"From what I saw yesterday, that small diner only had two or three Tiger Claws inside. If I'd had more gear on me, I could've cleaned them out myself," Hiro Kitagawa said.
Lin Mo, walking behind him, couldn't help but scoff. "Then why'd you put in a job request with Wakako?"
"Just in case. It's my sister we're talking about—I can't afford to take risks," Hiro replied. The two reached the elevator. "You got a ride, or are we taking mine?"
"Let's take yours," Lin Mo said after thinking for a moment.
Delamain taxis were nice, but they were still taxis—they wouldn't stick around like a personal driver. Unless you paid for the Precision Platinum package, Delamain wouldn't wait in the parking lot.
And if they ended up in a firefight and needed to get out fast, Lin Mo doubted the enemy would politely wait for him to call a cab.
Hiro didn't reply and pressed the button for the basement level.
They walked into the underground garage, where Hiro led Lin Mo to a black car.
—Thorton Colby EC-D I360. An antique model released by Thorton back in 2023. Famously underwhelming in every performance category, but incredibly easy to repair and cheap to maintain. Even now, you could still spot them on Night City's streets.
Lin Mo gave the old thing a glance and climbed into the backseat without hesitation.
At least if they crashed, someone else would take the hit first.
Unaware of Lin Mo's thoughts, Hiro got in and started the engine using a standard ignition chip. The car let out a low groan, something between a snore and a death rattle, as it rolled out of the garage.
"Got a plan?" Lin Mo asked, cradling the Black Unicorn across his chest.
"We go in posing as customers and scout the place. If we spot an opening, we sneak her out. If that fails, we hit them hard. Or do you have a better idea?" Hiro asked plainly.
"If they really have your sister locked up in that diner, chances are she's not the only one. They've probably done this before. If it were me, I'd watch the place a day or two to see where they're keeping the girls," Lin Mo suggested.
"No way. It's already been two days. Wait any longer and I'll be retrieving a corpse," Hiro snapped.
Lin Mo shrugged. "You're the one paying the eddies. Your call."
Still, Hiro fell silent for a while before saying, "So you're suggesting we play it cautious first?"
"Unless you think you can take them all out by yourself, yeah," Lin Mo said, unzipping his backpack to check his gear.
"Fair. This is my sister. Can't fuck it up. We'll go in as planned. You can pose as my assistant—your baby face should help. We'll order food, lay low. If there's only a few of them, we strike. If there's more, we'll find another angle," Hiro said.
"Works for me," Lin Mo nodded, pulling out a syringe.
Hiro caught it in the rearview and quickly said, "Hey, what the hell are you doing?"
"Muscle stim. Lasts an hour. No time to use it later, so might as well now," Lin Mo replied, calmly injecting himself.
These kinds of combat stims always came with side effects.
This one gave temporary strength but left you weak afterward. Still, the boost it provided was more than worth it.
With his current stats, the stim gave him +2 Body—putting him at 6. Just below the elite tier of 7 or 8.
It might seem like just two points, but stat gains in this world were exponential. Some people spent their entire lives trying to gain one.
Which also explained why this stuff was so expensive. One dose cost more than a regular person's monthly paycheck.
"Must be nice not giving a damn about eddies..." Hiro muttered.
He didn't press the issue, though. If the kid was willing to spend big, he wasn't going to argue.
The old clunker kept rattling down the street. Lin Mo could hear the frame groaning and worried it might fall apart mid-mission.
Maybe he should've taken a Delamain after all.
Sure, he'd have to wait for pickup after the job—but at least the car wouldn't blow a gasket when he hit the gas.
He imagined it now: they'd fight through hell, get to the car, ready for a badass getaway... then the engine would sputter, smoke, and the hood would fly off. Real action hero shit.
But somehow, this piece of junk had survived until 2075. Maybe it had some magic in it after all.
Ten minutes later, Hiro pulled up outside the diner.
It looked like any other street joint. Greasy windows, stained floors, and a flickering neon sign reading "Open 24 Hours."
"Stick to the plan," Hiro muttered, lighting a cigarette like it gave him courage.
He exhaled a plume of smoke and strode through the front door.
Lin Mo checked his loadout.
G-58 Dian SMG and supplies in his backpack, Kang Tao Super Pistol in his jacket, and the Black Unicorn in its case slung across his chest.
Unless someone frisked him, no one would expect a teenager to be this armed.
He followed Hiro in.
The place was quiet. Hiro ordered at the counter and sat with Lin Mo at a corner table.
"Doesn't look like they've got many people here. Not seeing those flashy Tiger Claw goons either," Hiro said, pretending to eat while scanning the room.
"And no auto-turrets."
They hadn't seen anyone outside either. So far, no visible gang presence except maybe on the upper floor.
Lin Mo picked up a fish ball skewer, stared at it for a bit, and took a bite.
Chewy. Plastic texture. Lovely.
"So... do we start the party now?" he asked, slipping his hand into his coat to grip the pistol.
One cue from Hiro and he'd flip a table, shout, "This tastes like sewer water!" and pull a gun on the whole damn place.
In this world, you didn't need much of a reason to start trouble.
Hiro also reached for his weapon—but froze at the sound of roaring engines outside.
"Someone's here," he said, looking toward the window.
A fire-red sports car sped up, trailed by modded motorcycles in the same red color.
Painted on the side of the car were four bold characters: 天下無双—"Unmatched Under Heaven." The red-green color scheme and traditional script were a dead giveaway. Tiger Claws.
The vehicles skidded to a halt in front of the diner.
One of the gangsters popped the trunk and pulled out a limp woman—right there in the open—carrying her around the side to the back door.
"Bastards," Hiro growled. His chrome hand clenched his glass so hard it cracked.
"Still want to go loud?" Lin Mo asked. He counted eight of them.
Not too many. Even if there were more upstairs, the total probably didn't exceed ten.
With the Dian SMG, Lin Mo could likely gun down half before the rest took cover behind vehicles.
"Hold. I need to know where they're keeping her," Hiro muttered, listening closely.
His enhanced ears amplified everything.
Heavy footsteps passed through the diner. The guy carrying the woman was struggling.
Then came the creaking of stairs—he was going up.
A muffled cry, then a dull thud. She'd been dropped.
"Got it," Hiro said, locking eyes on the second floor.
But the next second, he froze.
A man in a white Tiger Claw suit walked toward them, flanked by six goons. As if he'd been waiting for them.
He leaned on their table and stared Hiro down.
Behind him, the gangsters raised their weapons. The soft click-clack of chambers being loaded filled the air.
"Long time no see, Hiro..." the man hissed like a viper.
.
.
.
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