Chapter 16 : Dirty Guy

Where the hell am I supposed to go?

The call for a “job” led to a place surrounded by nothing but warehouses.
Shabby but sturdy, stuffed with massive crates.

A spot so underdeveloped even the navi cuts out.
Santo Domingo’s littered with abandoned factories like this, but coming here—let alone deeper in—is a first.

No surprise there. With Mom watching like a hawk, a kid busy with Arasaka Academy wouldn’t end up in a place like this.

“This way, rookie.”

A deep voice calls out as I duck to peer through a cracked door.

It’s in here.

Part of me thinks I could get tricked, my Sandevistan ripped out, and left for dead.
But oddly, my body feels no fear.

“Hey, rookie.”

I told him my name, so why’s he still calling me that?

A gorilla-like giant of a man, a massive… woman? Another guy with arms as long as he is tall, and a woman who looks like she’s wearing a mask.

Each one’s so distinct, you couldn’t forget them if you tried.

“Data checks out—he’s really a kid. Think he’s up for it?”
“We’ll see.”
“You like ‘em young, huh? Be nice.”
“Better than you, at least.”

Teasing words spill out, laced with laughter, flowing like a comedy routine.
They’re relaxed, but for a total newbie like David, even that’s nerve-wracking.

But this kid’s seen bigger.
Bigger, stronger, more destructive.
So, with his heart strangely calm, he can read his own state clearly.

“Wasn’t planning to swap names with a kid who could die any day, but since we started, let’s finish.”

A big sofa, cigarette smoke thick enough to blur the air.
Worse, it’s underground, so the smoke just lingers.
At a glance, it’s decently equipped for a basement, but what’s with the broken vent? Decoration?

“This is Kiwi. You met Dorio and Pilar before. Sit, rookie.”

Pointing at the masked woman, the big guy, Maine, keeps talking.

David leans back on the sofa across from them.

“David.”
“Right, David. Let’s talk about the job.”

His thick arms are clearly cyberware chunks.
One swing could kill, but despite that, Maine delicately lifts his sunglasses with a fingertip.

“Whether you join our crew depends on how you handle this job.”
“I’m ready.”
“That’s not the point, kid. In this city, only cyberpsychos lack that mindset.”

As he says, the unproven kid’s words vanish without impact.
David knows it, so the cold response doesn’t faze him.
He just wants to earn money, to be free.
Free from the meddling of rich bastards.

F*cking money.

“Insert the shard.”

A chip slides across the table.
Ignoring how he got burned just days ago, David plugs it into his neck without hesitation.

Target: a guy named Maxim, his car’s navi data.
A man so predictable—losing big at bets, then drinking at a set spot to vent—that his info’s practically public.

If not for hearing he’s an Arasaka exec’s driver, David might’ve asked why they’re targeting this guy.

Arasaka’s name feels dangerous, but the job’s simple: use the Sandevistan to snag Maxim’s car keys.
In other words, theft.

He’s done it countless times on trains, even if those ended badly.

No big deal, right?

“Don’t get too cocky, rookie. One wrong move, and it’s trouble—for you and us.”
“I’m not ready to see ghosts yet.”
“Well, since this is Dokkaebi turf, bullets won’t fly freely.”

Maine’s words, as he adjusts his sunglasses, ease the creeping tension.

“But that cuts both ways. Arasaka’s tough, but who knows how they’ll act against the ones running the show here.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

Maine’s back-and-forth talk irritates David for a moment.
Of course, he’s not dumb enough to show it, keeping his face blank.

“Just be careful. It’s Arasaka, and Dokkaebi’s turf to boot.”

Cameras and data are everywhere, yet not a single lowlife’s face from their crew is known.
Either they’re airtight, or they erase every witness, from players to bystanders.

Someday, their true face will show.
When? No clue, but it’ll happen.

A whim of theirs, or a moment they’re caught off-guard.

Until then, crossing them sounds like a nightmare.

“Boss, is it fine to just loaf around like this?”
“No jobs for now, and the businesses are running smooth. Why, something up?”
“Not exactly, but expanding the organization… If the Boss’s identity leaks now, it’ll be trouble.”

Ugh, more nagging.
F*ck, I raised a damn tiger cub. Sure, we’re keeping Arasaka in check, but I need to live too.
This guy’s lectures never stop.
If it goes to all-out war, info’s gonna leak anyway.
Just wait, I’ll be shouting I’m Dokkaebi’s boss someday.

“That’s why I ditched the mask. No one’d recognize my face anyway. A boss is human too!”
“God, you’re like a kid sometimes…”
“Wanna die?! Calling your boss a kid? Get him!”
“Damn, talk about brutal!”

I chuckle, glaring at the squirming guy, and take a swig from the bottle.
A notification pings in my vision: “Alcohol” effect.
No taste, no buzz—just grating. But faking drunk’s so routine now, it’s almost funny.

“Alright, let’s move. Time to clean up the trash.”

As always, we’re the only ones cleaning this city.
I don’t mind living as a janitor, but I can’t stand a society that needs us.

Always rotten, always wrong.

Looking around, it’s just trash.
Decades later, I still can’t get used to it—my nature or my stubborn streak?

I just hope, longing for home, that this damn game ends, that there’s a last shot to get back.

Maybe it’s the rare sentiment soaking my dry thoughts, but I slip up, bumping into a passerby.

“Sh*t, my bad!”
“Whoa, sorry about that.”

Missing a guy that big? I’m getting sloppy.

“Watch it, you bastard!”
“Who do you think—!”
“Enough. No need to make a scene. Sorry.”

One word to save a life? An apology’s nothing.

Confidence or arrogance fitting his size, I don’t know.
Ever since we cut down gunfights here, guys like this might’ve multiplied.
Guess polite barbarians don’t exist.

“Damn it, you?!”
“Oh, this is awkward.”

He pats himself down, like something’s gone, then lunges, grabbing my collar.
I didn’t make gun laws for guys like this to go wild.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let go.”

No need to spell out that his hand might say goodbye to his body first—lucky for him.

“Put the knife away.”
“…You’re lucky.”

The guy pulls a dagger from his coat, subduing the man in a flash.
Not just pinning him with a small blade—his speed’s unmatched.
The only netrunner in the crew, yet he draws a knife faster than anyone.
His job’s gotta be a mistake.

Maybe he’s the meanest of us all.

“Move along quietly. I don’t want trouble.”
“You—do you know who I am?! I’m with Arasaka—”
“Shh, don’t care who you are. MaxTac, Militech, Arasaka’s f*cking goons—it’s me that matters.”

That’s not the point.

“So, take your hands out and leave. Follow the rules.”

Unless you wanna die.

The guy’s face goes pale.
Now he gets who I am.

My crew’s faces crumple with shock and panic.
Told you to ease up on the nagging.