Chapter 4
Amid the dazzling neon lights of Dark Moon City, blue and white beams lit up the night sky so brightly it could easily be mistaken for day. In the heart of Actoria District, the glowing blue hologram screens stretched across towering skyscrapers like enormous ice pillars piercing the heavens. On the endless streets below, those screens flashed anime, manga, and advertisements of every kind, glowing brilliantly against the neon backdrop.
Racing through the night were sleek cars—blue, red, purple, gold—hovering on magnetic cushions, roaring down the streets at hundreds of kilometers per hour. They whipped up gusts of wind so strong even the trees lining the sidewalks bent and shook. On the sidewalks, the crowds surged—elderly, children, salarymen in stiff suits, students in hoodies or baby tees, each dressed in the energetic, modern style of Dark Moon City. Inside the glass towers, countless workers still tapped at hologram terminals under the watchful eye of AI supervisors, driven by one simple truth: no matter how advanced this city was compared to the abandoned zones outside, survival still required money, and in Dark Moon City, money cost more than anywhere else.
In this ocean of people flooding the white-tiled streets, two figures stood out. Moe slipped a black collar from the pocket of her lab coat, twirling it in her hand before fastening it around Lucy's neck. With her left hand, she pulled out a small injector filled with an antidote to the sedatives still in Lucy's system, then drove it into her arm. As Lucy's veins flushed with purple, Moe's voice was soft, almost comforting:
Moe
> Master… don't attack. You're wearing an EB collar now. It will detonate if you so much as think of striking me.
She stepped back into the crowd, silent. Slowly, Lucy's crimson eyes regained focus. Her hand clenched with irritation as she glared at Moe—hatred, not pain, flashing across her face. When she grabbed Moe by the throat, Moe stayed still, unflinching. Lucy's voice came out sharp, laced with anger, the red of her eyes clashing with the city's cool neon blue.
Lucy
> Next time, don't put anything on my body without asking me first… Now tell me—what do you want?
Moe quietly reached into her coat. She pulled out nothing but dust. Lucy stared, then gave a hollow, humorless laugh. In a city where money was everything, being broke was as good as being dead. She let Moe go, gave her a mocking pat on the shoulder, and turned her eyes toward the skyscrapers, their peaks hidden in the clouds.
Lucy
> Out of money, huh? Then let's go make some… Dog-hunting jobs, right?
Moe nodded silently. Without warning, Lucy seized her arm and dashed forward. The two cut through the packed streets like arrows, dodging bodies, weaving left and right without colliding once. In a swift motion, Lucy slipped into a narrow alley where the city's brilliance dissolved into darkness—damp, stinking, litter-strewn. They kicked aside black trash bags until an old, yellow-stained white door came into view. Lucy glanced back, smirking with mockery.
Lucy
> A robot like you probably can't do anything here… but let's see.
She shoved the door open and pulled Moe inside. The room beyond was a claustrophobic vault of gray concrete, rusted lockers stacked two stories high stretching into the shadows. The air reeked of mold and decades of neglect. Lucy led the way to Locker 140. Its ancient keypad flickered weakly as she typed in: 23092082. Click… click… With a heavy creak, the locker swung open, revealing a dark compartment, rusted through, holding six white half-masks shaped like fox faces and a single card:
Land: Night Fox.
Lucy glanced at it with disinterest, tossed it away, and muttered flatly:
Lucy
> Wow… so Night Fox is down to just me. Well—two, if you count the robot.
She took two masks, sliding one over her own face and handing the other to Moe. Moe's pale hand lifted it slowly, fastening it to her face as well. Lucy slammed the locker shut with such force the metal caved inward. The electromagnetic locks clicked shut again as they walked forward to another white door.
When they opened it, the stench of alcohol hit immediately. The bar inside was alive with chaos—drunken men draped with six, sometimes eight women each; others vomiting onto the floor; robots scuttling to and fro with trays of food and drink. The pounding bass rattled the walls, a jarring contrast to the serious city outside.
Lucy sat down at a table by the bar, flipping through the menu. A small delivery bot rolled up, and she patted its head before speaking softly:
Lucy
> One Limeade Soda.
The bot beeped and wheeled off. Around them, drunks shouted, fought, and collapsed across their tables. Moe glanced at Lucy, her voice carrying a rare note of curiosity.
Moe
> You can't handle alcohol, can you?
Lucy flushed red instantly, pounding her fist on the table in embarrassment, trying to mask it with a code-tap: "… .-.. . -. -." Fortunately, the blaring music drowned them out. Moe looked like she wanted to laugh, but instead just nodded seriously.
A moment later, the robot returned, setting a tall glass down. The honey-gold drink sparkled, condensation dripping down the chilled glass, glowing ice cubes shifting from purple to blue under the bar's neon. Just as Lucy reached for it, a dry, powerful hand clamped onto her shoulder.
Her eyes darted to the Patek Philippe Grandmaster Chime Ref. 6300A-010 on his wrist, to the ocean-blue suit and gold tie. She set the drink down and turned. The man towering over her was nearly two meters tall, his white hair slicked back, eyes sharp as ice.
Lucy narrowed her gaze, her playful tone gone, replaced by steel.
Lucy
> David Welfen… CEO of Neo Toyota. Second son of the Welfen family—the ones who stole Toyota from the Japanese. Tell me… what job do you want from me?
David's jaw tightened, irritation flickering across his face before he composed himself, slipping back into the fake calm of the ultra-rich. He sat down beside her, nose wrinkling at the stench, and spoke smoothly.
David
> Oh… so Night Fox does their homework on their clients. Good. The job is simple.
He slid a contract across the table.
[To be continue]