I spent the majority of the morning and afternoon bouncing around Santo Domingo, doing work for a man people simply call El Capitan. Why, I have no idea. Moreover, it looks like he lost some of his hair in an industrial accident, but that’s beside the point, he’s actually a pretty chill guy. Although I had no idea of the horrors awaiting me in some of these houses.
Go into one home and it’s a poor woman who’d been violently assaulted and killed by her cyberpsycho sister. She was just trying to take care of her sick family member, and the fucking medication proved impossible to get…
Headed off to another home and it’s some guy who threw a going-away party while being chased out of town by 6th Street. So they arrived and shot up the place, killing somewhere around 20 dolls and leaving my client alive. I was tempted to finish the job myself, seeing as he just got all those people killed for nothing. But a commitment’s a commitment.
Lot of things have been bouncing off my mind today. For one, I should probably start listening to the people trying to tell me to stop using my car so much. Someone’s bound to hit it or try and steal it or whatnot. And I know it’s protected by Delamain, but God forbid it gets noticed and linked to me, I’m screwed. I suppose I could use that – make people think I’m one place when I’m another. But they’ll know I’m eventually gonna come back for it anyway, so they’ll just booby-trap it or whatever… Fuck. I have to concede that Johnny’s right with that. It just doesn’t feel ‘right’ driving anything else.
It’s the same story with Shinden. Back in the day, if someone asked me why I carried it, I feel like I’d have given a straight, clearly-defined answer. But now… not so much. And I don’t know why. Is that Johnny’s influence finally stirring the pot, as it were? Who’s to say? Maybe these objects are just tired.
Day 64.
I spent much of the day at the Shinto shrine, the only one in town. It’s not particularly noteworthy by our standards back in Japan, though I guess that shouldn’t really surprise me. Apparently the Tyger Claws stole a bunch of the sacred artifacts out of it, which really pissed me off to no end.
I headed back into Watson and got a call from Regina Jones again – seems that she wants me to do a couple things. Plant a device on some Russian oligarch’s car, then rescue this guy named Tiny Mike from the walled block of Kabuki. He was anything but tiny, especially his weapon, which he bequeathed to me as payment – this massive Rostovi? Kolac that’s been modified to accommodate 20mm HEDP rounds. Impressive as hell, though I’d never in my life be able to fire the thing without breaking my shoulder.
There’s a passage I read once in the Bible – “ For we which live are always delivered unto death for Jesus' sake, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our mortal flesh. So then death worketh in us, but life in you.” Funny how someone’s second coming was once hailed as miraculous. Nowadays all we’ve done was demonstrate to God that the true source of miracles is through the mixture of wealth and hubris. “While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.” I guess that says something about my state of mind.
I find myself writing in this more often, though I’m uncertain of what that means. Am I unsure where to go from here? That much is obvious. Maybe I think, in some weird way, that me writing all this will somehow make up for Jackie. He barely knew anything about me, and I knew everything about him. Yet he just brushed it off like it wasn’t a big deal at all, not knowing how many times I’ve cried myself to sleep, how many times I shake and shiver and sweat uncontrollably at odd hours of the day.
I wonder what my ancestors would say about me. What would they do in my situation? What kinds of people were they?
I had a dream last night that I was stood in the middle of a field, wind dancing away between a mountain valley and enveloping me in flower pedals. It smelled like fresh tea. The sun’s rays pierced through veils of bamboo stalks behind me. Then, in an instant, it all started burning. The air felt oppressive. The fields raged with flames. And all I could hear was screaming.
I’ve certainly thought about it a lot. Maybe my ancestors have somehow cursed me. Maybe they were terrible people, and I’m reaping their fate. Neither would surprise me anymore. It’s not like we built our legacy from nothing.
I wonder how many villages fell beneath my family’s swords. Beneath the very sword I wear every day. I remember my mother telling me that our history began overseas – Korea, or perhaps China. She herself is half-Chinese, whereas my father, fully-Japanese, is ironically not the samurai descendant. Funny how that works.
If I were transported back to the Kamakura Period, what would I be like? Would I be a true noblewoman, a commander of the people? Perhaps a bloodthirsty mercenary. A ronin, no better than I am now. Or a silent, lonely warrior without purpose, as so many of our people have become before we met our ends?
