Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 696, Section 110: Falling into a Pit
"Thoroughly investigate his identity, find out all his whereabouts today, the people he has contacted, and the data he has retrieved. Don't overlook any clues."

Oda Santao's prosthetic eye gleamed coldly in the dimly lit corridor:

"To be able to infiltrate to this position, there must be an inside man providing cover. I will dig out every rat hiding in the shadows—whoever dares to reach into Arasaka, they should be prepared to be crushed."

After eliminating the military technology spy, he slowly retracted the mantis knife, the blood-stained blade leaving a crimson afterimage in the air before finally disappearing into his mechanical arm.

Oda Santaro's face was ashen, as if even the surrounding temperature had plummeted due to his murderous intent.

He stared at the gradually cooling corpse on the ground, then suddenly raised his foot and crushed the communication chip in the other's throat—the crisp sound of metal shattering seemed to put an end to this clumsy infiltration.

It's ironic that military technology has planted its pawns within its own cybernetic body maintenance team.

If we hadn't noticed him subconsciously touching the nerve interface on the back of his neck today, we would have found that the connection hadn't been established for a long time.

If you don't notice it today, then perhaps during a "routine check," a programmer's fingertip will quietly implant a string of fatal code, and you will kneel down before the enemy like a puppet with its strings cut at a critical moment.

Most of the "pheasant faction" idiots gathered this time were not only useless, but also let enemy agents slip through like a sieve.

They were supposed to be Miss Hua Zi's sharpest knives, but now they've become rusty scrap metal.

Those fawning smiles and exaggerated bows all turned into laughable performances in the face of a real crisis.

If even the maintenance of one's own prosthetic body can be tampered with, doesn't that mean Miss Hanako's safety is also at risk?
The thought of the possibility that Miss Hanako might be harmed caused Oda Santao's emotions to involuntarily change.

A surge of violent rage shot from his spine to the top of his head—he could almost taste the metallic killing intent spreading across the back of his tongue.

How dare those good-for-nothings? How dare they expose Miss Hua to such a threat? His gaze swept over the trembling "Pheasant Faction" members, and he had already mentally simulated more than a dozen ways to execute these good-for-nothings: severing their Achilles tendons with a mantis knife and forcing them to crawl over the glass shards, or injecting neurotoxins into their subcutaneous cooling systems.
But when he caught sight of Mingzhi in the crowd, his boiling murderous intent suddenly froze.

The young man stood in the center of the commotion like a sheathed samurai sword, even the crease of his collar maintained a perfect 45-degree angle.

Behind the lenses, his eyes were as calm as a frozen lake, a stark contrast to his pale-faced colleagues whose prosthetic fingers trembled.

A certain cadre from Tokyo was tugging at the holster strap with a loud cracking sound, while Akechi's right hand remained perfectly positioned 0.5 centimeters from the gun handle at his waist—a detail that involuntarily stirred a sense of admiration in Oda.

That's why he only labels 'most' pheasant pies as garbage.

Mingzhi was the best performer among the group, and his actions were textbook-perfect.

As Oda's mantis blade sliced ​​through the spy's bionic skin, Akechi was positioned at the optimal point of fire cover.

Although this civilian-trained counterintelligence officer wasn't even equipped with a basic combat cybernetic body, his precise positioning blocked the escape route. From beginning to end, Oda was dealing with the military technology spies while keeping an eye on things, and Akechi's breathing rate remained unchanged throughout.

Compared to those Tokyo personnel who were so terrified they were about to draw their guns, and those Night City personnel who retreated at the first sign of trouble, they were far superior!
Oda Santao loosened his clenched teeth and opened his mouth.

“Akechi.” Oda Santayu’s voice still carried a trace of lingering killing intent, like the final hum of a blade returning to its sheath.

“In addition to your regular duties, I grant you the authority to fire and execute.” His prosthetic eye’s pupil contracted slightly, and a cold light, like a stream of data, swept across the surface of his iris.

He took a step forward, stepping on the still-dry bloodstains, making a sticky sound.

“From this moment on, during the maintenance of my prosthetic body—” Oda’s gaze swept across every trembling figure present like a scanning laser, “If anyone makes you doubt for even 0.1 seconds, you have the right to execute them on the spot, without reporting or explaining.” The air seemed to freeze in that instant.

Many people present felt their heart rate exceed a safe threshold at that moment.

"Yes."

The wise answer was as concise as a system confirmation tone.

His facial muscles did not exhibit any micro-expressions consistent with human joy, and even the dilation of his pupils remained at the baseline.

He was neither like those fools who get promoted and become arrogant, nor did he adopt a hypocritical attitude of feigning humility.

He calmly accepted this terrifying authority that would keep ordinary cadres up all night for a month—as if he were receiving not the power of life and death, but just an ordinary data chip.

Oda Santao felt a surge of admiration.

This combination of absolute rationality and absolute loyalty is the perfect gear of the Arasaka Empire.

But even the perfect gear needs protection.

His prosthetic eye focused on Mingzhi's slightly thin shoulder line.

Although this young man has top-notch analytical skills, his prosthetic body is clearly still at the level of an ordinary civilian employee in the counterintelligence department.

If there are still lurking agents, they probably won't be able to do anything to stop him, given his abilities.

"Furthermore," his prosthetic eye flashed, and an access key was granted to Mingzhi: "The weapons management system and the firewall key for this floor are now open to you."

As Oda Santao spoke, a faint mechanical whirring sound came from the wall.

The indicator lights on dozens of hidden weapon bays turned from red to green, flashing brightly in everyone's sight.

With just a thought, those miniature machine guns embedded in the walls would tear any intruder apart.

At the same time, several data streams are unfolding before Akechi: elevator control protocols, ventilation system permissions, and even emergency braking codes. These combined allow Akechi to have full control over everything on this floor while Oda Santao is temporarily unable to move due to the prosthetic body.

Oda Santao watched as Akechi calmly processed this information, and suddenly recalled the lessons he had received during his training in Hokkaido.

Intelligent predators remain absolutely silent before taking action, only revealing their murderous intent like thunder at the moment of the hunt. He now saw the same trait in this young subordinate—a reassuring danger.

"Don't let me down." He turned and walked toward the maintenance booth: "Your performance will determine your reward."

"Yes."

As always, he gave a concise and efficient answer, remaining calm amidst the envious or fearful expressions of those around him.

After all, when you see someone fall into a pit, you always have to hold back your laughter before they completely fall in.

(End of this chapter)