The gang member's reflexive shout came too fast for Lin Mo to stop.
But the moment that cry rang out, both Kitagawa Hiro and Lin Mo sprang into action with lightning speed.
Hiro drew his handgun from inside his coat, eyes sharp as a hawk locking onto prey. With a twist of his wrist, he firmly gripped the weapon and aimed it straight at the panicked gang members.
But the teen beside him was even faster. Just as Hiro leveled his gun, Lin Mo had already drawn his blade.
Runes glowing blue-green shimmered under the moonlight, weaving through the air like rippling water in the night—sharp, hypnotic, deadly.
Overconfidence kills—and so does hesitation.
The three gangsters, emboldened by their numbers and the fact that they had drawn first, didn't back off. Instead, they raised their guns, eager to punish the two fools who dared stand against them.
Muzzles flashed. Two aimed at Lin Mo, the third at Hiro.
But Lin Mo was already moving. His reflexes pushed past the limit of human response. The moment the barrels aligned with him, he shifted aside—dodging the bullets before they even fired.
He stepped through them—one smooth, angled movement—and brought his blade down in a sweeping arc.
The katana slashed diagonally, blade tip cutting through moonlight as Lin Mo crouched low, eyes cold.
All three of their gun arms were severed in a blink. Blood sprayed as flesh and metal tore apart.
Before their brains could even process the pain, and before a single scream escaped, Hiro fired three times.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
All three dropped to the pavement. The blood pouring from their stumps pooled like crimson fountains, and the last sound they made was that shout calling for backup.
"Nice swordsmanship," Hiro complimented, yanking a bullet lodged in his chest like it was nothing.
"You weren't bad either. But now's not the time to praise each other."
Lin Mo flicked the blood off his blade and turned to the parking lot.
As expected, that shout had drawn attention.
Realizing they still hadn't broken the two defenders, the gang's leader seemed to change strategy—redirecting the assault toward Lin Mo and Hiro.
"You recognize the gang?" Lin Mo asked, sheathing his blade and drawing his [Kongou] pistol.
"Some nameless crew," Hiro scoffed. "In a sea like Night City, they're just foam on the waves. Sooner or later, they'll piss off the wrong person and get wiped."
That was reassuring—until Hiro's expression darkened.
"Shit. They're calling for more backup."
He closed his eyes, listening carefully through his audio enhancers. Then turned, crouching behind a bush to peek at the parking lot.
Sure enough, the gang leader was speaking rapidly into a comm.
Meanwhile, Lin Mo moved silently to the fallen enemies and quickly looted them, collecting anything useful before standing and preparing to move.
"Lin-kun, we have to go. They've marked us."
Thanks to their intervention, the gang had stopped their aggressive push—likely to avoid being caught between two fronts. This gave the original two defenders just enough breathing room to reach their SUV.
They didn't waste it. The engine roared, and the reinforced vehicle plowed through debris like a freed beast charging toward open ground.
Now only Lin Mo and Hiro were left.
As they ran, Lin Mo scanned the road. They were on a landscaped divider—great for cover earlier, but now exposed with nowhere to hide.
"Which way?" he asked.
Without auditory implants, there was no better choice than trusting Hiro.
"Left—no! They're blocking that too! We're being cornered!"
Hiro's face twisted. His audio implants picked up the angry roars of multiple engines.
Vehicles were converging from every direction—like wolves encircling their prey. They weren't rushing to kill—they were sealing the exits, calmly tightening the net.
Lin Mo frowned. "So this is the 'minor trouble' the simulator warned me about…"
At least now he understood what the vague prompt had been referring to.
A glint of orange flashed in his eyes. Quietly, he sent out a message from his comms—silent, encrypted, fast.
Despite the escalating threat, his face remained calm.
Hiro scanned the street, desperate to find cover—but there was nothing. No barricades, no shelter.
Finally, he gritted his teeth and bolted toward a nearby alley.
It was a desperate move, a delay tactic at best. They couldn't outrun cars—just slow things down.
All it would take was blocking both ends of the alley, and unless they grew wings, they were done for.
Once inside, Hiro stacked up some debris into makeshift cover.
Then, using his cyberarms and raw strength, he dragged over two steel dumpsters and barricaded the position.
Lin Mo joined him behind cover.
"Oh, by the way—check this out. Picked it up off one of those guys."
Even in the middle of a crisis, Lin Mo was calm as ever. He pulled a long, sleek firearm from his bag.
Long barrel. Electromagnetic coils. Rectangular form factor. Compact mag. Mounted scope. It practically screamed future tech.
—Nekomata. A tech sniper rifle manufactured by Tsunami Defense Systems.
This beauty fired tungsten slugs at such high velocity, they could punch through walls, armor—hell, even titanium bones.
Of course, it was a pain in the ass to maintain and had a steep learning curve. But in the right hands? Devastating.
"Nekomata?! Where the hell did they get one of those?!" Hiro exclaimed.
Lin Mo understood his shock. In the game, you saw it often. But here in reality? It was a rare prize—only available to corporate mercs or government contractors.
"There's no way a street gang gets this on their own," Lin Mo said. "They've gotta be hired muscle. Someone sent them."
Hiro's face grew grim. He leaned back against the wall with the expression of a samurai ready to die with honor.
"You're right. This isn't just some random turf war. These guys were sent by someone who wants us dead."
Engines roared again.
Multiple Thorton Colby CX410s rolled up—popular among gangsters for being cheap, tough, and easy to modify.
Their pickup-style flatbeds made body disposal... efficient.
Floodlights lit up the alley. Lin Mo and Hiro looked like cornered fugitives, surrounded on both sides.
More thugs climbed out of the trucks, all carrying weapons. A few reached into the beds to pull out even more firepower.
"Looks like they want us alive," Lin Mo muttered, ducking behind cover again.
"If I were them, I'd do the same," Hiro replied coldly, loading his Copperhead and checking his rounds.
He extended one cyberarm around the edge of the cover and used a reflection to scout the entrances.
Sure enough—both ends of the alley were blocked.
Hiro's heart sank.
.
.
.
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