We are a hypocritical people, samurai. Much of our cultural practices come from Buddhist and Shinto teachings. We value respect, politeness, honesty, and collective honor, yet we’ve gained our lands through conquest and entrepreneurialism. We fight wars on behalf of masters, giving us no greater purpose than swords. We strive for peace, yet we obsess over territories and warfare. Who are we, if not soldiers? What else do we have?…
I do still think about what’ll happen when I can no longer remember what I’ve written here. I’m just going to keep reading and re-reading, again and again. I don’t know if it’ll work, but I have to try regardless. Besides, not like it’ll hurt to do it while I do my daily stretching. On another funny note, normally I would train immediately after stretching, but not lately. What’s the point when I spend so much time out of my day using Shinden for its intended purpose, anyway?
Strange text came in all of a sudden… Meredith Stout? There’s a blast from the past, if ever I saw one… Seems she wants to meet. No-Tell Motel. I’ll write in my journal again when I’ve returned.
I’ve… uh, returned.
Admittedly it’s been a long time since anyone’s had the skill to make me walk funny as I headed back to my car. Props to her, that’s one hell of a way to leave a lasting impression on someone. I noticed a tattoo with a broken heart and the phrase, “Never Again” behind her ear… Wonder what the story was there. Perhaps I’ll ask her if we ever meet again, though I doubt it. She seems like the ‘One and Done’ type.
Day 65.
I keep having these recurring thoughts, these recurring dreams. The fire. Jackie’s death. My mother and father’s last words to me. But more have recently started infiltrating my mind – thoughts I’ve not had for several months.
It is… difficult to describe terror in words.
When that carrier arrived in the Bay, the new kids were overjoyed. They all celebrated, got high, drunk, and fat. But the further back you went, the less emotion you found. A little fun fact: Arasaka’s insistence on putting us melee units on the front lines may well have been why we were so utterly outmatched. I only got away because I wound up with my reconnaissance company. But for the average sword-wielding grunt, not a chance. There was one sword specialist per squad, and they had by far the highest casualty rate. In total, the NUSA killed enough swordfighters to refresh the entire complement twelve times over. What could we do against bombs, tanks, snipers, and machine gunners? It’s no wonder why you’ll find so many NUSA vets and so few Arasaka vets still around. It’s almost like the corporation was all nostalgic for the life expectancy of the average kamikaze pilot.
Some people thought Arasaka was perpetuating this war as a convenient means to get rid of some of the overpopulation crisis in Japan. What better way than to parade around values of samurai culture, bushido, and honor? It worked on me, and tens of thousands more. We were easiest to train – using a sword, unlike a gun, is relatively intuitive. You don’t need to know how to disassemble it. You don’t need much nuance apart from stab the guy and throw grenades around all day. Oh, and here’s a disposable pistol, because the enemy typically doesn’t afford you the courtesy of letting you run up to them and stab them.
I’ve never told anyone these stories. I probably never will. I can barely even write it down. What would be the point in it? I’ve busted my ass to get over this shit, and writing about it won’t change anything. To try and see past the fact that I was thrown into a meat grinder as a fucking child, then made to think that I could actually leave an impact on the conflict. I worked so hard to see people get built up. People I’ve come to admire. And then for all that effort to quite literally go up in flames. Why did we risk our lives, everything we achieved? Why did we spend it all so readily?
Someone once described battlefield courage to me; he said that everyone has a certain amount of courage in the bank. And every time something happens, we either make a withdrawal or a deposit. Eventually, if we keep taking and taking, we won’t have any courage left to give, and at that point you’re no longer an effective soldier. I think most of us reached that point at least once. Hell, my good friend Ayuzawa was discharged two separate times for combat fatigue, but the second time he was unable to leave because we’d been cut off by that point. How heartbreaking must it have been for him to get a letter telling him to come home, but he couldn’t…
It’s either funny or sad that the one constant in my life through everything has been my sword. They say a samurai’s sword carries within it a spirit, and that spirit grows and evolves with the sword itself and its wielder. It’s the spirit of my ancestors, of my emotions, my very essence and the essence of my family, distilled into a razor-sharp edge. In many ways, the sword leads me, not the other way around. And it’s been the only being I’ve ever trusted with any of this… How pathetic that must sound. I wonder what they would do in my place. How strong they would be.
I guess it’s no wonder so many of us go cyberpsycho. Finding a good therapist is about as likely as finding gold in my crap. Hell, my last therapist was the “spiritualist” or whatever that Arasaka provided for me. The guy who told me to attend to my ‘chakras’ when I explained to him that I woke up every night screaming in terror and crying. I was so close to punching him in his smug-ass face… I didn’t because I didn’t want to get fired. How ironic is that… Fucking hell, I need a drink.
