The door to the Weapon Modification Room opened, and Su Xiao walked out, yawning.
First, he went to the bathroom and took a nice, comfortable shower.
He collapsed onto the bed and entered a baby-like sleep the moment his head touched the pillow.
He only crawled out of bed when the sun was almost setting.
He brushed his teeth and washed his face.
Once he was fully awake, he returned to the Weapon Modification Room.
Parts and tools he had not had time to put away were scattered across the floor.
But Su Xiao's
attention was entirely focused on the table.
More precisely, on the two Power Gauntlets on the table.
From the outside, they looked just like the arm guards worn by European medieval plate-armored knights.
The polished Power Gauntlets reflected a sharp, icy silver gleam beneath the fluorescent lights.
The main material that made up the Power Gauntlets was not ordinary metal.
It was Tyran Steel.
Some expensive mechanical prosthetic limbs also used this material.
Its bulletproof performance was excellent.
A small engine was built inside the armor, giving the wearer strength comparable to that of someone implanted with Gorilla Arms.
The Power Gauntlets Su Xiao had made came as a pair, one for the left hand and one for the right.
Once equipped, they could be used not only to swing punches at people but also to wield firearms, without one interfering with the other.
Su Xiao put on both Power Gauntlets.
He closed his hands into fists, then opened them again.
Next, he threw punches and practiced blocking.
He struck various poses.
There was no sense of obstruction at all.
His gaze drifted toward the wall.
After thinking it over, he suppressed his eager impulse to try them out.
This was his own apartment, after all.
If he broke something, he would have to call someone to repair it.
Su Xiao decided to go outside for a walk and see whether he could find a few organ harvesters.
He would use them for experiments.
And so, the wall escaped disaster.
He had just stepped into the elevator
when he received a holo-call from Jack.
"Su, are you out of seclusion?"
When Su Xiao entered the Weapon Modification Room and began crafting the Power Gauntlets by hand, he had informed V and Jack.
Although he would be entering seclusion to manufacture them, they could call him at any time or come find him if they had something urgent.
He had not yet shared the good news that he had successfully completed the project.
Yet Jack had called him first.
Had something happened?
"What's wrong, Jack? You don't look too good."
Jack's next words left Su Xiao rooted to the spot.
"Something happened on Padre's side."
Let's turn the clock back one week.
Fidel walked into a run-down motel somewhere in Heywood.
The motel's sanitary conditions were atrocious. Even by Night City's standards, it was filthy and horribly maintained.
On top of that, the accommodation fees listed on the front desk's price board were frighteningly expensive.
That alone was enough to leave this black-market motel deserted.
However, the motel itself was not actually in the lodging business.
Fidel had not come to stay there, either.
He was one of Padre's men, and he had come specifically to purchase the materials and parts needed to manufacture Tech Weapons.
The man at the front desk glanced at Fidel and pointed to the side.
"Go in."
"How many times have I been here? You still can't trust me?"
Though he complained, Fidel obediently stepped into the room beside the front desk.
The room was tiny, barely large enough to hold three people.
Once he entered, the door closed automatically. A beam of light then swept back and forth over him.
"Firearms: none detected."
"Blades: none detected."
"Explosives: none detected."
"Biological weapons: none detected."
"Wiretaps, trackers: none detected."
The scan lasted nearly a full minute before the door finally opened.
"See? I told you I was clean."
"Go on upstairs. They're waiting for you."
Fidel went up to the second floor with practiced familiarity, crossed the corridor, and continued all the way to the end.
He pushed open a door marked as an emergency exit.
There was a hidden room behind it.
Several men were waiting inside.
One of them pointed to the duffel bag on the table. "The materials and parts you wanted are all packed up. Want to count them?"
"No need. I trust you." Fidel opened the duffel bag and confirmed that it was filled with what he needed, so he did not bother counting everything.
He nodded, and two points of light covered his pupils. "The money's been transferred."
"Thanks, bro."
"Then I'm off."
Since he had completed the task Padre had assigned him, Fidel did not waste any time.
He picked up the duffel bag, left the motel, put it in the trunk of his car, and drove away.
Only after he had left did the men in the motel start talking.
