“Until she died, I never knew if I would have helped her.
I’m a businesswoman, and helping her...
Hah—”
Wakako let out a long breath before finishing.
“Obviously a losing deal.”
“If you were truly nothing more than a businesswoman, you wouldn’t still be carrying this for ten years.”
Arthur pressed on.
“So tell —what’s the job?”
“Still the Tyger Claws scum, but this ti it happened at Clouds.
You know I shelter a lot of people.
Like those sex dolls with no way to resist—they’re all... helpless girls.”
“I know. A lot of sex dolls work at Clouds.
Looks like the working conditions there aren’t as good as they make them out to be.”
Arthur sipped the bitter tea again. It was sharp, but not as bad as expected.
“Yesterday, three girls were carried into my shop. They were already gone when they arrived.
It was horrible—I don’t even want to describe it. But the despair on their faces... I’ll never forget it, not even in the grave.
I always thought... I was too old to get angry anymore.
But so things just don’t let you stay calm.”
“This ti, you’re not the fixer. You’re the client.”
Arthur pressed down on his Gambler’s hat and asked directly:
“I’ll take the job. Let’s talk paynt. If you’re really short on eddies, I can cut you a deal.”
“Hah... hah...” Wakako shook her head with a dry laugh before explaining.
“This isn’t an easy Gig—that’s why I ca to you.
It’s revenge, so no need for pretenses. Let’s be blunt.
Go to the office levels at the top of Clouds. Three floors in total. Cut them all down.
The rest isn’t your concern. If the Tyger Claws want to hit back, I’ll play with them myself. Let’s see if they’ve got the guts.
I’ve been in Westbrook over forty years. Maybe... I really have backed down too much.”
This old woman usually kept a kind face—so long as you didn’t make her bare her fangs.
“As for paynt, I’ll give you fifty thousand eddies, plus a special gift—one of my personal treasures.”
Watching Arthur walk away, Wakako smiled in satisfaction.
She was a shrewd veteran, and one who read people well.
Arthur was a young man she valued—worth her trust, worth her investnt.
Sotis, getting closer to soone didn’t require giving them favors. For certain people, owing them a debt could be just as effective.
The detailed intel ca through quickly. The Gig was set for tomorrow night. By then, Wakako would clear out all innocents from the site.
Arthur only had to go in, cut them down, and get out alive.
At the thought, his hand instinctively brushed the dagger at his lower back.
If that dagger was ever more than five kiloters away, he’d lose control over his Cyberware’s gravity field.
Fortunately, the default calibration matched the weight of normal bones, so he wouldn’t end up fully paralyzed.
Leaving Wakako’s pachinko parlor, Arthur stepped into the throngs of Jig-Jig Street.
Night City was at its liveliest, and in the distance he could still see the gabuilding that housed Clouds.
Its blazing neon lights pierced through the signs of every other entertainnt venue, like showgirls competing for the spotlight.
“Ding—ding—”
A comms alert rang in his mind. He instinctively answered.
“Hey!!
Arthur, get over here! This damn gun shop owner says he knows you.
If you don’t show up soon, I’m gonna give this fat pig a taste of lead!”
The mont the line opened, that shrill, rowdy voice blasted through. Arthur didn’t need to see her—he could picture Rebecca bouncing as she shouted.
“Explain. Who pulled your pacifier out this ti?”
Arthur rubbed his ear with no effect, answering irritably.
“Downstairs from your place! That bald fat bastard opened a gun shop that only sells crap!”
Arthur instantly pictured Wilson, the owner of the Second Andnt.
The guy was friendly enough. Almost everyone in gabuilding H10 knew him.
A fat loudmouth with a sharp tongue.
Arthur wasn’t close to him, but they were on speaking terms.
Mostly because he looked uncannily like a friend Arthur once knew—sa face, sa hairstyle, sa beard, even the sa na.
“What the hell happened? Damn it... forget it. I’m on my way.”
Arthur cut the call, annoyed, and hurried back ho.
The bustle of H10 wasn’t just in the dense street stalls below; even the upper residential levels were lively.
Several shops lined the halls, and aside from a few gaunt vagrants loitering at the doors, the place was downright fancy.
As soon as the elevator doors opened, Arthur spotted the crowd outside.
The usually empty gun shop was now packed wall to wall, everyone trying to squeeze in.
The mont Arthur’s Gambler’s hat appeared, the crowd parted, opening a narrow gap. A small figure darted through with ease.
The two green braids bouncing behind her left no doubt—it was Rebecca.
Her once short, ordinary arms had long been replaced by the latest gorilla arms, making clearing a path child’s play.
“Arthur! Over here! Help teach that fat bastard a lesson!”
Rebecca yelled, throwing herself at him and yanking his arm.
“Damn fatso! I ought to punch a few holes in his fat ass!”
The little firecracker dragged Arthur into the shop, cursing all the way.
“What’s this about? If it’s one of your pretend gas, count out.”
The Second Andnt wasn’t just a gun shop—it doubled as a small shooting range.
Wilson was a hardcore gun nut, obsessed with shooting sports. Running the shop was almost a side hobby.
He loved inviting neighbors to shoot, then roasted anyone with bad scores rcilessly.
All in all, his mouth kept business lousy.
Inside, Wilson stood at the shooting bay entrance, arms crossed, glaring sternly at Rebecca as she stord back in.
But with his bumbling, goofy face, intimidation didn’t exactly land.
“Arthur! This brat has no manners. Maybe you should take her ho.”
“What, did she piss and shit all over your shop?”
Sotis, Arthur’s jabs at his own people cut deeper than the ones aid at enemies.
Caught off guard by Arthur’s remark, Wilson froze, then forced his fat face serious again.
“Damn it, Arthur! Shut up!
This fat bastard won’t sell a gun! I clearly paid for it—it’s not like I was robbing him! What right does he have to refuse?”
“Rules are rules! You want a gun from , you complete the challenge. Otherwise, forget it.”
Wilson smirked smugly, glaring at her.
He wasn’t just a shooting fanatic—he was also a surprisingly generous shopkeeper.
Though his store seed tucked away, he had connections and could get his hands on rare, high-quality weapons.
But he almost never sold them outright. Instead, he used them as bait for shooting contests and challenges.
Rebecca lifted her chin, brimming with confidence, and patted Arthur’s arm.
“My friend will do the challenge for . But I’d advise you not to push him. If he shoots, you’ll be crying over your losses.”
This shooting challenge had several scoring tiers. If soone hit the highest rank, the gun was theirs for free.
“I’d be happy to give it away for free. If anyone could shoot like that, just seeing it would be worth it.”
Wilson’s eyes slid to Arthur, filled with suspicion.
They knew each other, exchanged greetings often. Could Arthur really be hiding sharpshooter skills?
But Wilson wasn’t convinced. As a die-hard shooting enthusiast, he knew his stuff.
For instance—anyone who trained with guns often would have calluses on their hands.
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