Relax, S*****. Remember who you are.
Day 66.
I got an interesting call this morning from someone who introduced herself as Elizabeth Peralez. She seemed cordial – polite, certainly, but I detected a hint of shrewdness about her. Bit of a tight schedule with the parade this weekend, but I have a few days to burn in the meantime. Might as well see what’s going on, what she needs. She said it’d just be for a small chat and asked me to bring my BD wreath, which is certainly a welcome break from the usual. Let’s see how long that lasts before someone else tries to zero me.
A funny side note… Johnny criticized my work for being too “broody.” That’s rich coming from him, where almost every other word he says has something to do with anti-corporatism. I guess it’s more tolerable than him trying to tell me to commit suicide, or to pick up smoking.
–
“What do you think these people want? Gonna go for the Dex treatment again, string you on and get Judy killed instead?” Johnny criticized. I ignored his deliberately obtuse argument and parked Miyoko across the street.
“Shit, you know what, I was gonna tell you but I forgot my crystal ball back at the apartment,” I sneered at him, rolling my eyes and crossing without looking. I hope a truck comes flying around the corner and flattens us both.
He had a point, though. This seemed eerily similar to Dex’s meet. A black car and hired muscle standing outside. My hand twitched, sorely tempted to lop his head off immediately. I wanted nothing to do with this.
“Are you V?” the muscle asked with an unexpectedly polite, courteous tone, “Please, step in the vehicle.”
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I silently nodded, taken aback by the contrast. I fully expected an ambush that never came. Instead, he opened the door for me and kindly gestured me inside, not pressuring me or anything as I gently removed Shinden’s pins.
Two people greeted me as I took a seat – two incredibly beautiful people, in a startling way. They clearly had quite a lot of money to afford all this – the designer clothes, the car stitched with real leather that groaned as I sat down, the posture and calm demeanor. Everything in this car was immaculate, from the white trim to the metallic, reflective headliner that gave off the impression of a calm summer's day. A properly luxurious experience, if I'd ever seen one. “Hello, V,” the man sat next to me started, just as courteous as the muscle climbing into the driver’s seat, “My name is Jefferson Peralez. I believe you’ve already spoken with my wife, Elizabeth.”
“Nice to meet you, Jefferson,” I smiled and gave him a courteous nod, shifting my attention to the statuesque woman and providing the same to her, “Elizabeth.” I teased Shinden’s handle involuntarily, catching myself and pulling my hand back.
Jefferson glanced down at the sword resting between my legs. “Hm. Right again, Liz.”
“Pardon me?” I raised an eyebrow.
Jefferson gave a light-hearted scoff. “My wife… she’s a great judge of character. Said this would work. But that you’re, uh, skittish.”
“Apologies,” I said meekly, “Past experiences have made me slightly paranoid… Wait. Are you… the Jefferson Peralez, the one running for mayor?”
“Mm, the very same,” Elizabeth spoke for him from the front seat.
“I’ve read a bit about you,” I continued, “You were the district attorney, no?”
“Now you see why we gotta go through with the theatrics,” Jefferson nodded, “Carter, let’s go.”
The Herculean-built man gestured with a silent wave and slipped the massive sedan into gear, slowly pulling out of the industrial parking lot and heading straight for the City Center. “Honored to meet you,” I repeated, giving them both a subtle bow, “How can I help?”
Elizabeth was the first to speak, though I sensed that she commanded just as much respect as her husband in this car. “Well, as you’re probably aware, Mayor Lucius Rhyne recently passed.”
“Indeed,” I replied, “I was a fan of his work. Sad to see him go.”
“What do you know about him?” asked Jefferson.
I thought for a moment before answering. “We idolized him in the war. A rarity in political circles. He actually wanted to improve this city, backing projects in Watson before becoming the district manager. A fervent Devolutionist if ever there was one, fighting against the NUSA even after the fighting ended. I suppose it was only a matter of time before his number came up.”
“Interesting,” Elizabeth said to me, leaning over her seat, “So you think this was a hit?”
“I said no such thing,” I shook my head, “The screamsheets said it was a cyberpsycho attack, then he died of natural causes unrelated to it. Some sort of cardiac issue, I believe. It’s been about a week since I’ve read about it.”
“And what do you think?” Jefferson asked me, “Be forthright.”
