The wind was cold today. Which was ridiculous for August—but Zilv Sano felt very "chilly."
Because cold sweat wouldn't stop pouring down his back.
"I told you—on time, exactly on time! Damn it! You idiots!"
Sano was on the phone with someone, voice low but hysterical—
Then everything cut off.
Liam felt the vivid immersion of the Braindance world: the hot wind blowing across his face, Sano's voice crisp and clear, the distant street noise, the advertising aerodynes parading across Night City's sky…
He could even feel sweat on his own skin from the heat. His mouth felt dry.
In this new era, people had weaponized technology to the point where "immersive experience" wasn't just a phrase—it was literal.
Before Liam could admire the tech, a ringtone interrupted.
Mr. Hands' voice came through his auditory channel:
"Try zooming the feed closer to the Barghest's ear. See if you can isolate the caller's voice. If it's someone you know, we can save ourselves some trouble."
Liam adjusted the visual focus toward Sano's ear canal. Sure enough, at the waveform layer, another voice distinct from Sano's emerged.
"緊張しないで,友 (Don't be nervous, friend.)"
"Companies work overtime easily. Be patient. We'll be there soon."
The caller dropped a line of Japanese, then switched to English—the common tongue of Night City—with a faint Japanese accent, soothing Sano, who was on the verge of breaking down.
"Arasaka?" Liam immediately thought of the megacorp giant.
Mr. Hands chuckled.
"The Tyger Claws speak Japanese too. Europeans work for Arasaka. Judging someone's affiliation by language is not a wise move."
Liam kept listening.
"Damn it! Do you know how much risk I took getting out of Dogtown? If those guys rotate shifts tonight and don't see me, I'm dead! Ten minutes. If you're not here in ten, the deal's off!" Sano's voice was a desperate snarl.
In the background of the recording, a drunk lay in the gutter, retching. The sensory components of the Braindance were so vivid that Liam instinctively crinkled his nose at the phantom stench.
The voice on the other end of the line went quiet for several seconds.
"Friend... do you think your Colonel would be more or less forgiving if he found out you were eating from someone else's bowl?"
Sano's fists clenched. His teeth ground audibly.
"You're a bunch of scumbag parasites!"
"Just wait. Don't make this difficult for me," the caller replied flatly, ignoring Sano's rage before hanging up.
Liam frowned.
Did Sano look like someone selling intel willingly?
He looked more like a turkey stuck in the middle—roasting from both sides.
Caught between a rock and a hard place.
Liam shook his head. Whoever was on the other end, Sano was clearly the coerced party.
Mr. Hands offered guidance again:
"Fast-forward the timeline. Stop when he meets his contact."
Liam complied.
As the playback accelerated, Sano's agitation became obvious—punching the wall, crouching with his head in his hands…
"They're here."
In the feed, a Quadra Turbo-R 740 rolled into the alley where Sano waited. Cigarette butts littered the ground around him.
In the early 21st century, Japanese sports cars had nearly dominated the American market—efficient, precise, reliable.
But the Turbo-R was a jewel of American automotive pride.
A classic among its class. Powerful, stylish—but demanding. Its monstrous engine required an experienced driver to handle it properly.
Damn. Money.
That was Liam's first impression of the car's owner.
Only someone making serious eddies could afford to drive something like that. Likely mid-to-high management in a corp or gang.
Alternatively, a seasoned field operator who drove constantly—though most rich people preferred luxury and smooth rides over raw power.
After Liam voiced his deduction, Mr. Hands seemed pleased.
Of course, it helped that in his previous life, Liam had studied this game inside and out.
"Is something wrong with the braindance?"
Liam noticed that the man stepping out of the car had his upper body blurred out like it was covered in digital mosaic. Only fragments of audio came through.
"The sophisticated ones always use anti-recording tech," Hands explained. "Scrambler implants are expensive, but within reach for anyone with a corporate expense account. It's standard procedure."
"I'm here. Hand it over." Sano's contact stepped up without a trace of guilt for being late.
Sano looked up at him. His fists clenched several times—but in the end, he pulled the shard from his pocket.
"One thing first. Ten thousand eurodollars. Cash. Not a cent less."
He stared anxiously as the man took the chip. All the earlier bluster from the phone call was gone. Through the braindance's immersive system, Liam could feel it clearly:
I'm tired. Just give me the money so I can leave.
"The route map you provided isn't worth that price."
The buyer wasn't soft. He wanted more.
Sano lunged to snatch the shard back—failed—and with a dull thud, was kicked several meters away.
"Cough... agh..."
Blood pooled in his mouth.
For a Barghest soldier to be sent flying like that… Liam immediately judged the man's cyberware was likely corporate-grade.
"Cyberware looks corp-manufactured. Voice isn't familiar," Liam muttered.
Mr. Hands nodded.
"Bionic joints. Titanium skeleton. Fully loaded."
On-screen, Sano finally snapped. "If I don't get the full amount, I'm going straight to Hansen! If I'm going down, I'm taking everyone with me!"
Seeing Sano pushed to the brink, the man revealed his next move.
"Plant these solid-state explosives under the truck. You'll receive the remaining payment in full. This is the deposit. After it's done, go to XXX— [Static Distortion]"
Sano scrambled up and opened the canvas bag stuffed with rolled cash.
"Five thousand? Damn it!"
"That's reasonable. You've already caused quite a few people sleepless nights. Half up front is fair."
Sano gritted his teeth. Accepted it.
"Fine. I'll collect the rest afterward."
The world froze. The simulation ended.
—Click—
As Liam exited the braindance, the room's familiar sandalwood scent returned.
Mr. Hands removed the wreath and studied the young man.
Liam spoke calmly:
"There was a golden tiger figurine on the passenger seat. Could be connected to the Tyger Claws—or maybe just decoration."
"The cyberware doesn't look gang-grade. But that's not conclusive. Corps and gangs have close ties."
"Other than that, nothing solid yet. Too many key details are missing. No license plate either."
Mr. Hands nodded in approval.
"Sharp eyes. Clues take time to trace. Remember this—Colonel Hansen sent you here for this very matter."
[Character 'Mr. Hands' Affinity Updated]
[Affinity: 10]
[Reward: Body +2, Bonus +1]
As the floating text faded from Liam's vision, Mr. Hands rose and retrieved a long case from a tall wooden cabinet.
"I was planning to have one of my men fetch you a rifle from the armory downstairs. But now… I believe this piece from my private collection deserves someone capable."
"Netrunners are fond of hiding behind their layers. This 'good friend' will allow you to reach out and touch them from a distance. As for how you use it, that is up to you."
"Netrunners excel at tracking targets through their netrunner. This beauty will let you intercept them from a distance. How you use it—that's up to you."
"Ammo's your problem."
Liam opened the case.
Inside lay a sleek black rifle, pristine, carrying the faint scent of fresh gun oil.
[Immortal · Tech Sniper Rifle 'Nekomata' | Manufacturer: Tsunami]
Excitement flickered in his chest.
Now that—
That was a reward worth savoring.