More than a dozen barrels were aimed at the boy and the Japanese man.
The slightest movement would trigger a ruthless volley of gunfire from these cheap weapons, turning them into Swiss cheese.
It seemed the outcome had already been decided—there was no escape.
The average human reaction speed is 0.1 seconds, but bullets fly hundreds of meters in a single second. Life or death is determined the moment a bullet leaves the chamber.
No matter how fast you are, how quick your reflexes, you can't outrun a bullet traveling at supersonic speeds.
Only those implanted with a Sandevistan might have a shot at dodging death in that narrow crack of time.
Otherwise, all effort is meaningless.
Even Hiro Kitagawa's expression began to tense, and he silently made a decision.
If the enemy really opened fire, the only thing he could do was rush out alone and sacrifice himself to buy Lin Mo a chance to escape.
Even if he could block just a few bullets—it would be enough to repay the debt he owed.
Compared to Kitagawa, who was ready to die, Lin Mo looked eerily calm.
It was as if those barrels aimed at him weren't weapons, but ceremonial cannons… the enemies, nothing more than an honor guard, preparing to salute his grand entrance. Their bullets? Mere fireworks for the show. These men? Clowns meant to amuse.
"Lin-kun… I'm sorry. This is all my fault."
Kitagawa's face was set with steely resolve, his eyes firm and fearless, showing not a hint of regret for this life.
"In a moment, I'll make a break for it and draw their fire—don't look back. Run. That will be my redemption. What I owe you... can only be repaid in the next life. And though it's shameless to say this—please, take care of my sister. That's my final wish."
As he spoke, Lin Mo quietly pulled out a bandage from his gear pouch and began wiping his katana—though the blade was already spotless. He looked completely unconcerned.
Kitagawa looked worried. "Lin-kun… are you preparing to take your own life?"
"No," Lin Mo replied flatly. "I'm polishing my blade… so I can behead someone later."
Kitagawa froze, confused by the strange answer.
Then Lin Mo smiled. "Don't talk like that. 'Next life' is too far away—I don't have time to wait. What you owe me? You'd have to sell yourself just to make a dent. But since I'm laying it all out here—I'll be honest. I like you. I've had an idea in my head for a while now... to form an edgerunner crew. And I'm short on people. You interested?"
Kitagawa was stunned. He never imagined Lin Mo would be thinking about recruiting at a time like this.
But seeing the boy's expression, he realized—he was serious.
After just one second of hesitation, Kitagawa broke into a genuine smile.
He'd messed up everything today. He owed more than he could repay. Yet this teenager still believed in him.
"If Lin-kun would have me—it would be the greatest honor of my life. And if I live to see tomorrow's sun, I swear I won't let you down."
"Good." Lin Mo smirked like his plan had succeeded.
Footsteps approached.
The gang members were closing in slowly, guns raised, wary that another grenade might come flying out from behind cover.
Kitagawa took a deep breath, ready to make his move—
But Lin Mo stopped him with a hand.
"Relax. They're already here."
Kitagawa turned, confused, only to hear what sounded like a stampede in the distance.
Heavy armored vehicles. Massive engines roaring like dragons. The sound, amplified by his auditory implant, was deafening.
Tires screeched. Bolts were racked. Heavy weapons prepped. The thundering rattle of steel beasts slamming over pavement—a military force was approaching.
And not just Kitagawa—the gang heard it too. Every one of them froze.
It felt like the armies of some ancient tyrant were marching in. Their footsteps shook the heavens.
To move against such power was to commit treason.
The gang leader outside the alley turned, seeing blinding lights approaching fast from the end of the road.
It was a convoy, all barreling straight toward them. Behind those lights, it felt like an entire legion was on the move.
"No way they're coming for us… right?"
The gang leader chuckled nervously. There's no way someone powerful enough to command this kind of force could possibly be connected to this mess.
They must be passing by.
That illusion shattered when the convoy slammed on the brakes and surrounded them in a perfect drift.
The tires screeched. Smoke rose. Burnt rubber filled the air.
Then they stopped—forming a half-circle around the stunned gang.
A loudspeaker blared:
"This is SSI—Night City Security Services Inc. You have threatened our client with deadly force. Immediately lay down your weapons and release our client.
Any harm to our client will result in authorized force response under Night City law. Our mounted M203 heavy machine guns and guided smart-launchers are locked and ready to fire!"
"You have one minute."
Spotlights flared from the top of three Chevillon Emperor 720s, bathing the street in daylight.
Heavy machine guns aimed directly at the stunned gang. Several armored personnel carrying rocket launchers crouched at the ready, their launch tubes yawning like the mouths of death itself.
A few warning shots cracked the silence—BANG! BANG!
Gang vehicles had their tires blown out. Headlights shattered.
Now, the only source of light was from these godlike enforcers.
Like divine wrath, the moment Prometheus was denied fire—mortals were denied even the glow of their own headlights.
From the rear, dozens of armed guards jumped out of their vehicles, rifles raised.
Infrared lasers swept across the gang's bodies like the gaze of a reaper. The snipers didn't even try to hide—they didn't need to.
The slightest twitch—and all hell would rain down.
This was SSI's style—swift, brutal, overwhelming.
To the underworld, there were only two options:
Yes, or No.
The gang trembled. Those who had worked with corps before knew what was coming.
Even the smallest corp had its own private security.
But those licensed to provide third-party protection services? Those crews were built for war.
One of the gang members dropped his gun, trembling.
Then, like dominoes falling, the rest followed.
Checkmate.
...
Not far from the alley, a purple Thorton Colby Type-66 640 TS was parked at the curb, alongside the modded Chevillon Emperor 720 that had been trapped earlier.
Six people stood in stunned silence, watching from afar.
Not one of them could believe what they were seeing.
.
.
.
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