I scratched my chin and leaned on the car door as it drove under Memorial Park. “I’ve seen too much to take things at face-value. But I’m not at liberty to elaborate, not without anything concrete. Bad things happen to good people, that’s true no matter your position.”
“And the fact that the media claim it was a cardioimplant malfunction mean nothing to you?” Elizabeth said with a focused scowl on her face, emphasizing her east Asian appearance and chiseled cheekbones.
“Respectfully, I’m assuming you didn’t contact me because you need reassurances that a cyberpsycho attack victim had indeed died from being attacked?” I said with a grimace.
“Heh, they also said you’re quite, um… blunt,” Jefferson replied with a laugh, “Let me put it this way. As a mayoral candidate, I need to know if someone’s trying to permanently sway the polls, you catch my drift?”
“I do,” I nodded to him, “You want to see if the mastermind behind Rhyne’s death will stop there or not. Rhyne is– was, a center-left progressive. As are you, if I recall.”
“Well said,” Elizabeth told me, “Though no, Rhyne was very much a conservative. His image is a cultivated one. All those speeches you mentioned – all done to win over the city. Seems that the city asked for more than he expected, and we believe the NCPD are covering it up.”
“And I assume you two have evidence to back such a claim?”
“We do,” she continued, “Shortly before Rhyne’s death, he made cuts to the NCPD’s budget. We think maybe he got on someone’s bad side. That’s also how we procured this BD.” Elizabeth held up a shard in her hand, the sun’s reflection creating a shimmer as it danced around her fingers. “Our chief of security scanned it. Didn’t find anything out of the ordinary… well, so to speak. And you came recommended by someone who said you have an eye for detail.”
“I came recommended?” I furrowed my brow, thinking of whom it could’ve been… Hang on. They want me to look at a BD.
Oh, duh, it’s Judy. She works as a BD techie. Probably recommended me because she’s dealing with the Clouds affair. Heh, sweet of her, I guess.
“It has to be back where it belongs today, or else we’ll be in a great deal of trouble,” Jefferson chimed in, “Hence the short notice.”
“Where’d you get the scroll?” I asked him.
“Following the attack, NCPD impounded this as evidence. Just a standard BD scrolled during a formal event, a dime a dozen.”
“We had to pull a lot of strings to get it,” Elizabeth finished his thought.
“Alright, let’s see it,” I produced the wreath from my jacket pocket as Elizabeth nodded and handed it to me. Man, I need to get this thing adjusted… I guess that’s the price I’m paying for having a dent in my head from a bullet wound.
–
A courthouse… Smells like cleaned carpet. Just been vacuumed. A man stood before me… Lu… Lucas…
“Well, whadda we got here…” Johnny suddenly appeared in the scene, glaring at Lucas from his left.
“Johnny…? Last time I checked, this is a BD, what’re you doing here?”
“Last time I checked, it’s my brain too, ‘member?” Johnny fired back… Alright, fair.
“…And this time don’t go scrolling every ass you see,” Lucas scolded me, “Eyes on the mayor.” Someone else appeared from the other side of my vision… Hold… No… Holt. Wel… Weldon Holt. The deputy mayor… Why do I feel like I know that name from somewhere… “Stuff belongs to City Hall, make sure it’s PG.” City hall… not a courthouse. Right…
“Second conference is in three days,” Holt spoke as a third party came into the main hall behind him… Wait, that’s Rhyne himself. Alright, focus… “No idea what this blitz is for.”
“That’s why I’m mayor and you’re not,” Rhyne said mockingly, “Now’s when we need the visibility.”
“You’re spreading yourself too thin,” he quickly replied.
“I’ll rest tonight,” Rhyne reassured his deputy mayor, “My room at the Red Queen’s Race is ready?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good, then get going,” he shooed Holt away, “Gotta practice.”
“Red Queen’s Race…” I thought out-loud, “Wouldn’t happen to be a club from your time, I’m guessing?”
“Maybe it’s a hotel where a bunch of old Britfarts in powdered wigs shout, ‘Off with their heads!’ at the wee hours of the night,” Johnny teased me.
“You could just say you have no idea, that’s an option, too…” I replied dismissively.
Wait, where are they going so fast… Holt and his bodyguard. Looks like they left and locked the door behind them, just seconds before the attack. Yes, he was dismissed, but it seems odd that he would lock the door. “Interesting,” I noted to Johnny, “They left right then and there, then locked the main exit route. Seems convenient.”
“Or that Jefferson’s right and you’re paranoid,” he said sternly, “Let’s keep watchin’. Need somethin’ harder than that.”
