Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 717, Section 131: The Little Scar

"Hoo-ha. Is this the place?"

The young man, dressed in tattered clothes, leaned on his knees, panting heavily.

He stood in the center of an abandoned hound camp, the rusty barbed wire whistling softly in the night wind. On his still-childish face, a scar extending from the corner of his right eye to the corner of his mouth was particularly conspicuous in the moonlight.

"Scarface"—this imposing nickname was given to him on the night of his sixteenth birthday.

Whenever the tribe's campfire was lit and the cheap liquor was downed, he would slam his fist on the table and recount the 'legend' of that scar with spittle flying: it was a medal left from the bloody battle with the Chaotic Blade Society, a 'mark of glory' left on his face when he stabbed the throat of his third enemy with a knife, and the enemy's dying counterattack.

But the elders in the tribe would always laugh in unison at that time.

Who doesn't know the truth? He was fourteen years old that year. He stole his uncle's knife to show off, but when he imitated the throwing motion, the blade drew a comical arc in mid-air and finally bounced back against the wall next to him, firmly piercing his right cheek.

Five years have passed, and the nickname "Scarface" that he longed for has never come true. Instead, the mocking nickname "Little Scarface" has spread far and wide. Every time someone shouts it during shooting range training, his finger will tremble uncontrollably as he pulls the trigger, and the recoil will make his shoulder ache.

But now, everything is about to change.

Sweat trickled down his brow bone and into his eyes. He roughly wiped his face with his sleeve, and an empty can, kicked by the toe of his worn-out boot, bounced on the concrete floor with a sickening sound.

He's going to prove himself today.

Today, Scarface met the legend he had heard so much about, and met V, who was also a homeless man. He wanted to learn from V, who was regarded as a role model by all homeless people after entering the city, and wanted to prove himself in front of him.

This was partly for the higher pay, and partly to get some exposure in front of their idol.

Scarface wanted to do something for him, so when he guessed that V might need someone to contact the outside world, Scarface stepped forward without hesitation.

Even if it's fraught with danger, even if the Ghosthounds' patrols are searching every street in Dogtown for suspicious individuals, he's determined to get this done for V.

To his surprise, V agreed to their request for assistance almost without hesitation. This trust warmed Scarface's heart, as if he had returned to his days in the tribe, when trust was the most precious gift. Now, he would never betray that trust.

They did have communication equipment, but those devices that had once connected with the lark were all abandoned after the lark fell into Hansen's hands.

The reason is simple—Hansen has no shortage of capable people under his command. As long as a qualified hacker traces the residual traces on the device, their location will be completely exposed.

Even T-BUG, after being arrested in Lark and contacting Blanca, proactively cut off all connections and went into hiding to wait for things to calm down. Coupled with the situation on Blanca's side, for V and his team to safely transmit messages, they needed to obtain a new, clean set of equipment.

However, this was not a difficult task for Scarface and his companions.

Although Scarface and his companions are now only registered "homeless people," they were once homeless.

Homeless people are masters at turning trash into treasure.

The city is a perfect dumping ground, littered with garbage everywhere, which is not difficult for homeless people to adapt to.

Not long after they left, they found something usable among a pile of discarded parts and, relying on the repair skills they had honed in the tribe, managed to cobble together a barely functional communication device.

Dogtown is now completely surrounded by hounds, but even the tightest blockade can't stop the flow of information, especially news related to the president. Scarface and his companions carefully adjusted the channel and connected to the outside world at the contact address V had given them. Soon, a response came from the other end of the communicator. A voice claiming to be from a newly formed 'support' group arranged a meeting place with them.

In order not to expose V's hiding place, Scarface decided to go alone. He was prepared to take the risks by himself, even though his two companions offered to take his place.

As the young leader, he had to shoulder this responsibility. If he wanted to rebuild the Twin Bulls tribe, he had to take the first step himself. Even if he died here, at least his companions would survive—he believed V would help them establish themselves in the city.

However, by then, the Shuangniu tribe's hopes for reconstruction will be completely extinguished.

Holding Lexington nervously, Scarface took a deep breath and glanced at the camp he had rummaged through countless times before.

The camp was even more dilapidated than the last time I visited: the collapsed watchtowers looked like broken animal bones, and the tent canvases trembled in the night wind like the skin of a dying beast. Apart from a few rusty ammunition boxes and moldy ration bags, it was as clean as a licked-on plate.

There are few shelters in this place, and he can see clearly anyone coming.

"Huhu. Huh."

Breathing heavily with some tension, Little Scar felt his breathing becoming more and more steady, and his heartbeat, caused by running and tension, gradually slowed down.

When he stood up straight again, Little Scar's eyes were filled with determination.

And then a figure appeared in his eyes.

The figure in the distance gradually became clearer, outlining a solitary silhouette under the scorching afternoon sun. The other party was clearly also worried about a possible ambush, and came alone.

As the distance closed, Scarface squinted, carefully examining the approaching figure.

He was a man in his early thirties, his sharp combat uniform clinging to his lean body, each step he took was steady and powerful.

His face was angular and his brows were slightly furrowed, exuding an imposing aura. What was most striking was the rifle slung across his body—the sling extended diagonally from his right shoulder to his left waist, swaying slightly with each step, the metal parts occasionally reflecting a cold gleam in the sunlight.

He is a soldier.

Little Scar suddenly had this feeling.

Perhaps it was because of the person's appearance, or perhaps it was because of the person's demeanor and clothing, but the moment Little Scar saw the person, he felt that the person was a soldier.

Meanwhile, the other person was also silently observing Little Scarface.

'A homeless man? No, I misjudged him. He's in excellent spirits and has a good appearance. With some training in the army, he could become an outstanding soldier.'

After sizing each other up, Yarman approached Scarface and said, "You're the liaison."

He only got halfway through his sentence when he suddenly stretched out his hand.

Scarface only felt a blur before he felt pain and impact, and by then he had already been slammed to the ground by Yarman.

(End of this chapter)