ACPA

ACPA

"Who would've thought that one of the most prosperous areas in all of Night City would be hiding a Scavenger nest? And here I was, thinking City Center was really safe."

After getting out of the car and looking at the high-rise apartment building before him, Oliver rolled his wrist and picked up his Nova revolver.

"I stopped believing official propaganda the moment I set foot on the streets."

Jack held a Saratoga Submachine Gun. Against his sturdy, broad arms, the somewhat "dainty" submachine gun looked like a grown man pinching a pair of short children's chopsticks.

"Everyone was young once."

After locking the car door, Oliver looked at Carl, who held a Kenshin Pistol. "So, what's the plan, Carl?"

"The location's on the sixth floor. We'll take the elevator up."

Having already shared the general intelligence with Jack and Oliver on the way over, Carl said, "The fixer already marked the floor and room number for us. All that's left is to go in with guns and clean them up. Looks like he has a professional netrunner working for him—the room's information was all sent over in video. There are only four Scavengers inside. Our target is still lying there. They haven't gotten to him yet."

"Then let's make it quick."

There were only four Scavengers. Oliver truly didn't take them seriously. Scum like them, who only preyed on civilians and isolated gang members, wouldn't have sunk this low if they had any real ability.

The cyberware on them and the weapons in their hands were usually the shoddiest around, only a little better than what ordinary people had. He didn't even know whether their bullets could pierce Oliver's body armor. If time weren't tight, Oliver alone could run through them three times without breaking a sweat.

Oliver had only stayed with the Sixth Street Gang for a week before getting kicked out, but he had grown up practicing marksmanship, tactical movements, and fighting techniques with his Sixth Street Gang father. Before meeting Carl, it would have taken at least seven or eight Scavengers to bring him down. And now, after doing so many jobs with Jack and Carl, he had been tempered by experience. Handling a bunch of organ harvesters was no harder than slaughtering a chicken—though killing chickens was no longer allowed in Night City.

If Oliver was already this capable, there was even less need to mention Jack and Carl, the team's frontline fighters. Either of them could easily carve straight through a building packed with Scavengers. And the entire job was just as the three had expected: aside from the time pressure, it was absurdly easy. The longest part had been driving there, then going upstairs, and only after that did they deal with the Scavengers and rescue the target.

"Looks like my shooting's improved again."

Looking at the four corpses in the room, Oliver spread his hands and opened his arms toward Carl. "Well? Give me your evaluation."

"Three headshots, one shot to the heart. Two seconds of firing time. Your accuracy's fine, but your firing speed can still improve."

"Alright, I'll watch some Western braindances later and get some practice in. You know, Carl, I really never realized those braindances could actually help with training."

"That's because you only cared about watching them."

Carl shook her head and looked toward Jack, who was examining the target beside a bed stained with filth and blood. "How is he, Jack? Is the target alright? Should we have Oliver take a look?"

"He's fine. Those organ harvesters just knocked him out with anesthetic. The dosage may have been a little high, though. He might not wake up today."

After confirming that the target was alright, Jack stepped aside and let Oliver handle the follow-up.

Oliver walked over and found that the brown-haired male target was surprisingly young. He looked only seventeen or eighteen, around Carl's age.

"A kid about Carl's age, huh? Oh, Carl, I didn't mean anything by that. This guy really does look young. What's his name?"

"Let me check."

Not bothered by Oliver's words, Carl flipped through the information and confirmed the name. "Julio. His name is Julio. He's from Japantown."

"Julio. Sounds like a pretty ordinary name. What happened? How did he get targeted by organ harvesters at his age?"

Jack didn't quite understand, but after checking and confirming that Jack's earlier judgment was correct, Oliver said:

"They went after him because he's young, has no cyberware, and is easy prey. Japantown isn't far from City Center either. He probably wandered around and ended up here."

"Hopefully this time teaches him a lesson about being reckless."

As he spoke, Jack looked at Carl.

"So what now? Contact the fixer?"

"Already did. The vehicle sent by the fixer will be waiting downstairs soon. We just need to carry Julio into the back seat. After that, we're done."

"Looking at it this way, legitimate work really is different. The fixer takes care of everything, and we only need to handle the execution."

"Yeah, then takes more than half the money."

After offering her opinion on Jack's somewhat naive remark, Carl walked over to the Scavengers' computer and connected to it through an Access Port.

She planned to investigate the related information and see whether she could find other Scavenger hideouts to wipe out along the way.

Scavengers in present-day Night City might have been like cockroaches in filthy places—no matter how many you killed, there would always be more—but seeing fewer of them was always better.

At the very least, she needed to make them wet their pants in fear the moment they heard her name.

Streams of data flowed past Carl's eyes. Besides several disgusting transaction records, one particularly conspicuous file caught her attention.

What's this?

Looking at the file that had been specially flagged, Carl opened it. One image after another appeared before her eyes.

"Jack, Oliver, come take a look. I found something strange."

"Something strange?"

Hearing Carl's words, Jack and Oliver hurried over. When they saw what Carl had pulled up on the computer screen, they instinctively leaned closer, wanting to see more clearly.

"What is this?"

Jack frowned. He couldn't make out the series of photographs taken in the dim environment very clearly, but from their faint general outlines, he could still tell that something was off.

"Some kind of large machine?"

"Not a machine."

Unlike Jack, Oliver, who had come from the Sixth Street Gang, had already recognized what it was.

What he said next stunned both Jack and Carl.

"This is ACPA."