“That’s what she said,” I mumbled with a light chuckle and resumed the footage.
I turned around and came face-to-face with a large, burly man in what looked to be a fur coat… Shaved head, eye implant, some sort of mechanical model I’ve not seen before. Wore a necklace with what looked like feathers on it… interesting. “Hold it! Stop right there,” I shouted at him as he barged in through the metal detector, setting it off.
“River Ward, NCPD,” he spoke hurriedly, flashing his badge and iron.
“Police, let ‘im in?” the security supervisor next to me asked from behind his monitor.
“It’s important, gotta speak to the Mayor’s chief of security,” he demanded.
“Preem, do it after the conference,” the man I was following insisted…
Interesting… “Seems like he really wanted to discuss something important. One guess as to what it could be…”
“Think he knows somethin’?” Johnny asked me.
“Well he certainly wasn’t there by accident…”
And the star of our show comes through the gates. A cyberpsycho borged out enough to give many of the people I’ve hunted pause. Not just that, but the security feeds shut off as soon as he walked in the building. And it wasn’t the security chief who did it – he was scrambling around trying to get it restored. A textbook ambush.
“So we have this Red Queen’s Race situation, a frantic officer, and the feeds shut off. Coincidence?” I asked Johnny.
“Meh, seen stranger,” he replied dismissively.
“Oh? Like what?”
“Like when you bang some chick and then her sister – later that same night. And it turns out, both were sisters of God.”
“Bullshit, that never happened,” I groaned.
“Nah… But it could’ve.” Okay, Romeo…
The man came up behind me, Mantis Blades at the ready, humming something… “What’s that tune? I don’t recognize it…”
“Tune? Wouldn’t call that a tune,” he said with an air of sarcasm.
“Well whatever it is, he won’t stop… Hm…” And he stabs the man I was following in the back and charges for Rhyne before being gunned down… Huh. So he never reached the Mayor after all. Which means that the NCPD had it right. However he died, it wasn’t because of something this man had done. Rhyne was never in any danger. Not until after he left the premises. Which raises the question of what happened after the fact that caused him to die so suddenly.
“Can piece it together already,” Johnny chimed back in, “Body disappeared from the morgue, started walkin’ again. And then some pig got himself a new set of wheels and an ugly-ass suit.”
“Uh… what?”
“Forget it. Once you seen what I’ve seen, you just ‘know’ people without knowin’ them. Get me?”
“See, that’s a fancy way of saying you’re talking out your ass,” I scoffed before shutting off the BD. Think I’ve seen everything I can glimmer from this.
–
I blinked a few times, my eyes re-focusing on the world of the living once again.
“Welcome back,” Jefferson exclaimed as I removed my BD wreath, “So, you find anything to confirm our suspicions?”
“Hm…” I thought out-loud, “Well, first of all, the cyberpsycho didn’t attack him. There was an attempt, but that’s that… Oh, where are we?”
“Heywood,” Elizabeth told me, “Got our AV waiting. Walk with us.” Heywood, huh? Interesting.
Yeah, these people have fuck-you money. To be able to afford a handmade Rayfield Excalibur, with a platinum coating, at that? Talk about a bottomless bank account… and here I thought I had a flush wallet. I guess I stand corrected. “Go on,” Jefferson coaxed me.
“Right, uh…” I stammered, “Well, I noticed a few things. First is that it seemed haphazard. The guy just straight-up charged into a room of armed thugs – that wasn’t an assassination attempt, it was a message. Second, someone inside the NCPD knows something about this, and this River Ward character likely knows that person. Third, this attack was organized from the inside-out.”
“Are you certain?” Elizabeth asked me one more time.
“Mm,” I nodded to her and Jefferson, “I was taught to question patterns like these for many years. Once is natural. Twice is coincidental. Three times is statistical.”
“Hmmmh…” Jefferson hummed to himself, lighting up a cigarette, “You smoke?”
I courteously waved him away, “No, sir.”
“So…” he continued, “Suspicions confirmed.”
“For now,” I interrupted, “I need more information to go on. First thing’s first, you ever heard of Red Queen’s Race?”
“Red Queen’s Race…” Jefferson paused, “Sounds like a dive bar or…”
“So no,” I shook my head with slight frustration, “The deputy mayor mentioned it. What’s Holt’s story, anyway?”
Jefferson took a puff before replying. “Rhyne’s lap dog. Or bulldog, I should say. He’s running in Rhyne’s place now.”