"You know, that kid's a real oddball. Every so often, he comes running to us. The thing is, if Padre wants some Tech Weapons, why doesn't he just buy them directly? Why have us get him the materials and parts? Can he even make anything with them?"
If, in 2022, one could insult someone by calling them "a dropout who slipped through nine years of compulsory education,"
then that insult no longer worked in 2077.
Because many people had not even completed elementary school.
The distribution of educational resources in Night City was extremely unequal.
Those who received an education were given an exceptionally good one.
Those who did not know nothing beyond reading and writing. (In reality, Americans are also terrible at math and geography, and even Americans themselves often complain about how bad they are at both.)
Chapter Forty: What Is Most Important in the Twenty-First Century? Talent!
Education and technology were firmly monopolized by the megacorporations.
Even among the social underclass, the Nomads provided the best education.
Nomads were expected from childhood to contribute to their families and Tribes, so they followed the tradition of rural American home education.
Teachers among the Nomads were responsible for teaching both adults and children. Camps generally also established mobile libraries and communications centers so they could stay connected with the rest of the world.
Larger Nomad camps even had their own mobile cinemas and theaters.
Nomad curricula focused on practical knowledge, such as mechanics, agriculture, and engineering, which helped them perform their jobs better.
Some Nomads also studied classical literature and even philosophy.
In many cases, the Nomads' spoken language was more complex and refined than that used by Night City's citizens.
"Why do you care? We're selling this stuff anyway. Who we sell it to doesn't matter. At least Padre pays more than the others. That's enough. Why stick our noses into anything else?"
"I heard the weapon shops on Padre's turf have started selling Tech Weapons in large quantities. Their prices are also lower than those of other weapon shops, and they provide after-sales service—replacement only, no repairs. The whole of Heywood is flocking there to buy weapons."
"He probably knows someone who manages a corporate warehouse. Same as us: they collect a corporate paycheck while deliberately falsifying the accounts, stealing things from the warehouse, and selling them outside... But he's Padre. It's not surprising that he has connections like that."
"Padre isn't a good person, but he's traditional and likes doing things by the rules. I wish I were one of Padre's men. I heard he never mistreats his subordinates."
Watching in the direction Fidel had left, they were so jealous they were practically going mad.
Then one of them suddenly spoke.
"Could the Tech Weapons those shops on Padre's turf sell be related to the parts and materials they buy from us?"
"If that's really the case, then Padre might have a gunsmith under him who can make Tech Weapons."
"Very possible. But even if that's true, so what? Don't forget, the four of us are just Corp Dogs making extra money by taking things out of the company. What does it have to do with us?"
The first man to speak gave a disdainful chuckle. "If that's what you think, then you're gravely mistaken. Do you know that this information can be exchanged for money in certain people's eyes?"
Seeing the others still looking completely bewildered,
he patiently explained, "Isn't the Sixth Street Gang at odds with the Valentino Gang lately? They've been trying to carve The Glen away from Heywood."
"Think about it. If the Sixth Street Gang found out that Padre had a gunsmith under him—an exceptionally rare talent capable of making Tech Weapons—what do you think they'd think?"
The others were shocked.
"Isn't that a bad idea? We do business with Padre, then sell him out... That doesn't feel right."
The man snorted. "What do you mean, it doesn't feel right? We worked our asses off studying all those years just to get into a corporation. And then what?"
"Because we have no connections or backing, anyone can trample on us. We had excellent grades at Arasaka Academy—so what? They're useless. Your high scores are worthless in other people's eyes."
"I've seen through it. This world is rotten to the core. If you want to live comfortably and have freedom, you need money. Without money, you're nothing."
"If this information can make money, why wouldn't we sell it?"
Someone objected. "If Padre finds out we set him up, he'll skin us alive!"
"You don't tell, I don't tell. Then only Heaven, Earth, you, and I will know. No one else will. The Sixth Street Gang and the Valentino Gang have been enemies for ages. As long as we're careful enough, who'll know we did it?"
The others fell silent.
After a long while, one of them stood up.
"I'm out. You guys can take the money. I don't want any of it, and I won't tell anyone."
He had just turned around and was about to leave
when a bullet struck the back of his head.
Before you continue