"This truck's a bit cramped." "You can just say it's tight, Mr. Sesen." Karl and V sat on either side of Arasaka Sesen in the open bed of a
"This truck's a bit cramped."
"You can just say it's tight, Mr. Sesen."
Karl and V sat on either side of Arasaka Sesen in the open bed of a Thorton Mackinaw MTL1 flatbed pickup, guarding him closely in the middle.
"Since you said today's outing needed to be low-profile, we couldn't exactly roll in something flashy. Our own car's out of commission—still unmodded—so we had to borrow one from a friend."
"A friend?"
Sesen, his face partially disguised, looked up at the open sky. It had been a long time since he'd felt this kind of breeze on his face.
"Is your friend a courier?"
"One of the best around. Runs cargo from Heywood to downtown. Everyone calls him 'Old Hauler.' Professional guy. This truck's his latest toy. We'll return it in one piece—he was nice enough to lend it, we're not about to mess it up."
Sesen chuckled at the street-style nickname. Thinking back to his own days running with gangs, then glancing around the truck bed of the Mackinaw, he let out a small sigh.
Since returning to Arasaka, it had been years since he'd felt anything like this. He used to think he saw the world clearly. But after spending so much time buried in corporate life, even he had lost touch with where he came from.
He'd been absorbed too deep.
And yet, this truck? It wasn't bad.
There weren't many rides where you could sit back, feel the wind, and look straight up at the sky…
Even if that sky was barely visible—washed out under layers of neon haze.
Sesen's gaze passed briefly over Arasaka Tower in the distance. He composed himself, and the truck rumbled forward through traffic.
Because of the Mackinaw's open cargo bed, a few passing drivers stole glances at the trio in back. But no one looked twice.
It was simple: the Mackinaw was a plain cargo hauler. And the people in it? Dressed like working-class nobodies. Even in the city center, that wasn't unusual—corpo suits always needed someone to run dirty errands.
Eventually, the truck slowed as they neared the border between Corpo Plaza and Vista Del Rey.
Vista Del Rey—favored by corpo mid-tiers and high-ranking gang members alike. For those who couldn't afford Charter Hill or North Oak, this was where they settled.
They parked the Mackinaw. Jack took point, leading the group on foot to their destination.
It was one of the most expensive apartment complexes in Vista, sitting right on the edge of Corpo Plaza. Sesen had already shared the address. The team kept silent as they moved—minimizing attention.
The meeting spot was on the third floor. Rather than take the elevator, they climbed the stairs. The stairwell reeked of stale dust, a sign the residents here rarely walked between floors.
The building matched its price tag: luxurious. Only two apartments per floor. Each resident basically got half a floor. According to Sesen, the unit across from their target was unoccupied, meaning the entire floor was theirs.
Clack.
Jack, protected by subdermal armor, pushed open the iron door with a metallic creak and stepped into the third-floor corridor first.
His face instantly darkened.
Blood—on the walls. Both sides.
"Something's wrong."
Jack dropped into a guarded stance. V moved instinctively to shield Sesen behind him.
The whole team tensed.
But nothing came.
Other than the metallic scent of blood filling their nostrils, the third floor was dead quiet. Almost eerily so.
"I'll check."
Karl stepped forward from behind Jack, frowning as he examined the blood trail.
The blood wasn't sprayed everywhere, but the pattern said plenty. Judging by the spatter on the tiles, someone had been walking when they were suddenly hit from behind—probably by a mantis blade—and torn clean in half. Karl didn't use mantis blades, but he'd seen enough braindances to recognize the aftermath.
From the height of the spatter, the victim was probably around 1.76 meters tall. Drag marks confirmed the body had been moved. Oddly, only the body had been handled—nothing else was cleaned up.
With a flick of his wrist, Karl produced a compact neurotoxin knife.
"I'll go ahead."
With the formation adjusted, Karl crept forward, following the blood trail cautiously. He passed a corner that had his instincts on edge—but still, no ambush.
The blood led into one of the apartments.
The door was ajar.
"Sir, is this the person you were supposed to meet—?"
"No. They're on the other side."
Understood. So someone had broken into the empty unit… killed someone… and dragged the body inside?
The scent of blood grew sharper. Fresher.
Karl's ears picked up a sound.
Footsteps.
Someone walking inside the apartment.
Tap.
Then—silence.
As if the person inside had suddenly realized they were being watched from the hall.
Time seemed to freeze.
Tap.
Another step.
Karl stepped forward, weapon ready.
But the hallway was empty.
Nothing there.
Except for a single patch of blood—just outside the door—warped unnaturally, as if something had twisted it mid-drip.
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