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With the final crack of Kitagawa Hiro's Copperhead, another Tyger Claw body crumpled to the ground, marking the end of the battle in this desolate lot.
Lin Mo calmly swung his Black Unicorn, shaking the blood from its blade. The sword's surface gleamed with an unnatural luster, the glowing blue and cyan runes etched into the steel shimmering in the dim light. Not a drop of blood marred its surface as he slid it back into the scabbard, the dangerous aura fading with it.
Kitagawa followed suit, ejecting his spent magazine and swiftly loading a fresh one. He exhaled deeply, letting the tension drain from his body.
"That should be the last one, right?" Lin Mo asked, though there was still a note of caution in his voice. "He didn't seem like a high-ranking Tyger Claw. Commanding eight goons was probably the most he could handle."
"Yeah, seems like it," Kitagawa nodded, his shoulders relaxing for the first time since the fight started. His gaze turned to Lin Mo, and for the first time, it wasn't one of doubt or arrogance—it was pure gratitude. "Lin, I can't thank you enough. Without your help, I'd be dead. My sister would've been lost forever."
He knew that if it weren't for Lin Mo, the best he could've done was take down a few of these thugs before dying himself. His sister, in that case, would have been condemned to a life worse than death—enslaved in some braindance hell, her body and mind sold for sick entertainment until there was nothing left of her.
"Hey," Lin Mo shrugged nonchalantly, though there was a small grin tugging at his lips. "Just doing my job. 'Paid to clean up other people's messes,' right? Hope you're satisfied with your 'errand boy' today, Mr. Client."
Kitagawa winced at the reminder of his earlier arrogance. "Yeah, about that... I'm sorry, Lin. I underestimated you." He bowed his head slightly. "The money Wakako paid you is nowhere near enough for what you've done. I spent everything just to hire her, so I can't repay you right now. But I owe you—seriously. You need anything, anytime, you come to me. No hesitation."
Lin Mo, already cleaning up the mess, waved off the apology. He stowed his katana in the bag and began picking up discarded magazines and ammo, hardly paying attention to Kitagawa's gratitude.
"We can talk about this later," Lin Mo said, his eyes scanning the ground for anything of value. "The job's not done yet. You still need to get your sister."
Kitagawa, spurred back into action, turned and bolted toward the restaurant. However, halfway through, he paused and turned back to Lin Mo. "Are you staying here to clean up?"
Lin Mo didn't look up, still rifling through the scattered weapons. "I'm just grabbing the gear. I'm not interested in the bodies—scavengers will handle that. They've got a nose for this kind of thing. They'll be here soon enough."
Kitagawa gave him a confused look. The thought of bothering with low-level gang weapons seemed pointless to him. These were bottom-tier street thugs—nothing they had was worth much on the market. Even the Shigure SMGs and Nokogiri rifles weren't rare enough to bother with. Sure, you could find buyers, but anyone with serious eddies would rather pay for something new, not hand-me-downs covered in blood.
"Those things won't fetch much... maybe a couple hundred eddies for the lot," Kitagawa mused. "Is it really worth it?"
Lin Mo just shrugged again. "Maybe. But why leave it? Someone'll find value in it. Might as well make a little extra. First real gig in Night City, you know?"
Kitagawa raised an eyebrow but nodded. Lin Mo's pragmatism was strange, but it made sense in a way. He had to respect the kid's resourcefulness, even if he didn't fully understand it. "Alright. Take care of yourself, Lin."
With that, Kitagawa dashed off toward the restaurant, eager to free his sister from her captors.
Lin Mo continued his slow sweep of the battlefield, picking up weapons, ammo, and anything else that looked remotely valuable.
There's something oddly satisfying about cleaning up after a fight, he thought to himself. The old gamer instinct in him wouldn't let him leave loot behind, no matter how meager.
Guess old habits die hard.
He moved from body to body, tossing guns into his bag. It was a small victory, but one that gave him a sense of closure. He couldn't help but think of the ecosystem that Night City had built around these skirmishes—an endless cycle of violence, scavenging, and survival. The vultures, or in this case, Scavs, would be here soon. They thrived in the dark underbelly of the city, picking clean the remains of battles like this, turning the dead into profit by harvesting implants and organs without a second thought.
The Scavs, or scavengers, were a blight on Night City. Unlike organized gangs like the Tyger Claws, Scavs had no rules, no boundaries. They'd kidnap anyone, cut them up on the spot, and sell their parts to the highest bidder—everything from cyberware to organs, and even raw emotions for use in black-market braindance recordings.
Lin Mo's stomach churned slightly at the thought. The Scavs were worse than any gang. They weren't interested in power or control, just money and suffering.
And the worst part? Night City's ecosystem relied on them. The whole city was built on a system of death and salvage, where every life had a price and every death fed into the machine.
He sighed, looking over the scene one last time. In the grand scheme of things, this little fight was nothing more than a blip—a small burst of violence in a city that fed on destruction. The bodies, the weapons, the wreckage—soon enough, it would all be swept up and forgotten.
He knew it all too well. In Night City, battles like this left wreckage that was quickly scavenged and recycled back into the system, like a whale fall in the deep ocean, feeding the scavengers and bottom-feeders that thrived in the city's underbelly.
In Night City, it's always eat or be eaten.
As he gathered the last of the usable weapons, Lin Mo glanced back at the street, where a few shadows lingered at the edges of the alleyway. A group of nomads or homeless—curious onlookers, likely waiting for the opportunity to pick over whatever scraps remained after he left.
In the shadows of the towering megabuildings, the alley felt claustrophobic, the sun barely managing to pierce through the dense jungle of steel and neon. But just a few feet away, the main road was bathed in warm, golden light, the contrast sharp and surreal.
Lin Mo tightened the straps on his bag and let out a long breath. He gave one last glance at the wreckage behind him before heading toward the restaurant. His mission wasn't over yet.
Night City's a beast, and the wreckage left behind always draws in new scavengers.