The remaining gang members watched in horror as their leader's throat was cut, their faces twisted in shock and fury. Their eyes were filled with hatred, knowing full well that this cold, ruthless boy wouldn't let them live.
They had surrendered their weapons in the faint hope that they might be spared, but now, with their leader dead, any illusion of survival was shattered. Desperation overtook them as they reached for their guns, ready to go down fighting.
"Kill them all," Lin Mo's voice rang out, cold and emotionless, like a death sentence from a heartless sovereign.
As the command fell, the mounted machine guns on the Chevillon Emperor 720s whirred to life. The barrels roared, unleashing a storm of large-caliber rounds that tore through the gang members. Human bodies, so fragile against such raw firepower, were ripped apart—flesh and limbs strewn across the alley.
A few gang members managed to raise their weapons, but were swiftly picked off by hidden snipers, each shot expertly placed to take them down with a single bullet to the head.
The scene became a slaughterhouse—a macabre painting of blood and viscera, where the gang's broken bodies and severed limbs painted the alley in crimson, a gateway to a cyberpunk nightmare.
The gunfire stopped, and silence returned. Not a single gang member remained standing.
The corporate security forces advanced methodically, weapons raised and trained, ensuring there were no survivors. Those gang members still breathing were met with a final, merciless bullet to the head.
Lin Mo took a deep breath, the acrid stench of blood heavy in the air. His gaze swept over the alley, a landscape drenched in red. For most, this scene would be enough to send them retching.
If only there was some rain to wash it all away, he mused briefly, though in Night City, that rain would likely be acid.
The SSI security captain, far from being disturbed by the carnage, approached Lin Mo with an almost obsequious smile. "Mr. Lin Mo, you've done Night City a great service tonight. Scum like this—dangerous, unpredictable—they need to be put down. If the NCPD hears about this, I wouldn't be surprised if they gave you a medal."
"No," Lin Mo's voice cut him off, cold as the steel in his hand. "I'd rather keep this quiet."
The captain blinked, then quickly nodded. "Of course, sir. Per your contract, your identity will remain strictly confidential. No media will hear about you, and if any news breaks, it'll just be spun as another gang-on-gang firefight."
He added, "We've already notified the NCPD to hold off their response. They won't come until you've left the area. Then they'll clean up the scene."
"Good," Lin Mo nodded. He paused, then said, "You're dismissed. Head back. There's no need to escort me."
The captain hesitated. "But, sir, our contract stipulates we have to ensure your safety until you reach a secure location."
Lin Mo's eyes flicked to the pendant hanging around the captain's neck, a small family photo inside. "Go home. Spend time with your family. I'll handle the company."
The captain fell silent, clearly taken aback by the remark. "Thank you, Mr. Lin Mo. I hope this is the last time you face something like this," he said, shaking Lin Mo's hand before retreating.
With professional efficiency, the SSI team piled into their Chevillon Emperors, leaving the alley in the same disciplined manner they had arrived. The gang members hadn't even managed to land a hit on them.
Lin Mo watched the vehicles drive off, then glanced back at the alley, the grotesque aftermath of the massacre soaking the ground. He sighed quietly.
I should've had them scavenge the bodies before they left, he thought wryly.
Noticing Lin Mo's gaze, Hiroshi finally shook off the shock of the night's events and approached, his voice tentative. "Lin Mo, were you thinking about looting their gear?"
Lin Mo waved it off. "Too much hassle. If you're short on cash, feel free to take what you want."
Hiroshi bowed slightly. "Thanks, Lin Mo."
"You've got questions, I assume? Better ask them now, because that edge-runner crew is headed this way," Lin Mo said, nodding toward the group of six approaching from across the street.
He knew Hiroshi had plenty of questions—about his real identity, how he had summoned a high-level corporate security team, and why someone like him was working as an edge-runner in the first place. Lin Mo had already prepared some half-truths to brush him off. It wasn't time to reveal everything.
But, surprisingly, Hiroshi just smiled and shook his head. "Do you think I'm going to ask about your background?"
"It's the most logical question," Lin Mo replied.
Hiroshi's smile deepened. "No. I've already decided to follow you. Whatever secrets you have, they don't matter. If you want to tell me, you will. If not, I'm fine with that."
He met Lin Mo's gaze, his expression suddenly serious. "There's only one thing I want to ask, Lin Mo. What's your view on killing all those gang members?"
Hiroshi's eyes were sharp, as if he was searching for some deeper truth in Lin Mo's words.
Lin Mo was briefly surprised. After a moment, he sighed and answered, "I won't justify the killing. What's done is done. There's no going back. If you're looking for a reason, it's simple—I don't have the luxury of showing mercy right now."
"If I hadn't given the order, someone else would have. But this started with me, so it had to end with me. The blood is on my hands, and I'll bear that weight. But if you're asking if I feel guilty—no, I don't."
"I don't believe in regret. If you regret something, do something to fix it. But don't expect doing good to absolve you. I value life, but only to a point."
"Does that bother you?" Lin Mo asked, a small smile playing on his lips.
Hiroshi shook his head, his expression resolute, like a man who had found the answer he was searching for.
"No, Lin Mo. I just needed to understand your code. From now on, as your ally, I'll follow it—no matter where it leads. Even if that's straight to hell."
Hiroshi didn't mention heaven, because he knew better.
For those with bloodstained hands, there's no heaven waiting.