Jackie led the way, lugging the Flathead case with his usual big, burly swagger.
V followed behind, quietly observing the surroundings.
Roqi trailed in the rear, silent as a ghost.
"Welcome to Konpeki Pla—"
The concierge had just started his rehearsed greeting when he froze mid-bow, caught in Roqi's gaze.
What kind of look was that?
It was like the stare of a caged demon—one that hadn't yet broken loose, but the chains were visibly straining. Calm on the surface, but lurking just beneath, a brutal, feral violence.
It reminded the concierge of Adam Smasher, the infamous Arasaka enforcer.
But where Smasher's stare was cold and mechanical, Roqi's was something else—dark, organic, and disturbingly human.
Is this the kind of people the corps negotiate with every day?
The concierge swallowed hard, keeping up his perfect customer service smile.
"Welcome to Konpeki Plaza. Please form a line and proceed through the security scan."
The checkpoint was discreet—just two sleek black pillars scanning silently as guests walked through. No exposed wiring, no clunky hardware. Pure Arasaka refinement.
"Sure thing, br—uh, sir," Jackie said, trying to sound professional.
It wasn't easy—being polite while staying in character, especially when your "character" was supposed to be a high-end weapons dealer, and you've spent decades hustling in the barrio.
Beep-beep-beep...
A soft alarm chirped, red scan lines flashing over the Flathead case.
If this were some gang hideout, they'd already have turrets trained on them and warning klaxons screaming from the ceiling.
"Ahem. There's an issue." A stone-faced guard in a suit and shades stepped forward, blocking Jackie. "Sir, can you explain why you're bringing a combat drone into Konpeki Plaza?"
"We're arms dealers," V said smoothly, channeling his T-Bug-approved fake identity.
"Sorry, what was that?" the guard asked, unimpressed.
Just then, a man in a brocade jacket, wearing a golden half-mask and scrolling through a modified PDA, approached with that annoyingly cultured Neo-Nipponese accent.
"Ah~ you must be here to meet with Takigawa-san, yes?"
The accent was so thick Roqi could practically smell soy sauce. Not cherry blossoms or Mt. Fuji—just sushi. Bad sushi, in fact—probably because of that garbage-tier street vendor downstairs.
"My apologies for the misunderstanding," the concierge said with a deep, practiced bow.
Polished, smooth—these guys were pros. Even when you wanted to be mad, they made it hard to stay that way.
High-end corpo service. All about the experience.
"Impeccable etiquette," Roqi muttered, despite himself.
"We are honored by your praise," the man replied, bowing again.
"The scan will be quick, sirs," the guard added, letting V and Roqi through.
With the cover story holding, everything went off without a hitch.
"This way, gentlemen."
Konnichiwa, said the golden-masked receptionist sweetly. "Welcome to Konpeki Plaza."
V handled check-in, registering the suite under their alias. Three men, one executive king bed—looked suspicious to some, but the context of a business trip made it passable.
"I'll notify Takigawa-san that you've arrived—"
"No need," V said, smiling. "We'd like to get settled first. We'll find him shortly."
"But… isn't he expecting you?"
"Señorita," Jackie interjected with theatrical flair, "do you know how far we've traveled? Eighteen hours from Neo-Barcelona!"
Roqi nearly laughed—he remembered Jackie hamming it up with that NCPD officer during the Watson lockdown.
"Terminal delay, some psycho blew himself up," V added, deadpan.
"I told them to let me handle it. Could've avoided the whole mess," Roqi muttered, looking up coldly.
"...!"
The receptionist stiffened. Her mask hid her expression, but her posture said everything.
She was now mentally classifying Roqi in the same category as Arasaka's more lethal assets.
"Y-yes, understood."
A performance worthy of an Oscar.
Jackie gave Roqi a wide-eyed look that said, Damn, you really sold it.
Roqi just smirked like he wanted to say, I'm a killer—I don't do feelings.
"Your suite is ready. The Lapis Executive on the 42nd floor." She began tapping the terminal. "One last step: please verify your SID chip."
She cast another nervous glance at Roqi. Standard protocol, but even so…
Beep-beep-beep-ding.
V withdrew his hand. All clear.
"Everything checks out. Enjoy your stay. G-goodbye."
Her professional voice cracked right at the end.
"Let's move," Jackie said, strolling off like he owned the place. "What do you think, Harry?"
"Hm?" V blinked.
"Classy. Comfy. Beats that dump we stayed at in Zurich during the arms expo."
Roqi chuckled. Jackie had serious acting chops—once he got into character, he went all in.
