plain I look," Hiro chuckled as he stepped into the small room nearby. When the electronic door slid open, the air was thick with the stench of rusted metal.
There was a loud clatter of metal hitting the floor.
Moments later, Hiro returned with a rifle in hand. Picking up where he left off:
"But this is Japantown. On Tiger Claw turf, beauty is a crime. She didn't have the strength to wield that beauty, so I chose to be that strength for her. Too bad... I wasn't strong enough."
Lin Mo stayed quiet. He didn't ask why Hiro hadn't gone to the cops—because that would've been a dumb question.
The NCPD—Night City's privatized police force—didn't handle this sort of thing.
Understaffed, under-equipped, riddled with corruption... cops here had worse gear than most street thugs, and they operated under constant threat. It was laughable to expect them to care.
More importantly, the NCPD was a publicly traded entity, bankrolled by megacorps. Anything that even slightly involved corporate interests would just get ignored.
Which is why a whole other industry had emerged: outsourced justice. Mercs connected to NCPD's bounty system could respond to crimes for payment.
Lin Mo remembered how, in the game, the map was littered with so many crime markers it gave you a headache. Players could just roam the city clearing them out for eddies and loot.
But in real life, that just meant Night City's crime rate was absurd.
"When was she taken?"
"Two nights ago. I got held up and didn't make it home in time. She got worried, went out looking for me... and the Claws grabbed her."
Two days... That's not good, Lin Mo thought, brows furrowed.
If they were too late, this guy might be an uncle already.
"I know what you're thinking. But don't worry about her. If she's been hurt, they'll die. If she hasn't... they'll still die," Hiro said, voice like cold steel.
He racked the slide of his rifle. The sharp mechanical clack rang out like the first note of a revenge ballad.
Lin Mo glanced at the weapon—D5 Copperhead, made by Nokota.
Unlike Budget Arms, which specialized in dirt-cheap junk, Nokota was known for low-cost weapons that actually performed. The Copperhead had replaced the Kalashnikov as the world's most popular assault rifle. Sleek, gray, and reliable—it was the starter gun of choice for many new mercs.
"With just that? If the spot we're hitting has more than two or three Claws, your firepower won't cut it," Lin Mo said flatly.
"What, now you've got battlefield advice, kid? Should I clean out my ears and bow to hear your wisdom? You trying to teach me how to do my job?" Hiro scoffed, spitting on the floor.
He'd already pawned everything he owned and burned through years of savings to hire someone to help. And Okako had sent him... this?
Sure, she was the best fixer in Westbrook, but seriously?
Still, maybe the kid had something. She wouldn't have risked her rep otherwise.
But now this punk was giving him tactical tips?
Lin Mo realized his comment was too blunt. Given his youthful appearance, it was no surprise Hiro was skeptical.
Not like he could explain that he was actually a fifty-year-old reincarnate...
"Let's talk loadouts. What combat implants do you have?" Lin Mo shifted the topic.
Hiro looked at him, then rattled off: "Reinforced metal right arm, Dynalar YR21 Skin Defender, Kiroshi-grade auditory boost, and enhanced lungs."
Lin Mo mentally sorted the info—most of it wasn't impressive. The Skin Defender was the only thing worth noting.
"Soft subdermal armor, huh? How much can it stop?"
"It's basic. Same as a bulletproof vest. Won't stop much. Not like those tin-can full-body armors," Hiro replied.
"Good enough. You used to be a merc?"
"Yeah. Worked for the Claws a long time ago. Gave it up. Just pick up side gigs now—I didn't want my sister worrying," Hiro said.
"And now, she's in danger because she was worried about you," Lin Mo muttered. Even a 16-year-old like him knew better than that.
"Maybe I sheltered her too much. Kept her away from the city's filth. I always thought I'd save up and get us out someday..." Hiro leaned back, fiddling with his pistol, checking the mag.
"I've packed up everything. Want to check the stash room for extra gear?" he asked, pointing toward the storage room.
Lin Mo shook his head. "I've got what I need."
"Suit yourself. If you gotta piss, better do it now. Hell, crank one out if you have to. Who knows—today might be your last," Hiro said, lighting a cigarette with a deep drag.
"I'd say you're the one who needs to let off some steam. If it affects your aim later, that's on you," Lin Mo replied calmly.
Hiro smoked in silence for a moment, then ground out the butt with his boot. "Fine. Break's over. You ready? Let's move."
"Give me the details."
"In the last two days, I've been searching nonstop. Finally tracked her down yesterday—she's being held in a restaurant owned by a mid-level Claw. No one knows what kind of dirty shit goes on there," Hiro said as he slung a pack over his shoulder.
He glanced at Lin Mo. "Scared?"
"I'm terrified," Lin Mo said as he unsheathed his katana and checked the blade.
"Terrified they'll be dead before I warm up."
Sunlight gleamed off the edge of the weapon. The flash made Hiro squint, caught off guard by how smooth the draw was.
Even a rookie couldn't fake that kind of technique.
If this kid had pulled that on him mid-conversation, Hiro wasn't sure he would've dodged in time.
Satisfied, Lin Mo slid the blade back into the bag. From the outside, it looked like just a standard pack—no one would guess it held a weapon primed to kill.
"Let's go."
.
.
.
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