Back at the restaurant, Lin Mo saw the receptionist who'd been behind the counter earlier—now slumped over the table, unconscious, sleeping like a baby.
The door to the inner rooms had been violently forced open, riddled with bullet holes. A few deep dents—clearly from punches—covered the reinforced metal, a clear trace of the attacker's desperation.
It was an electronic security door, and a strong one at that. Despite the savage assault, it had only been forced open partway—just enough to make a half-meter-wide gap.
Lin Mo paused, sizing it up. After comparing the opening to his own height, he sighed quietly.
Without saying a word, he fished an access token from the knocked-out receptionist and swiped it across the control panel. The door slid open immediately.
Of course, he didn't forget to "borrow" a little spare change from the register—only to sneak it back into the poor guy's pocket. Small compensations.
Following the signs of the rampage, Lin Mo made his way upstairs, just in time to see Hiro Kitagawa emerging.
He was carrying a girl on his back.
She wore Hiro's jacket and was completely unconscious. Her face was buried in his shoulder, long black hair disheveled and missing patches, like someone had torn it out by the handful.
"Need a hand?" Lin Mo asked softly, not wanting to disturb the already shattered older brother.
Hiro looked up at him, his voice hoarse like a wounded beast. "No. But thanks, Lin-kun."
He carried her down the stairs quickly. Had he not been carrying her, Lin Mo figured Hiro would've sprinted.
Lin Mo followed in silence.
They soon reached the car.
Hiro gently laid his sister in the back seat, then quickly jumped into the driver's seat.
Once Lin Mo was buckled in beside him, Hiro slammed the gas. The old junker's needle jerked wildly across the dash. The engine let out a beastly roar as the tires screamed and the car surged forward.
It was hard to believe this beat-up antique still had such a furious kick.
In Lin Mo's mind, he pictured the car as an ancient warhorse, jolted from its deathbed by its rider's will. "Springing from the edge of death—'Where to, my master?'"
The sudden burst of speed smacked Lin Mo into the seat like a ragdoll.
Then it hit him—
In Tiger Claw culture, any member with ambition would do everything they could to get their hands on a Quadra Turbo-R 740. They'd paint it bright red and green, scrawl "Peerless Under Heaven" in calligraphy across the body—just like the bastard earlier.
They'd rename the car "Raijin," after the god of thunder. It was the ultimate flex: a crimson bolt on the street, a symbol of power.
Hiro had clearly lived that life. In his prime, roaring down Night City streets in his tricked-out sports car, pistol in hand, one eye on the road, cigarette dangling from his lips. The kind of presence that turned heads and froze rivals.
But he'd sold it all—for his sister. Traded flash for function. He bought this wreck just to get her to and from school.
The fire inside hadn't died—it had just gone dormant. Now, to save her, that fire reignited.
That wolf-like drive—born again. Even if he were driving a garbage truck, he'd still tear up the streets.
…
But raw willpower has limits. And a price.
Just as the car reached the road—BANG—black smoke belched from under the hood, and the momentum sputtered out like a dying breath.
Hiro: …
Lin Mo: …
Lin Mo blinked. Well, guess his earlier premonition was right.
He didn't even need to look. He could feel the storm cloud hanging over Hiro's head.
"Baka yarō! Of all the damn times!" Hiro snarled, slamming the steering wheel with his fist.
Right… even if Takumi Fujiwara himself had taken the wheel, there was no drifting this junkheap out of its death throes.
"I've called my ride. Don't worry, just give it a sec." Lin Mo tapped out a message to Delamain.
Hiro slumped into the seat, eyes drifting to the girl in the back. His gaze softened—anguish and guilt written all over his face.
"Lin-kun… am I useless? If it weren't for you… I couldn't even save my own sister. And now I'm still relying on you..."
"No," Lin Mo replied calmly. "Being willing to sacrifice everything for someone you love—that's strength."
Hiro fumbled for a cigarette, found nothing, and punched the steering wheel again in frustration.
"When I found her… she was already like this. There were others, other girls in that room. I asked them, but no one knew anything. I had no choice but to let them all go. Right now… I just want to get her to a ripperdoc."
"You got someone in mind?"
Lin Mo dug around in his pocket and handed Hiro a lollipop.
"Sugar helps calm the nerves," he added when Hiro gave him a strange look.
Hiro gave a wry chuckle, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth.
"No… maybe a couple old contacts, but who knows if they'd help. I don't have much left. Not even eddies."
"Want me to recommend someone?"
"If it's someone you trust, I'd be honored," Hiro replied sincerely.
"Viktor Vector. Ripperdoc in Little China. Clinic's in the basement behind a fortune teller's shop. Sounds sketchy, but believe me—he's the best I've seen. No one better."
Lin Mo's praise was unequivocal.
Hiro was surprised. After everything they'd been through together, he no longer saw Lin Mo as a "kid," but as a comrade. And if someone like Lin Mo spoke so highly of this Viktor guy, then he had to be the real deal.
"I look forward to meeting him," Hiro said solemnly.
As they talked, a sleek black-and-gold vehicle pulled up and gave a short honk.
"Oh, that's my ride. Let's go." Lin Mo opened the door and stepped out toward the Delamain cab.
Hiro followed, lifting his sister from the back seat. But when he saw the vehicle clearly, his face showed genuine surprise.
He laid his sister in the back, then took the passenger seat while Lin Mo slid into the driver's spot.
"Little China. That fortune teller's place I frequent. Step on it—the girl in the back doesn't have much time," Lin Mo instructed.
"Understood. For the young lady's wellbeing, I will proceed via the fastest optimal route. Please fasten your seatbelts," the bald-headed AI responded smoothly.
Autopilot was a godsend. Lin Mo lounged in the seat, arms folded.
No need to touch the wheel. The onboard AI would select the optimal path and execute with precision.
Hiro stared, then gave a tired chuckle.
"Didn't think I'd ever ride in a Delamain cab…"
"Oh? You know the service?" Lin Mo asked.
"Yeah. Years ago, back when I was still with Tiger Claw, I led a hit squad after some corpo rat. He escaped in one of these. We fired a guided missile at it… barely scratched the damn thing."
"Thank you for your confidence in Delamain services," the AI chimed in.
Lin Mo just smiled.
Of course he knew—he'd played the game. These cabs were tanks.
Rocket launchers? Please. Even a full Arasaka kill team would have trouble stopping a Delamain.
.
.
.
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