Chapter 50: Jig-Jig Street

A/N: That's it for now. Enjoy the extra 20 chapters, and remember guys...keep spraying those stones and reviews. See you all on Monday with the usual schedule.

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The Rayfield Caliburn cut through the streets like a blade slicing through water, leaving behind a cerulean streak as it finally pulled into a parking lot near Jig-Jig Street.

As the gull-wing doors lifted open, Kitagawa Hiro stepped out with a look of pure satisfaction, his hand gently caressing the smooth, mirror-like surface of the car. It was almost as if he was admiring a fierce, yet elegant queen.

"Enough drooling. Let's go see Wakako," Lin Mo called out, locking the car with a quick gesture as the doors sealed themselves with a soft click.

Reluctantly tearing his gaze away from the Caliburn, Hiro followed Lin Mo, though his eyes still lingered on the car, filled with longing. Deep down, he made a silent vow that one day, if the stars aligned, he'd own a car like that himself.

The two of them made their way into the depths of Jig-Jig Street.

It had only been a week since their last visit, but as they passed through the neon-lit streets, the place still stirred up memories, despite being all too familiar.

The day was quiet—too early for the chaotic nightlife to take over. Only a few doll-bodies loitered on the corners, lazily smoking, their eyes distant and hollow, as if they were barely holding on until the real action began. Their faces bore the weary expression of someone going through the motions, pretending to work but lacking the energy to truly engage.

Meanwhile, the usual street punks and low-level gangsters were nowhere to be seen. These guys were like nocturnal animals—crawling out only after sunset, armed with pipes and bats, looking to shake down anyone foolish enough to stiff them on a payment.

"Jig-Jig Street… It hasn't changed a bit," Hiro remarked, his voice muffled by the wide-collared, armored jacket that covered most of his face. A simple mask concealed his features.

Lin Mo shot him a glance, unsurprised. After all, Hiro had once been part of the Tiger Claws, and this was their turf. It made sense he'd have some familiarity with the place.

"Yeah? Thought it would?" Lin Mo asked, casually.

"No. Night City's been rotten to the core for a long time," Hiro chuckled darkly. "But I am surprised the Tiger Claws have kept the place in one piece. At least it hasn't fallen apart like the rest of the city."

"Jig-Jig Street's probably one of the more 'stable' areas," Lin Mo commented.

Hiro snorted in amusement, walking faster to match Lin Mo's pace. His voice dropped lower, barely above a whisper. "Tell me, Lin-kun, how much do you really know about this place?"

"Enough," Lin Mo replied, casting a glance around. "I lived here once, but that was a long time ago. Haven't really hung around since."

With Wakako's pachinko parlor still a few blocks away, Hiro hesitated for a moment before continuing, "Well, in that case, how about I tell you what this place was really like? The things that went down here back in the day."

Lin Mo raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Stories of Night City's seedy underbelly were always worth hearing, especially if it expanded his knowledge of this chaotic world.

"Go on. I'm listening."

"You're probably familiar with Jig-Jig Street's 'special attractions.' That's what keeps this place alive," Hiro said, his eyes flicking towards a group of dolls. "Sure, there are bars, gambling dens, and clubs, but let's be real—this place thrives on a certain 'service.'"

Lin Mo nodded, understanding.

"Night City's the place where dreams come to die," Hiro continued, his voice taking on a more bitter edge. "People pour in here from every corner of the world, chasing fantasies. They see the city lights and think there's opportunity. But here's the kicker—those 'opportunities' are for the corps and the rich. The rest? They end up here."

He nodded toward the dolls again—people who had given up their bodies, souls wired to neural controllers, their actions dictated by customer demand.

"Most people end up doing whatever they can to scrape by. Selling stuff on the street, running with a gang, becoming a street scav, or picking up odd jobs. But some… some take a different route."

"Becoming a doll," Lin Mo finished for him, the understanding clicking in his mind.

"Right," Hiro said, smirking grimly. "Nowadays, there's not even a requirement to be good-looking. Anyone can swap out their face, grab some cheap dollware, get a chip installed, and voilà—you've got yourself a job. It's the lowest entry-level gig there is. The pay can be sky-high, though."

Lin Mo couldn't help but laugh, though the sound was cold. "People only focus on that sky-high pay, huh?"

"Exactly." Hiro lit a cigarette, a small flame sparking from the tip of his cybernetic finger as he raised it to his lips. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and continued, "But they forget what it costs to stay in the game."

Lin Mo raised an eyebrow as Hiro elaborated.

"You see, a lot of people don't realize that the competition in this field is brutal. It's not just about looking good—you gotta stay ahead of the curve. New implants, better dollware, faster neural connections… It never ends. You don't upgrade, you fall behind. And if you fall behind, you're done."

"And it just keeps spiraling down from there, huh?" Lin Mo muttered, piecing it together.

"Exactly," Hiro said, a sardonic grin tugging at his lips. "Eventually, these people get desperate. Maybe they take out loans to keep up with the latest tech. Maybe their cyberware gets damaged, but they can't afford proper repairs, so they patch themselves up with secondhand parts. Business suffers, their bodies fall apart… you get the picture."

Lin Mo shook his head in disbelief. "Sounds like they're just living on borrowed time."

"That's exactly it. One day, their cyberware finally breaks down, or they get sick from all the cheap mods. And when that happens, they're done for. They end up dead in some alley, their corpse picked clean by scavengers, their implants sold off to some shady ripperdoc. Then the cycle starts all over again with someone new."

Hiro flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with his boot. "It's a vicious loop, Lin-kun. A nasty, stinking loop."

Lin Mo's mood darkened, processing the grim reality. "Yeah. And I guess the Scavs love it, right? Always a fresh supply of 'parts.'"

"That's Night City for you," Hiro said, laughing bitterly. "It's a place where even the trash has value."

Lin Mo let out a heavy sigh. "Honestly? There's not a single industry here that doesn't have blood and filth smeared all over it."

"Exactly why I wanted to get out," Hiro admitted, his tone softening. "Take my sister somewhere far away from all this. But you know how that ended."

Lin Mo could only nod, offering a silent acknowledgment. Some dreams in this city were impossible to chase.

"Anyway, that's enough storytelling for now. We've arrived." Hiro gestured toward a gaudy, neon-lit pachinko parlor, the noise of virtual coins and the melody of cheap slot machines spilling out from the entrance.

Lin Mo's eyes fixed on the building ahead—Wakako Okada's den of secrets and dirty deals.

The siren call of Jig-Jig Street still echoed behind them, but their focus was now on the task at hand. Inside that parlor, the real work awaited.