The picture started to become a bit clearer now… Wait. I think I remember now… Didn’t Jackie mention something about the Mayor at Konpeki? Yeah, some sort of deal with Arasaka, as I recall… I was just as startled back then. “Any particular reason for this conference in particular, some sort of law being implemented, or…?”
“Not really, no,” Jefferson shrugged, “Rhyne just likes the sound of his own voice. Seeing himself on TV… Heh. That sorta thing. As far as I recall, this one was about him patting himself on the back for bringing crime in NC down to record lows.”
I stopped and just shook my head in disbelief. “Sorry – lows?”
“Yeah, he declared Pacifica an ‘independent district.’ Stopped counting its crime statistics.”
“Huh, no shit…” I muttered, “And I guess that was his excuse for cutting the NCPD budget.”
“Most likely,” Jefferson nodded affirmatively.
“Alright, last thing – there was a police officer there. River Ward – you know him?”
“Detective, actually,” Jefferson corrected me, “Yeah, we worked a few cases together when I was the DA. You wanna talk to him, I’ll put you in touch.”
“Please,” I said graciously, “He seemed to be the only officer there. Mayor’s security detail is private?”
“Yup,” Elizabeth spoke for Jefferson, “All hand-picked by Holt and on a corp’s payroll.” Mercenaries… Could’ve been one of them that let the cyberpsycho slip. Would’ve given them a good excuse to get Rhyne alone, under the guise of ‘protection.’ Still, that’s pretty thin…
“And the terminal on-site. Anyone else have access besides Holt?” I asked, referring to the one that shut off before the guy entered the building.
“Hmm…” Jefferson mumbled, “Nah, just him and NCPD.”
My finger danced around my chin as I considered every angle I could. “Typical… This River Ward must’ve had some sort of inside source, or just some extraordinarily good timing. In either case, I need to contact him and figure it out for myself.”
“Well said,” Elizabeth smiled, writing down a number on a piece of paper, “Here’s his deets.”
“Pleasure,” I returned the gesture in-kind, pocketing the paper, “I’ll keep you informed.”
“Thank you,” Jefferson gave me a courteous bow before heading into the Excalibur, “And if you need anything else, just call.”
Man, that fucking AV is worth ten of my Skyline, easily… Right, V, stop gawking at the beautiful couple and their beautiful ride. We have a man to contact.
“They seem like decent people by politicians’ standards,” I muttered to Johnny as I left the parking lot, looking around for the nearest bus stop to take me back to my car.
“Mm, ‘politicians’ bein’ the key word here,” Johnny noted, “Snakes in the grass, all of ‘em. But don’t let me stop you from kissin’ their asses.”
I glanced down at the sidewalk and kicked an errant pebble into the street, just pondering this whole conversation… What’ve I gotten myself into… “Maybe…” I thought to Johnny, “But a job’s a job. So let’s get this done.”
“Whatever,” he shrugged with contempt, “Long as the day doesn’t end in bondage again.”
“Aww, not your thing?” I teased him with a grin.
“Rather be on top, if it’s all the same to you…” Heh, not his thing, indeed. Guess he better get used to it.
I dialed the number as I waited for the bus to come around, being met with a surprisingly monotone voice. “This is Ward. Who’m I talkin’ to?” he asked straight away.
“V,” I replied courteously, “I’m looking into the Mayor’s death.”
“Hmph, wonder why. Not many cops speak Japanese the way you do.” Quite the observant fellow. I guess I should’ve expected as much from a detective. Even if I end up doing their job for them half the time.
“No, I’m not a cop,” I told him plainly, “But I do know you tried to warn Rhyne and his entourage the day of the cyberpsycho attack.”
“Uh-huh… What else do you know?”
“That we need to meet,” I demanded.
“Alright. Chubby Buffalo’s. One hour,” River said sternly.
“I’ll be there.” Fuck… Guess I’m taking a taxi back to my car. Gonna need to hurry up if I’m to get changed in time to meet him.
---
Lucius Rhyne was born on the eve of war, and knows its consequences all too well - his mother was a NetWatch agent, and his father worked for Arasaka and was one of the many victims of the Night City Holocaust. In 2027, his mother was left an invalid after being attacked by a rogue AI in the Deep Net, effectively rendering Rhyne an orphan. Nevertheless, he found work and supported his mother's body to the best of his ability. Bearing witness to the Time of the Red and the horrors it inflicted permanently scarred the child, shaping Rhyne's resolve for the rest of his life.