Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 631, Question 45: A Good Question

"That beast Kenta Nakamura is a venomous snake raised by the Tiger Claw Gang."

Oliver stepped out of the cloud top, the afterglow of the neon lights slicing cold patches across his face. He glanced back at the brothel enveloped in holographic projection, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed back a mouthful of saliva. Nakamura's slit-like eyes and his ever-calm, crooked mouth were exactly like a hyena waiting to lick Arasaka's boots.

"If I ever get the chance, I'll definitely crack a few more holes in his forehead." His knuckles cracked as if he had already pulled the trigger.

Karl didn't rush to reply, but he also looked back at Cloudtop. The virtual dancer on the sign was winking at passersby, but the smile looked more like a mockery.

“Don’t rush,” he said slowly. “Once this fool has scraped together enough money, someone will take care of him for us.”

Oliver frowned. "There's something in that conversation, Carl."

Carl grinned. "While you were arguing with him, I casually 'visited' his terminal." He flicked his wrist, pressed a button on his phone, and an encrypted email slid into Oliver's view.

“The 'VIP channel' of Arakawa's HR department—1.5 million euros for an interview ticket,” Karl said. “He’s already spent 500,000, and now he’s scrambling around the world to collect the rest.”

Oliver stared at the gold-embossed Arasaka logo on the email, a wave of nausea rising in his stomach. "Those parasites in HR... if the internal audit team finds out, they'll probably all be sent to fill the seabed!"

Because of his extensive contact with the place, he now understands Arasaka's rules—it appears to be a company, but at its core, it's a feudal dynasty.

The children of high-ranking officials can inherit their positions with ease, but what about the "lowly" on the periphery who want to squeeze in? They either need to have extraordinary abilities, or they have to be like Nakamura and gamble with money for a chance to become a dog.

“But Nakamura doesn’t have any backing in Arasaka.” Oliver narrowed his eyes. “The HR department would only dare to take his money if they were incredibly audacious, or…”

Carl smiled.

“Or maybe this is a trap.” He tapped his temple. “I just dug up something even more interesting—last month, three Tiger Claw Gang ‘investors’ disappeared the day after they paid their money.”

"Ha, that's good news."

Oliver whistled flippantly, a grin spreading across his face as if he could already smell the spiciness of the celebratory liquor. "Once the news of that bastard's sudden death gets out, I'm going to go to the afterlife and order a 'special cocktail,' no, two."

But his smile didn't last three seconds before his brows furrowed again. "The problem is, what if this bastard really dies, and some clueless idiot tries to change the terms in his place?"

Karl didn't look up; he made a cursory gesture with his finger in the air, as if wiping an invisible knife.

"kill."

Just one word, as short and sharp as a firing pin striking a primer.

Oliver paused for a moment, then chuckled. "Right, I almost forgot, we don't follow any of those weird rules." He kicked a can at his feet, the aluminum hitting the wall with a hollow clang. "You're a witness, ha, what you witnessed is the rule."

“I’m just here to help with business negotiations, not some real business or partnership. I’m just a witness in this matter. And I witnessed a good contract, but someone wants to change it, ruin my reputation, and break my rules. What can I do? Kill them, right? Kill them until they understand the rules.”

As he spoke, Carl still remembered the scene from earlier. When he and Oliver were reborn, Kenta Nakamura maintained his respect, while the Tiger Claw gang members hiding in the shadows, apart from some who were afraid, did not have fear in their eyes, but rather a nauseating excitement, like hyenas smelling carrion, or like robbers holding their first gun.

"Has the Tiger Claw Gang been living too comfortably lately?" Carl's voice drifted. "The newbies have forgotten the pain, so let's give them a refresher."

The night wind swirled various advertising papers printed with colorful images between the two. Oliver suddenly felt a little cold. He looked up into the distance, where the light of Arasaka Tower pierced through the clouds like a sword hanging over everyone's heads.

“Night City, huh?” he exhaled a puff of white mist. “Every day, fearless newbies rush in, and you can’t stop them. Sometimes you have to teach them a lesson: the higher you climb, the harder you fall.” Oliver continued, “You haven’t left the city for four days, and rumors have spread that KK isn’t there. Some people have started making trouble. Now that we haven’t done anything to the Tiger Claw Gang for a while, quite a few of their kittens have started hissing and baring their teeth. Sometimes, you have to take action to teach them some manners.”

"That's the truth."

Carl and Oliver were chatting when their gazes suddenly sharpened. "The Terrorist Mobile Squad."

As soon as Carl finished speaking, Oliver's spine seemed to be filled with liquid nitrogen—instantly freezing and tightening.

Terrorist Mobile Unit.

This is more jarring than any alarm.

Oliver adjusted the focus of his prosthetic eye, locking onto the black Scorpion hovercar that was tearing through the night sky.

The special-supply model of military technology still bears recent bullet marks on its armor, and its exhaust flames leave orange-red trails in the humid air. Three Pterodactyl drones produced by the same military technology company circled like vultures, their scanning beams sweeping over like searchlights.

"Coming for us?"

Oliver frowned.

The airship didn't even have time to fully land—when it was still ten meters above the ground—before the hatch suddenly exploded open.

The shadow fell.

It wasn't jumping, it was smashing.

Oliver's hearing picked up on the series of muffled thuds: first the cracking sound of alloy combat boots crushing concrete, then the hissing of hydraulic joints cushioning the impact, and finally...
Click.

That was the sound of a shotgun being cocked, a standard issue weapon for the Terrorist Mobile Unit.

"No."

Just as Oliver was beginning to suspect that these cyber lunatics were planning to fight them and were about to activate the S.A.S ...

There must be something going on nearby.

In Carl's voice, Oliver noticed that the terrorist squad that jumped next to them only glanced at them, compared their faces, paused slightly, but quickly resumed their movements, and the direction they were rapidly advancing in was...
Center of Twisty Street?
Just as Karl was pondering this.

"Grass!"

Oliver suddenly swore.

In his eyes, the terrorist mobile unit, which had probably landed on a nearby open space, was rapidly advancing toward a certain location, and along their path...

Oliver's car was parked next to it.

Do these cyber lunatics care about cars?
This is a good question.

(End of this chapter)