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"As I saw it yesterday, there were only two or three Tyger Claw members at that small restaurant. If I had been better equipped, I could've handled them by myself," Kitagawa Hiro muttered, his voice steady as they walked.
Lin Mo, following behind, couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Then why did you go through Wakako for a gig?"
"Because it's about my sister. I can't afford to take any chances," Kitagawa replied bluntly as they approached the elevator. "You got a ride, or are you coming with me?"
"I'll ride with you," Lin Mo said after a brief pause.
While the Delamain taxis were reliable, they were still just taxis. Sure, they provided safety during the trip, but they wouldn't stick around like a personal driver. Unless you paid for the "Executive Precision" package, the cab wouldn't wait for you in the heat of battle. Lin Mo wasn't counting on his enemies being patient enough to let him call a cab in the middle of a firefight.
Kitagawa didn't reply, merely pressed the button for the parking level. As they descended to the garage, Kitagawa led Lin Mo to a black car.
An old beater: the Archer Hella EC-D I360, a 2023 relic made by Archer. The car was notorious for being one of the worst-performing vehicles in its class, but it was cheap, durable, and easy to repair. Even in 2077, you could still spot these ancient machines sputtering around Night City.
Lin Mo took one look at the car and didn't hesitate to jump into the back seat. If they crashed, he figured it was safer to let Kitagawa take the hit.
Kitagawa, oblivious to Lin Mo's inner monologue, sat in the driver's seat. With a flick of his wrist, he used his neural interface to start the engine. The car sputtered and whined, its engine growling like a wounded animal as it reluctantly pulled out of the parking space.
"What's your plan?" Lin Mo asked from the back seat, casually holding his Kang Tao Overture.
"We go in as customers, scope the place out first," Kitagawa said. "If things look manageable, we strike. If it's too hot, we wait outside and find a better angle. Got a better idea?"
Lin Mo shrugged. "If they've really got your sister in there, they've probably got others too. They could be running a racket. If it were me, I'd spend a couple of days watching the place to figure out exactly where they keep the captives."
"No way," Kitagawa cut in, shaking his head. "She's been missing for two days already. I'm not waiting any longer. You think I want to pick up a corpse instead?"
Lin Mo raised his hands, unfazed. "Your gig, your call. You're the one paying."
Kitagawa mulled over Lin Mo's suggestion for a moment before responding. "Alright. We'll do recon first, play it by ear. I'll go in like normal. You, stick to my side and act like you're my errand boy. We draw as little attention as possible. If things go south, we hit hard. If there's too much heat, we find another way in."
"Works for me," Lin Mo replied. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small injector.
Kitagawa's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, his voice suddenly alarmed. "Hey, what the hell are you doing?"
"Muscle stim," Lin Mo said nonchalantly, pushing the injector into his arm. "It'll give me an edge for about an hour. Better to do it now than in the middle of a fight."
Combat stimulants like this had their downsides, of course. Once the effect wore off, fatigue set in, leaving the user drained. But during a fight, the boost was undeniable. Lin Mo had tested this particular stim before—it upped his physical attributes by two points, pushing him closer to elite-level combat capability.
For Lin Mo, that meant his body stat would jump from 4 to 6, a significant improvement, especially in close-quarters combat. In a world where every attribute point counted, this was the difference between life and death.
"Must be nice to have money to burn," Kitagawa muttered, half-impressed, half-annoyed.
Lin Mo smirked but said nothing as the rusted old car rattled down the street, the groaning metal making Lin Mo question if they'd even make it to the restaurant. He began to regret not insisting on a Delamain. Sure, he'd have to wait for pickup if things went south, but at least he wouldn't be riding in a ticking time bomb.
Lin Mo could already picture it—barely escaping the firefight, only for the car's engine to explode in a puff of black smoke the moment they hit the gas. Kitagawa pounding the steering wheel as the Tyger Claws closed in.
Thankfully, the car held together long enough to get them to their destination: a run-down street-side restaurant. The sign out front, flickering in neon, proudly boasted "24-Hour Service" in messy kanji, but the place didn't look like it saw much business.
Kitagawa took a deep breath and lit a cigarette, trying to steel himself. "Stick to the plan," he muttered, smoke curling from his lips as he headed inside.
Lin Mo followed, the weight of his Dian SMG hidden in his backpack, while his Overture was tucked in his jacket pocket. In his arms, he carried a long cloth bag—the Black Unicorn, a katana resting inside, unseen but deadly. As long as no one searched them, they'd never suspect he was carrying enough firepower to level the place.
The restaurant was nearly empty. Kitagawa ordered a couple of dishes at the counter and led Lin Mo to a corner table. The food arrived shortly after—unappetizing fare that looked like it hadn't been prepared with care. Kitagawa poked at his plate with disgust, while Lin Mo eyed a rubbery fish ball on a stick, chewing cautiously.
"Doesn't look like many of the Tyger Claws are here," Kitagawa whispered, glancing around. "No auto-turrets, either."
Lin Mo scanned the room. Aside from the poorly dressed patrons, there were no obvious signs of Tyger Claw members—at least, not yet. The upper floors remained unchecked.
Lin Mo finally bit into the fish ball. It was as bad as he'd feared, tasting like overcooked rubber.
"So, are we making our move?" Lin Mo asked quietly, his hand already resting on his pistol, ready to draw the second Kitagawa gave the word.
He imagined it now—Kitagawa smashing his glass on the table, shouting something about the food being as foul as sewer water. Then Lin Mo would stand, guns blazing, catching everyone off guard.
But before Kitagawa could give the signal, the rumble of engines outside drew their attention. Kitagawa's fingers relaxed from his weapon, his eyes narrowing.
"Someone's here," Kitagawa muttered, turning his gaze to the street.
A bright red car screeched to a halt outside, followed closely by several matching motorcycles. The vehicles were unmistakable—painted in the distinctive red-and-green color scheme favored by the Tyger Claws. The kanji for "Unmatched" was scrawled across the side of the lead car in thick, bold strokes.
Sure enough, Tyger Claw members spilled out of the vehicles. One of them popped the trunk, pulling out a woman, unconscious and limp, before hauling her toward the back door of the restaurant.
"These bastards..." Kitagawa hissed, his metal hand tightening around the glass in front of him, causing cracks to spiderweb across the surface.
"Still want to go loud?" Lin Mo asked, noting the small group—eight or so, including the ones outside. Enough to handle, but not a walk in the park if they had more inside.
Kitagawa held back. "Wait. I need to see where they're keeping her."
He strained to listen, the auditory enhancements in his ears amplifying the sounds from outside. Heavy footsteps echoed through the walls, growing quieter as the group carried the woman inside. From what Kitagawa could make out, they were heading upstairs, to a room filled with faint sounds of distress.
"Got it," Kitagawa said, his eyes locking onto the second floor.
But just as he was about to move, a man in a white suit, flanked by six Tyger Claw thugs, approached their table, as if they'd been expecting him. The leader planted his hands firmly on the table, leaning forward, while his crew trained their guns on Lin Mo and Kitagawa. The unmistakable sound of weapons cocking filled the room.
"Long time no see, Hiro..." the man hissed, his voice slithering like a venomous snake.