If he'd grown up differently, maybe he'd be a comedy star by now.
Instead…
Roqi's face darkened again. He sighed and walked along the softly lit hallway, passing lush greenery arranged like corporate bonsai.
He had hoped this job would be simple. He was clearly wrong.
The cameras, the guards, the surgical architecture—it felt like a web of glass and needles.
Like distorted punk rock. A soaring chrome hawk. The clean splash of a hidden spring.
Like a truck flying down an endless highway, smashing through fragile stars, crashing into ice floes, then dying on a field of digital grass.
"Hey. Earth to Elwin."
V waved a hand in front of Roqi's face.
"Huh? I'm good. Just thinking," Roqi murmured.
They passed a high-end cocktail lounge bathed in shifting neon. The lighting design was pure class. Everyone dressed to impress—but who knew how fake those smiles were.
Red lights. Green drinks.
Literal "red lights and green liquor."
Roqi chuckled.
"Welcome to Konpeki Plaza," said the bar's hostess. "We don't take reservations on weekdays—please choose any table or sit at the bar, if you prefer."
"Nice joint," Jackie said, glancing back at the others. "I should bring Misty here. After we, y'know… finish the gig."
He scanned the lounge. No sign of Kojima Hideyoshi with his leg crossed.
"Don't worry. You will," Roqi said.
"You will."
Like a spring breeze sweeping in, a thousand red flags bloomed.
Roqi sentenced the imaginary screenwriter to death—again—and patted Jackie on the shoulder.
In the elevator, once they were alone, Jackie couldn't resist showing off.
"Check me out. Suit and all. Lookin' sharp, right?"
"You know what? You actually pull it off," V admitted after a glance.
"Damn right I do. I'm a walking hanger, baby. I make anything look good."
"Jackass," Roqi said with a rare smile.
Outside the elevator, the walls played a black-and-white documentary on Arasaka Saburo. A hundred years of empire building.
He wasn't some wounded WWII pilot shot down by U.S. forces—he was the emperor of Arasaka.
"We're here. Lapis Suite."
"Classy," Jackie said as they stepped in. "Too bad we're not staying overnight. Nice pick, Bug."
The suite had it all—built-in aquarium, panoramic harbor view, designer carpet, top-tier furnishings. Way beyond anything they could ever afford.
"I didn't pick it for the view. Fastest access to Arasaka's internal network," T-Bug said in their earpieces.
"Yeah, yeah, we know," Jackie muttered.
The Flathead popped out of its case, stretching its limbs.
"Vent's here." Roqi tapped a panel casually.
"Damn, better than Kiroshi optics," Jackie said, impressed.
But things never go smooth. The Flathead got stuck, and V had to take manual control.
Disoriented from syncing with the camera feeds, V staggered a bit. Roqi caught him and guided him to the sofa.
"Tell me everything you see. I can use it," Roqi said.
"Don't waste time—we need to move," T-Bug warned.
"No, T-Bug," Roqi replied calmly. "This might matter."
"Fine. Make it quick."
Delays meant danger. But Roqi had his reasons.
"One room—naked sex doll and an impatient client," V reported.
Switching feeds.
"Two guys. One gesturing wildly, the other ignoring him."
Switch again.
"Good visuals," V said—then suddenly frowned. "Wait… I know that guy…"
"He's shouting something about citizens' rights… suit, fat guy… Wait! That's Lucius Rhyne—the mayor of Night City!"
"Shit, it's him!" Roqi's eyes lit up. "T-Bug! Patch that feed to my PDA—right now!"
"Alright, but no more solo acts. We're in this together." T-Bug started typing. "Signal's yours."
Roqi's PDA lit up with a live feed.
In a similar suite, curtains drawn, sat Lucius Rhyne—mayor of Night City. Across from him, Deputy Mayor Weldon Holt. Two bodyguards stood by the door. Two Arasaka suits were talking with them.
"Arasaka will cover the full compensation."
"This isn't about money," Rhyne said, pacing. "Election's coming. People'll say I can't control Watson—I grew up there!"
"One week. That's all we can give," Holt added.
"We'll do our best. That's all I can promise," the Arasaka rep said with a sigh.
Roqi stared, then swallowed hard.
"What is it?" Jackie asked, still hyped from spying on power players. But Roqi looked pale.
"The lockdown in Watson… The mayor ordered it. On Arasaka's behalf," Roqi murmured. "Arasaka's buying time. They don't care about the cost…"
He dropped his PDA, breath quickening.
"We're screwed."
.
.
.
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