After tinkering in his head for a while with the system interface and logs he had to prepare for the players, Lin Miao finally decided to go out and take a look. Without going out, how could he see the real world through the internet?
Besides, this place is damned peculiar. A monthly rent of 1500 euro would be fine if it covered all, but it only includes accommodation, not meals or drinks. Showers and laundry incur separate charges, which is outrageously expensive.
To be safe, Lin Miao put on a jacket over his bulletproof vest, placed his gun with the safety off on his waist, walked to the door, and took several deep breaths.
The electric door slid open to the right, and a wave of mixed hot air smells—urine, sweat, burning plastic—hit him directly. This aroma was so real, accompanied by the noise, the sound of cursing in various languages, the reprimands of uniformed police pinning people against the doors, the clattering of mechanical components, inexplicable cheers, incessant advertisement slogans.
The building's design somewhat resembled the cylindrical, spiral-shaped buildings of Hong Kong's Kowloon Walled City, except the internal space is several times larger. The wide corridor in front of the entrance is spacious enough for four or five people to walk side by side, crowded with people coming and going. Some daredevils sit directly on the rooftop railing, while the open area in the corridor corner serves as a boxing ring surrounded by a crowd cheering on fighters of exaggerated physiques. There are giant figures over two meters tall everywhere, and nearby the ring, small shops and mobile restaurants are lined up. Across the central courtyard, Lin Miao could even see a gun store a few floors below on the opposite side.
Let's just say the folk customs here in Night City are straightforward and enthusiastic.
But Lin Miao did not linger at the door, pretending not to be much interested in his surroundings and avoiding contact with anyone, heading straight to the nearby construction elevator and taking it with a few young ladies down to the first floor.
Their flamboyant hairstyles and flamboyant outfits gave Lin Miao a nostalgic illusion of returning to a QQ Space from twenty years ago, and their conversation revolved around yesterday's guest being too rough, almost wrecking an artificial limb—dumb jokes.
Ding~~
With the elevator reaching the first floor, Lin Miao stepped out of the iron gate and immediately spotted a good spot.
A modest food stall, yet hardly any customers.
In the hopeful gaze of the street vendor, Lin Miao casually sat on a high stool, and the vendor eagerly asked,
"What would the boss like to eat?"
Lin Miao glanced at the food and menu in the glass cabinet, a mixed assortment of ramen, sushi, buns, hot dogs. Unable to decide, he said casually,
"Give me your specialty, and tell me about this place."
"Sure, boss, you seem to be new here. I know everything about this place. You've come to the right person." The street vendor grinned broadly, tossing a handful of starchy ramen into the pot while chattering away.
From notable mercenaries and sex dolls living in the skyscraper to surrounding gang conflicts and news, he spoke fluently. Countless people pass through this building daily; even a casual remark is a rich source of information, regardless of truth.
Lin Miao did not mind being recognized as a newcomer, listening to the vendor's bragging while scanning the surroundings for things that might pique his interest.
Soon, his attention was drawn to a sixteen or seventeen-year-old teenager. Though his Mohawk hairstyle might stand out in Lin Miao's original world, it seemed ordinary in Night City, not enough to warrant a second glance.
What truly caught Lin Miao's interest was the teenager himself and others' attitudes toward him.
The teenager sat idly on some stair platform at the entrance of the skyscraper, watching every person entering and leaving with a listless gaze. Only when kids in jackets with obvious prosthetic modifications walked by did he show a look of curiosity and longing.
These so-called punk kids or edge runners are essentially bounty hunters, a synonym for mercenaries, living on the edge of society and the law, engaging in routine criminal activities like theft, robbery, murder, protection, etc.
Unlike the teenager's curiosity, some people passing by cast looks of disgust and disdain towards him.
Thus Lin Miao asked the street vendor, "What's the deal with that guy? Seems like he doesn't fit with others."
"Oh, him." The vendor glanced and immediately knew who Lin Miao was asking about. "A student."
"Student? Do people here dislike students?"
"Not him, it's his Arasaka Academy that folks despise..."
"Arasaka Academy..." Lin Miao had seen this so-called Arasaka online, noted as the top firm in Night City. Yet in this world, people who work for such corporations seem unpopular, especially among the lower tier who outright resent them. It's not hard to understand why this teenager would provoke hostility.
It's not merely about so-called upward mobility. In others' eyes, this teenager likely bears the label of a traitor to his kind.
"Can someone living here attend Arasaka Academy?"
"Who knows, eh...," as though finding someone willing to listen to his ramblings, the vendor softly said, "Everyone says they hate the corporations, but corporate dogs have wealth and power. Which average Joe among us doesn't dream of squeezing their kid into a corporate academy for success, though God knows what means his mother used..."
The vendor finished with a knowing look.
...just like how those old ladies sit around during the New Year's, scrutinizing every passerby at the village entrance.
Still, it gave Lin Miao a deeper understanding of Night City's so-called corporations and stirred some personal scheming in his heart.
He bowed his head and slurped a mouthful of ramen. Though synthetic food lacks wheat fragrance, the seasonings were adequate, making the taste decent. He asked casually again.
"I've heard about Night City's fixers. Can you tell me about any notable ones?"
"You asked the right person then. Those mercenaries come here all the time, bragging about who they know, like Ogata Wagako, Faraday, the runaway black-skinned fat Jesus, and old captain Reyes. I even have to pay him protection fees."
"Are you a local of Santo Domingo?"
"No, I used to be an Adcardo wanderer living on Stone Ridge Mountain. Couldn't make it any more there, so I moved with everyone into Night City. That place is deserted now, not a single soul left..."
PS: Punk, bounty hunter, edge runner, mercenary are synonymous in Night City. Additionally, David's content is derived from the edge runner table game setting; the novel will closely align with the game's core settings.