Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 677, Section 91: The Gaze
Nottingham-Wenrio's firing of his gun was like a stone suddenly dropped into a calm lake, creating ripples in that instant.

The target's pupils constricted as the Nova Pistol locked onto him—his spinal cord sensed death before his brain could react, his muscle fibers tensing before consciousness could even register it. The nerve twitches from the activation of the S.A.W.S. system pulsed across his silhouette, blurring his sudden movement into a hazy afterimage.

"Expose, perform cleanup."

There was no tactical hesitation, nor any misjudgment or luck. The moment the muzzle flash pierced the retina, the infiltrator disguised as 'Mole' Roy's bodyguard had already made his move.

Fifteen deadly daggers were hidden within the twenty-man guard team.

Fourteen of the personnel were already positioned in various locations, alert to any unexpected arrivals, while the most dangerous venomous snake was already hidden among the six bodyguards surrounding 'Mole' Roy.

There were fifteen people infiltrating, but only five of them were truly 'moles'—fools who were unaware that someone had lurked among them.

The most skilled assassin among the dispatched personnel activated Sianwistan almost at the same instant his comrade launched his attack.

The subcutaneously implanted reinforcing tendons tightened instantly, and the hydraulic joints emitted a faint hum—his right hand's five fingers were pressed together, the artificial skin tore under pressure, and five cold glints were pierced through the black tactical glove.

It was a meticulously modified folding finger-modifying knife, normally concealed within the finger bone, but now it bared its fangs like a venomous snake, with five nano-alloy blades bursting from the fingertip, their edges drawing a cold arc in the air before seamlessly assembling into a long, narrow dagger.

Without any unnecessary movements or hesitation, the spiked blade thrust forward with lightning speed, its tip aimed straight for Nottingham-Williams' throat—the trajectory of the strike was so precise it was as if calibrated with a laser, even the air itself seemed to rip through with a subtle whistling sound.

The assassin's sudden attack stunned everyone around 'Mole' Roy. The bodyguards, whose eyes were too busy tracking the assassin's movements, were clearly unaware that someone was hiding among their own men. They had no time to react. Only one of the bodyguards, Roy's captain, managed to follow the assassin's movements with his eyes, but he could only watch helplessly as the dagger headed towards Nottingham-Wenrio, with his employer's body, which Nottingham-Wenrio had deliberately pulled close to him, in its path.

Nottingham-Wenrio's face showed a slight surprise. Clearly, the assassin's sudden attack had taken him somewhat by surprise. However, this did not mean that he had not expected that there were other people among 'Mole' Roy's bodyguards, but rather that he had not expected the other party's actions to be so decisive.

'His qualities are so high that you probably can't find many people in the entire Sixth Street Gang who can match him.'

Nottingham-William, the leader of the Sixth Street gang, stared at the assassination attempt, a complex mix of emotions rising within him. The attacker's movements were clean and efficient, without any unnecessary tricks, striking straight at the vital points. This level of assassin was not something that ordinary forces could easily mobilize.

He felt a bitter taste in his mouth.

The new America, the country he swore allegiance to in his youth, is now unrecognizable, filled with power, interests, and conspiracies. The dirty game between this nation and giant corporations has already swallowed up countless marginalized people like him.

And now, even a nobody like him, barely surviving in the cracks, is going to be eliminated because of the struggle?
What do patriotism and loyalty mean to them?
He's always been old-fashioned, and because of his laughable loyalty, he hasn't achieved any deeper cooperation with the NCPD, maintaining only a superficial friendly relationship. Ironically, what saved his life now was precisely this detached "friendship." If he hadn't retained some flexibility, if he hadn't been a completely old-fashioned rigid person who, after receiving the news from his son, had prepared for this and believed that the internal strife in the country his son served had reached the point of eliminating him, he might be dead here today.

"clang--!"

The sharp clang of metal shattered the stagnant air. A modified police baton, almost as if anticipated, blocked the assassin's spikes. In the instant sparks flew, time seemed to stretch out—the riot control circuitry on the baton glowed with a faint blue light, while the cold glint of the spikes was only inches away from Nottingham's throat.

The collision between the two continued. In Sianwistan's slow-motion vision, the exchange was still so fast that only a blur remained—sparks flew like exploding magnesium bullets at the moment the metal clashed, and a blinding white light tore a fleeting crack in the air.

Because the assassin was disguised as Roy's bodyguard, he could reach Roy and Nottingham-Williams at top speed to carry out the assassination. However, Andy was the representative of the NCPD from beginning to end, and standing next to them, he naturally had enough ability to intercept the assassin's attack.

Having been asked to do so by his friend Oliver, he had already made preparations for the assassination.

From its inception, the NCPD has been marked by two bloody words: Protection.

Whether it's corporate employees looking down at the streets from their lofty positions or homeless people huddled in cardboard boxes in the slums, the oath on the back of the police badge has never changed—only in this cyber abyss, the weight of a promise is often measured in money.

But for Andy, who had already experienced loss once, the instinct to protect was no different from anyone else's, and he was unlikely to fail again.
The spike was intercepted for the seventh time, stopping just ten centimeters from Nottingham-Wenrio.

The assassin's pupils contracted violently in a fraction of a second, and his military-grade prosthetic eye burst forth with spiderweb-like arcs due to overload.

As the team's ace assassin, he was among the top assassins in the entire organization. His resume even included records of infiltrating biotechnology buildings and assassinating biotechnology executives within activated laser grids. But at this moment, this man in a police bulletproof vest parried with such precision that it was as if it were a pre-programmed sequence, making it impossible for the dagger in his hand to make any breakthrough.

"Just a police officer." A jumbled stream of data flashed across the prosthetic eye. "An NCPD officer who isn't even part of the Terrorist Response Unit, actually..."

A slight disbelief welled up inside him, and the sluggish feeling returning to his body as Sianwistan neared its end, causing the assassin's face to gradually contort.

“Just a company watchdog.” His vocal cord processor was distorted by adrenaline, S.A.’s nervous acceleration was subsiding, his muscles were beginning to betray his brain, and the world was becoming viscous again. What terrified him most was not the organization’s ‘recovery’ after the mission’s failure, but the look in Andy’s eyes—

—Like staring at frozen meat on a cutting board.

(End of this chapter)