"Arthur, based on the information you gave me, we've found some leads."
Regina's reply carried a sharp edge—anger tightly restrained.
"That man's name isn't Luke. His real name is Bowey, a mutt from the Northside Industrial District."
Arthur thought, just as he expected—the man wasn't the body's original father at all. He was most likely a trafficker.
Without Arthur prompting her, Regina continued.
"He's a bastard who deals in people—buying, kidnapping, deceiving—he'll use anything.
Age doesn't matter, gender doesn't matter. Anyone can be his target."
"A man like that should be infamous. How did he stay so well hidden?"
"That's his cunning. He works entirely alone, has no accomplices, and never leaves survivors. His secrecy is flawless.
Even the scavenger dens he trades with don't know who he really is."
As he searched through his memories, Arthur roughly understood how the man hid his hostages.
His main targets seemed to be children—toddlers too young to remember anything—trapping them in an invisible cage of forgotten memory.
As for where he got so many unwanted infants, Arthur's thoughts turned to Kabuki.
That hellhole wasn't just full of infertile, memoryless sex dolls; it also had operators too cheap to install proper components. Those people had no safeguards at all.
Kabuki's trash bins overflowed with such stock—and best of all, it came free.
"How did you find him?"
Arthur's hoarse voice now carried anger.
"He crossed the wrong person. A father spent twelve years hunting him down.
Bowey was about to sell that man's child when the flaw in his routine finally gave him away."
Regina's voice dropped to something icy, cold enough to seep through the line.
Arthur paused, then asked, "An ordinary person couldn't have managed that."
"As you guessed, he was one of my informants—one of ours."
A heavy sigh came over the line, though the fury beneath it wouldn't easily fade.
"He acted on impulse, slapped on some heavy cyberware from who-knows-where, and wiped out the scavenger den that had bought his son.
But he still didn't find the boy. In his last clear moments, he called me and begged for help.
Give him peace—and then find his son. If you pull this off, I'll give you a gift."
Arthur weighed the difficulty carefully before answering. It wasn't that he doubted the value of Regina's gift; he was judging whether he could actually succeed. Caution—that was respect for a great father.
"Giving him peace is no problem. But I can't find the boy alone."
"Don't worry about that. Maybe Bowey could hide before, but now I've got his info. He's not escaping.
And from what we know, my man's son is there too.
Find the child—dead or alive—and bring him to me."
After they went over the details, the call ended. Arthur slowly came back to himself.
...
Two big eyes were staring at him—bright red irises fixed on him without blinking.
"Rebecca! What are you doing now?"
Startled, Arthur barked in exasperation.
Rebecca didn't back off. She hopped onto the desk, threw her arms around his head, and locked her legs behind his neck.
"I don't like your face right now. You definitely got a job—and a really infuriating one.
Take me with you!"
The sudden move froze Arthur for a few seconds. A strange scent hit his nose—sharp, with a trace of gunpowder.
He shook it off and pried her loose after a couple of tries.
He glared hard at her, still unsatisfied, and twisted her ear.
Rebecca didn't flinch, staring at him with utter seriousness.
He hadn't really used any force—and clearly, it didn't help anyway.
"The payment isn't money," Arthur said, annoyed. "I can't take you."
"No problem. Money doesn't matter. But you're taking me."
What a crazy little gremlin.
Rebecca still ended up climbing into Arthur's beat-up car.
The ride was anything but smooth—it was his first time behind a steering wheel.
The principle was simple: turn left to go left, turn right to go right; one pedal to speed up, the other to slow down.
Way easier than driving a wagon.
But as confident as he'd been before starting the engine, he was just as flustered now.
After scraping against dozens of cars, he finally started to get the hang of it.
Banging his way clear of the traffic behind him, his first drive finally smoothed out.
In the passenger seat, Rebecca clutched the seatbelt in front of her. Only when the car steadied did she gingerly let go.
"Where are we going?"
"To buy some bullets," Arthur said, eyes on the road.
He had considered letting Rebecca drive, but she claimed she couldn't reach the pedals.
Hmph. Obvious excuse. She might look ridiculously short, but Arthur was sure she could reach. She just didn't know how to drive either.
"Huh? Buy bullets?
You're a merc and you don't keep ammo stocked?"
"These bullets are different. You'll see when we get there!
And stop distracting me!"
At the Watson District pier, Arthur spotted two NCPD officers standing at an intersection and pulled over early.
"We're here."
He shot a sour look at the passenger seat, where Rebecca was sprawled out, half-reclined.
"Come on—time to buy ammo for your antique."
Kicking the door open, Rebecca hopped out.
"If you break my door, I'll bolt you onto it!"
They reached the corner with the NCPD, turned left, and found a nondescript gun shop.
The decor was shabby. A middle-aged man with a plain crew cut leaned against the counter.
Rust-streaked bars covered it, like a post office from two centuries ago.
"Hey, buddy, I remember you. You bought my most prized piece."
He tapped the bars in greeting.
"What are you after this time?"
"Five tungsten flechette rounds. Five APDS (Armor-Piercing Discarding Sabot)."
Arthur went straight to business.
At that, the shopkeeper's eyes flickered, then smoothed over.
Clearly, he'd already guessed who would be firing these monsters. Each round was as long as an average person's forearm.
But some things weren't his to know, and guessing wasn't wise.
He kept his gaze low, avoiding Arthur's eyes.
"Tungsten flechettes are two hundred eddies each. APDS, six hundred each."
Arthur transferred four thousand eddies without another word.
The owner stepped into the back and returned with two black cases.
He set them on the counter with a heavy thud, and the deal was done.
Rebecca circled the cases dangling from Arthur's hands, examining them from every angle.
"What kind of toy can fire something this big?
Let me guess—the Ice Storm series from Militech ?"
Arthur didn't answer.
"Arasaka's Jiecuo knife?"
Still nothing.
"Then it has to be Militech's series."
Arthur shook his head again. The girl was about done guessing.
"So what is it? Don't tell me it's a Tsunami gun. Apollo?"
"It is a Tsunami gun, but not Apollo."
Rebecca's jaw dropped. A Tsunami gun that wasn't Apollo… that could only mean Nekomata.
"Tsunami guns aren't mass-produced! How'd you get one?"
"Picked up a damaged one cheap. Vik fixed it."
"Vik? He's a gunsmith? And one good enough to repair a Tsunami custom-series gun?"
Rebecca exclaimed.
"I'm definitely getting on his good side!"
...
(70 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser