“And what if it’s a trap?” Johnny asked me.

  “Then I guess it’s good I loaded up on calories, huh?” I shrugged, downshifting into second as I headed down the tunnel leading to the wharf. Japantown’s underground was notorious for the older Yakuza chapters still lingering on, clinging to whatever power they had left.

  During the Fourth Corporate War, Old Japantown was originally where the Glen is today, but the war saw people cross the river in droves and expand eastward, forming the basis of modern Japantown. It was built upon the rubble of subways and maglevs running out to the rest of the continent, giving it an unusual amount of little tunnels and alcoves just like this. The progeny of those original Yakuza members are still around; I dismantled one of their underground casinos with Jackie about a year ago. Was carved into an old sewer system, of all things. God, that was nasty…

  I parked up beside the wharf and had a quick coffee, thumbing Misty’s bullet necklace she made for me. It’s still surreal to me that this thing was in my head… It’s certainly not the first time I’ve been grievously injured, but, well… I still had a hard time believing it. Though I guess Johnny must’ve had a worse time of it, considering his lot in life. I couldn’t even blame him for bombing the Towers, considering he wasn’t actually the one who did it. He was just created in that person’s image, and though I begrudge him a lot, it really isn’t fair on him. He didn’t ask for this any more than I did.

  I wonder what it felt like for him to be in my head like that. What this world looked like. Was he trapped in a TV show? A BD reel? A video game? I couldn’t even imagine. Then again, what if he was that person who bombed the Towers… Then that means that’ll be me when I’m soulkilled. Am I just gonna live my whole life in some sort of dissociative fugue state? Probably not worth thinking about right now.

  ‘Yeah, what if it was a trap…” I thought out-loud as I walked around and observed my surroundings. There was a large tunnel leading deeper into the Underground, a number of industrial silos and filtration units, and the wharf itself. It was both hideously exposed and private. If I had a choice, I’d have met somewhere more controlled, like how Takemura and I met up in the diner. A public place with multiple escape routes and limited options. Maybe an apartment, a market, somewhere like that. “Then we’re fucked.”

  “Too many avenues of attack,” Johnny observed, “Could be that Takemura’s linin’ up a shot on us from across the river as we speak.”

  “I doubt it,” I shook my head, “Even if he wanted us dead, he still needs the Relic for his proof. He wouldn’t risk damaging it.”

  “You sure of that?”

  “I grew up with people like this, Johnny,” I told him, leaning up against a nearby barrier, “Are they above playing dirty? No, of course not. But not if it costs them their honor in the process.”

  “Ah, yes, the all-important ‘H’ word,” he groaned, “Heard a lotta stories about people killin’ each other in the name of honor. Not so much about honor savin’ someone’s life.”

  “Yeah, we have a habit of doing that…” I conceded, sitting up and playing with the bullet necklace a little more.

  Fog was rolling in now… when the hell was Takemura gonna show up? If this was a trap, it was surely testing my patience. He could just be hidden somewhere, but what would be the point? It’s not like he doesn’t know exactly where I am; I’m still carrying that tracker on me.

  “Alright, complete topic change,” he said out of nowhere, “Favorite movie, go.”

  “Hah, that’s random. This about the NetWatch guy?” I laughed.

  “It’s about me being bored to tears.” True…

  “Alright, uh…” I thought, scratching the back of my head, “Oh, you’re gonna laugh at this.”

  “Try me.”

  “I actually really like the Bushido series.”

  “Pff,” he snickered, “You actually like that fuckin’ scop?”

  “That’s the point, it’s brain-rot trash,” I shrugged and smiled at him, “It’s good to unwind after a long day. I don’t want to get even more stressed out, I just want to relax and not think about anything.”

  “Heh, fair enough,” he replied.

  “What about you?”

  “Hm…” he sat next to me and thought for a bit, “If we’re goin’ cheesy, then I gotta go oldschool. The Terminator, The Warriors, shit like that.”

  “What?”

  “Nothin’,” he shook his head, “Bit before your time.”

  “Alright,” I said dismissively before sitting back up on the barricade – tired of standing around this whole time…

  Oh…? And here comes a cream-colored van. Not exactly the car I’d peg Takemura to be in, which is good. At least someone in this town knows what he’s doing when it comes to laying low. I tucked the bullet necklace under my shirt and got up, walking over to greet him.

  “V,” Takemura gave a gentle bow as he got out, “You were not followed?”

  “A fox knows how to stay out of sight,” I smirked, “Is everything okay?”

  “Mm,” he grunted, walking over to the barricade I was sitting at before and leaning on it. I returned to my seat and let my legs idly dangle beside him, keeping a sharp eye out for anyone around him. Not a whisper. All I heard was the idle droning of the cars driving over the bridge above us, the splashing of the water against the wharf, and the gentle tones of an active city at midnight. Nothing out of place – a good sign. “Is that an Agent on your wrist?”

  “Yes,” I replied kindly, “It’s for recording conversations so I can play them back later, in case my memory fails me. What are we doing here?”

  “We’re meeting a friend. Someone who may be able to help us.”

  “Oh?” I raised an eyebrow, “And who might that be?”

  “Oda Sandayu,” he told me, “Small field, Three Tayu (Senior Noh performer).”

  “小田 三太夫...” I repeated the name, “Never heard of him.”

  “Not too surprising,” Takemura remarked, “He is Hanako-Sama’s personal bodyguard.”

  “Uh– excuse me?” I said sharply, stunned by the admission, “And you’re sure we can trust this guy?”

  “If you mean will he bring ulterior motives tonight, I can make no promises. All samurai follow a code, correct?” he asked me, to which I nodded in reply. “Oda is the same. He would never betray me.”

  “Told ya, V,” Johnny suddenly interjected, “Here we go with that fuckin’ samurai crap again.”

  “Though I offer no such reassurances to you,” Takemura continued.

  “I understand,” I replied softly, “I would expect nothing less. Don’t use my name, please.”

  “Of course. I am lucky – no one has come after me. And you?”

  “Been doing what I can, but me neither. I prefer to keep it that way.” Anonymity is a virtue. The heat has died down over the past few weeks, but I dared not rock the boat. More than likely, Oda will view me as a ronin. A samurai that had severed ties with their clan and was without a master. I was under no compunctions that I’d be given any leeway with this man – ronin were seen as dishonorable and shameful for hundreds of years, a prejudice built on their propensity towards vagrancy and brutish work for the highest bidder. And he’d not be wrong in the slightest – that’s exactly what I am, albeit not by choice. “If you don’t mind me saying, Takemura – you look terrible.”

  “Mmh,” he replied, “Take a good look. This is the look of a man stripped of his implants, his honor, and dignity.”

  “I know the feeling,” I said in sympathy, thinking back to when Arasaka did the exact same thing to me. “That must be a hell of a weight to carry around, all that extra mass of the endoskeleton.”

  “You know well that it isn’t the physical pain which scars the deepest,” he said pensively before another car came down the tunnel, a black Villefort. “Hmph, coming by car. A good sign, normally he stays camouflaged.”

  Oda’s car gently coasted past us, turning around at the end of the wharf so its headlights shone directly on us both. “Stay there until he acknowledges you,” Takemura instructed me, “I will handle this.”

  He was certainly far younger than Takemura’s apparent age, though I had no doubt that he was just as capable. Someone in his position has likely seen decades of bloody conflict. Arasaka promotes by merit, not by longevity, so he had to earn his place beside Hanako-Sama just as much as Takemura earned his beside the late Emperor. I could see hints of a similar endoskeleton hidden under his suit; he was likely well over fifty percent chrome. Interestingly he carried no blades; most samurai carried at least one, usually two. Perhaps he concealed his on his person somewhere…

  “Takemura-Sama,” Oda said in a deep, gravelly voice, giving Takemura a long bow.

  “Oda-San,” Takemura replied politely, presenting him with a lighter bow. I could tell these two went back – way back. Beyond just the commonality between their work, anyway.

  “Is this your ronin?”

  “Yes,” he nodded back to me, “This is my witness.”

  I got up off the barricade and stood properly upright, gently bowing before him. “Forgive me for not giving you my name. It is an honor, Oda.”

  “Hmph,” he scoffed at me, not returning the courtesy. Guess negotiations are off to a good start… “I have been told you know things.”

  “I do,” I spoke as plainly and monotonously as I could, “I was a member of the team responsible for the theft of the Relic. I witnessed Arasaka-Sama’s murder – strangled to death, by the hands of his son, Yorinobu–”

  “No,” Oda sharply interrupted, “You will say no more of this. You will bring death to your door.”

  “Death has been at my door since the team has absconded with the device,” I explained, “I am here to honor Takemura’s wish and tell the true account, nothing more.”

  “Hanako-Sama must hear the truth, Oda,” Takemura interjected, “If we could explain to her–”

  “My one concern is to keep her safe in this city forgotten by the gods,” Oda proclaimed.

  “Is she in danger?” asked Takemura.

  “Now? No. Yet during the parade to honor Arasaka-Sama? Most certainly.” Hm… so the Aratama-Masturi is being adapted as an ad-hoc funerary procession. No wonder it’s still on.

  “I bring you this witness to his murder. And you dare worry about some silly parade? Fool!” Takemura shouted.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Correct,” Oda replied with a deadpan stare at the ex-bodyguard, “Unlike you, I have not yet failed to keep my oath to do my duty.”

  “Takemura, if I may,” I interjected, stepping up beside him, “Oda, this very much concerns Hanako-Sama’s safety. Should you not be worried about Yorinobu’s ultimate motivations, his plans? What if this is a move made by Clan Taka to move against Clan Kiji in a bid to take control–”

  “All the more reason to remain at her side,” Oda glared at me, “I will not be lectured by one who has forsaken their duty in favor of thievery.”

  “You will regret those words!” Takemura said surprisingly loudly at the stoic Oda.

  “The only thing I regret is coming here to meet with you,” he replied flatly, “There is a price on your head, Takemura. I do you a favor now by not cutting it off and delivering it to Yorinobu-Sama. What would you do now, were you in my place?”

  “I would do you no favors,” Takemura admitted, “I would deliver your head to Yorinobu myself.”

  “Then count yourself lucky that I am not you.”

  “Oda,” I stopped him, “You are speaking to two individuals who have witnessed Arasaka-Sama’s body personally, myself during the attack, and Takemura just one moment after. He saw the strangulation marks.”

  “You cannot ignore this!” Takemura continued shouting.

  “This is not a request,” I demanded, “We must talk to Hanako-Sama. I give you my word that we only wish to speak the truth, nothing more–”

  “Your word means nothing to me, ronin,” he told me, brushing his hair my way in a subtle gesture to tell me to fuck off… Wait… is that a foghorn I just heard…? Hm. Can’t be…

  “All ronin start as samurai, Oda. Is it so hard to believe that I was once loyal to the Emperor just like you, that it was Arasaka which betrayed me, not the other way around? Same with Takemura, which should be more than apparent. You’re more than welcome to join us. There’s plenty of room for more ‘vagrants’ like us, you know–” I stopped dead as the foghorn reappeared… What the hell was that… Was I imagining things…?

  Oda walked on back to his car totally wordlessly. Figures. Maybe I went too harsh. “That offer not enticing?” I said quickly as he made his way to the Villefort, “Then maybe you should ask Hanako-Sama yourself. See what she thinks of her brother’s involvement in the family affairs.”

  “That is, as they say in this country, ‘food for thought’,” Takemura grumbled as Oda disappeared, “Give him time. Perhaps he will reconsider.”

  “I doubt it–” Wait… Wait, what?! Is… is that a container ship?!

  “Mm, ōkami,” Takemura said as both he and I turned to face it, “It seems they’re shipping the dashi in already.”

  “By ship?!” I said, utterly stunned, “How?”

  “Both you and I know the answer.”

  “Mm, yeah,” I nodded, thoroughly amazed it got through the minefield. Must have a triple-hull redundancy at least, with a mountain of automated defenses. No better way to project power than to be the only ones capable of sailing ships with any measure of regularity for something so mundane. Normally Arasaka shipped goods via AeroZep like everyone else. The ship carried a massive wolf’s head aboard the deck, clutching what appeared to be hardened wood in its jaw. “Man’s conquest of nature. A temporary boon, given what I’ve seen,” I mulled as its foghorn went off again.

  The ship appeared almost spectral, as if it was some hallucination, drifting noiselessly up the channel. It appeared far too large to fit at a glance, like it was a mythical beast gently gliding on a bed of clouds. It was strangely beautiful, though also ominous and intimidating all the same.

  “It’s a shame nothing will come of our conversation,” Takemura brooded.

  “What? Why not?”

  “If it wasn’t obvious, Oda is a perfectionist. He would not dare step out of line on anyone else’s order,” he mulled.

  “Good riddance,” Johnny chimed in, “As if we need more ‘Saka scop in the bowl.”

  “I’m guessing you don’t have any other friends?” I asked Takemura.

  “No. That’s my best lead driving past your car now.”

  “Hm…” I tapped my foot on the ground, still staring at that ship silently drift away, “You know what’s funny? I’ve always been out of town for the dashi parade here. One year I was at officer’s school, another year I was in the Middle East, or the Soviet Union, or the NUSA… I never actually seen one before.”

  “Maybe you will make it until then…” Takemura mulled before suddenly gasping, “Wait. The parade…”

  “What, what about it?”

  “Hanako-Sama will attend,” he thought out-loud, “Do you not see? That is our opportunity.”

  “…I mean, we could just… tail Oda, find her that way. I did infiltration work for a living. He can’t be more than one block away, I’ll just hop in my car and–”

  “No, V, Oda is far too observant for that,” he quickly shot me down.

  “Oookay.”

  “Trust me, V, this is our best chance.” Yeah, I’m really not sure about that, man…

  “I can go up, put a tracker on his car, I don’t know–”

  “We need a detailed map of Japantown.” Fuck me, he’s in his own little world… Admittedly I’d be blinded by revenge, too, but this is ridiculous. “Do you know where we could get such plans?”

  “Oh, it’s my turn to speak?” I sarcastically chuckled, “I, uh… Wait, why do we need those plans?”

  “We need an accurate map of the route the parade will take.”

  “Right, well, um,” I paused and thought for a second, “I guess an old fixer of mine might know. Wakako Okada, she’s based off Jig-Jig Street.”

  “Wakako…” he pondered, “Okay. Is she in right now?”

  “Wait, we’re going right now?” I asked, wanting desperately to go to bed instead, “I mean, yeah… Sure. Let’s get it done quickly though.”

  “Of course,” he nodded, “You ride with me?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I sighed, climbing in the passenger seat of his van that reeked of cigarette smoke, “Would rather not be seen in my personal car leaving this place in case someone’s watching. I’ll go pick it up later… You a smoker?”

  “No, got this off the used market two days ago,” he said, putting it in drive and turning us around, heading up the tunnel again, “Why do you ask?”

  “Just the smell, that’s all,” I replied with a slight shrug, resting my arm on the window sill.

  “Jig-Jig Street… what kind of a name is that, anyway,” he groaned. Smooth jazz played over the radio – heh, never figured Goro for the classical type. Guess I pegged him wrong there.

  “Just a Night City name, that’s all,” I flatly told him.

  “Beware, you mock me too often,” he warned me with a slight joking tonality.

  “Sorry, didn’t intend for it to come off like that… Oh, my apologies for neglecting your well-being, how are you doing lately, if I may ask?”

  “I’m… fine,” he shrugged, “Why the sudden concern?”

  “Uh…” I stammered, “I’m just asking…? There’s no ulterior motive, if that’s what you’re implying, I’m just trying to show a bit of courtesy.”

  “I apologize, that came out wrong,” he said meekly, “I’m… not used to such questions. People like us, we are either fine, or we are in graves.” Ain’t that the truth…

  “And what about Arasaka? I’m assuming you’re still in contact with some people on the other end, so to speak. Has there been any word regarding either of us?”

  “Truthfully, less than you may think,” he confessed, “I mostly rely on what I can glean from TV.”

  “Which is just Yorinobu smiling to the camera saying that everything is under control…” I said pensively, staring blankly into the foggy distance.

  “And we both know that the bigger the smile, the bigger the lies are.”

  “And the less control he has…” I nodded, “Maybe we haven’t gotten much attention because he lacks influence here?”

  “As much as any progeny of the Emperor can lack.”

  “But then that’s good news for us, no? Especially if we can get Hanako-Sama on our side.”

  “Precisely why we must speak to her,” Takemura finished elaborating.

  –

  We arrived about ten minutes later, climbing out of the car in relative silence. “Follow me,” I instructed him, noting that the man apparently walked like an ape without his implants turned on. I imagine his arms must feel like two massive lumps of solid iron, yet he just beasts that body of his around like it’s nothing. He almost certainly has a great deal of bioware as well, then… I’m genuinely impressed. “Welcome to Jig-Jig Street, Night City’s Red Light District.”

  “Where is Wakako?” he asked me, unconcerned about anything else.

  “In a pachinko parlor she runs. It’s a front for her money-laundering,” I explained, “Her office is in the back.”

  “Very well,” he nodded in return, speeding his pace to come up beside me, “Now it is my turn to ask you a question.”

  “Okay, shoot.”

  “Your sword, Shinden. Why do you carry it into battle?” he asked with a genuine curiosity in his voice.

  “What, as opposed to a standard-issue one, you mean?”

  “Yes. Something more modern would suit your purposes better.”

  “True,” I admitted, giving him that for free, “Shinden is just… special to me. I feel that I honor the spirit imbued in it that way.”

  “Then, by extension, you feel that it is honoring your family’s warrior legacy.”

  “Correct.”

  “Consider yourself lucky that it has yet to be retired,” he said, observing it on my back, “Drawing it from such a stance must be difficult, considering the length of your arm.”

  “Not really,” I shrugged, “You just grab the handle and tug. The saya folds outward at the neck, allowing me to draw the weapon quite easily. It’s also magnetized, so it’ll catch Shinden when I sheathe it. Otherwise drawing it would be nearly impossible for me from any stance in confined areas, given its length.”

  “Interesting,” he noted to himself.

  “What about you? I see no weapons on your person.”

  “I use whatever is most effective in the situation, be it rifles, handguns, or my bare hands, as need be,” he told me stoically, “I do not have a family sword.”

  “I see,” I smiled, “Oh, we’re here.”

  “Hm…” he grunted as we stepped into the pachinko parlor, listening to the many clicks and clacks of the machines, “I missed that sound…”

  “No no… I have no idea who jumped your team… My Claws would never misbehave like that,” I heard Wakako speaking as we headed into her office, catching her on her cellphone, “Pft, I have to go, I have… guests,” she sighed before abruptly hanging up.

  Unlike almost every other Tyger Claw, boss included, Wakako was one of the few with actual ties to the Yakuza. She wasn’t just for show – she sported a body nearly covered with various traditional tattoos, and had the skills and cunning to match. She also commanded a fierce reputation for it, as well as for her seniority; Wakako is among the few remaining living denizens of this city to have served in the Fourth Corporate War. I respected her as a shrewd businesswoman, though I had no respect for her as a person – not after what happened to Evelyn at Clouds. The fact that she ran joints employing people like Woodman was quite the red flag. But I don’t have to be her friend, and I’d happily dismantle her army piece by piece, like excising a tumor. Though that’ll have to wait for another day.

  “Wakako,” I greeted her with a gentle bow, “It has been a while.”

  “Indeed… and who is your charming friend?”

  “Goro Takemura,” Takemura introduced himself, joining me with his own submission, “The honor is mine, Okada-San.”

  “Ohhh my, a true gentleman,” she smiled and stirred in her seat as we both stood upright, “V, you flatter me so, bearing gifts of this nature. If only he wasn’t being hunted by Arasaka’s tin soldiers. And you walked him into my very office… Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the ‘proper’ authorities.”

  “Caution,” I replied quietly, “The Tyger Claws have been Arasaka’s lap dogs for decades. If anyone knows how to hide from Arasaka, it’s you. Moreover, we’ve been sighted in the Japantown underground – your home turf. You would likely be their first stop, suspecting your were giving quarter, if not information, to the enemy and trying to cover yourself by calling it in.”

  “Very well,” she conceded, “Speak. Just remember that my phone is readily at hand.”

  “We need intelligence on the upcoming Aratama Matsuri. Parade plans, routes, whatever you can muster.”

  “Hm…” she crossed her arms and deliberated, “You have an interesting habit of going against your former employer, V… But I wonder, why come to me? Did Mr. DeShawn not pick up the phone?” Her sarcasm certainly wasn’t lost on me.

  “A bold statement for someone with a personal stake in seeing Arasaka suffer,” I replied in-kind, “Or am I mistaken in who killed your grandchild?”

  “That was very long ago,” she growled at me.

  “Not that long.” Nice thing about having access to company secrets for years – you learn who you work with quite intimately. And people like to talk at lunchtime over a cup of coffee.

  “No… not that long,” she sighed, leaning forward on the table, “Everything is on the shard.” Wakako produced a shard from one of her drawers, sliding it across the glass surface to us.

  “What will this cost us?” Takemura said, “My pockets are empty.” Mine aren’t, but it’s a fair question.

  “Clearly,” she grinned at him, “Do not worry. I give this to you, free of charge.”

  “Okada-San… What is free of charge often proves most costly.”

  “The shard is free, but my patience is not.” Classic Wakako…

  “Very well,” I said, accepting the shard and inspecting it before plugging it into my Agent. The display flickered and hummed to life, revealing a top-down map of Japantown's layout and architecture.

  "Heh, I haven't seen one of those in many years," Wakako chuckled, "I didn't realize they were legal."

  "I'd appreciate it if you not mentioned it to anyone."

  "My lips are sealed, V," she grinned, "I forgot you have natural eyes now."

  "Mm, no worries. Anyway, onto the task at hand."

  “Indeed. Japantown,” Wakako continued, “The entire district will be sectioned off for the duration of the parade. Dashi platforms, the main attraction, will fly down the Redwood Market from the north. There will be multiple balconies and bridges for onlookers, affording good views. Our guest of honor, Hanako Arasaka, will give a speech aboard the largest float, located here.” She pointed to a section just before a large balcony with multiple viewing areas - alas, none of which were directly above the float. "Would you like photographs of the locations?"

  “No need, I'll head there regardless,” I replied courteously, “But thank you. Go on, please.”

  “Mm, no idea about security, but given recent events, I assume it to be tight,” she resumed her briefing, “Arasaka undercovers in the crowd. Plus a smattering of snipers, drones, and a netrunner – one, at least. Their main access point is an old automated control center, located across from the main market stalls. From there, they use CCTV to observe the crowds, so anyone wearing anything conspicuous is liable to stand out. Be sure to dress for the occasion.”

  “I have something for that,” I said reassuringly as the diagram disappeared, “Anything else?”

  “Apart from the floats leaving Japantown, with us having to pick up all the garbage? Nothing more,” she shook her head, “That’s all I have.”

  “It must be enough,” Takemura spoke definitively.

  “Thank you, Wakako,” I smiled, giving her a bow. She neither reciprocated nor said anything more, simply sitting down and leaving us to it. We saw ourselves out of the pachinko parlor, meeting up with him just outside. The neon-lit streets hurt my eyes after being in that dim office for so long…

  “A delightful, mature woman,” Takemura said, eyeballing the shop behind me, “I will be in contact with friends of mine to see what our next move will be.”

  “Well, first thing’s first, we should at least get eyes on the actual parade site, see if we can figure out where everything is and how to get to it,” I shrugged, “Why don’t I do that while you do your thing?”

  “Mm, get two tasks done, then. Good thinking,” he nodded in agreement, “I will let you know when I have made contact. If you intend on scouting the location, then my focus will be elsewhere.”

  “Mhm, that’s the idea,” I replied with a slight smile, “The parade isn’t for another month, so we have plenty of time. First I need to handle something else, but I’ll be in contact. Be safe, okay?”

  “You as well, V,” he told me with that characteristic stoic look painted on his face – I doubt he ever smiled in his life. Reminds me of my parents…

  Oh well. Time to go get my car and meet up with Judy. At least there wasn’t any fighting today, that’s a welcome change. A nice, hot double espresso and some steak teriyaki should set me straight.

  ---

  The samurai classes fell in and out of favor during the 1800s to today, being nearly extinguished during the Meiji Restoration before rising to prominence again during World War II. Their values of bushido, holding courage and sacrifice above all else, was heavily-perverted by Imperial Japanese forces, brainwashing millions of Japanese to die in the names of their ancestors and the vague principles of "honor" and "bravery." Saburo Arasaka was himself deeply affected by these values, nearly committing suicide after receiving his injuries due to the shame of being a burden upon society.