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🕑 Added 2025-06-29 16:23:23 +0000 UTCChapter 131: The Old Captain
Thrace roared down the road, leaving the Devil Gang's goons in the dust. Inside the car, the five of them sat in heavy silence.
Clearly, none of them had seen this coming. Those kaisha inu (company dogs) had all the resources, always pulling some new yabai (dangerous) trick out of their sleeves.
"Damn it, this is so frustrating! We can't even touch those bastards?" V spat, her face twisted with irritation. They were supposed to take down the Devil Gang to give Riku a proper Night City welcome, but instead, they nearly walked straight into a corporate trap.
Luckily, Riku had changed his appearance completely, like a henshin (transformation) straight out of an anime. He was unrecognizable, so those yaro (jerks) didn’t clock him.
If Riku hadn’t been able to pull off that disguise and was spotted as Dawo Collins, the kaisha inu would’ve gone bananas, kicking off a city-wide manhunt. Riku would’ve had to bolt out of Night City the second he got back.
"Not openly, at least," Sasha nodded, stating the obvious. The Devil Gang was a trap set specifically for Dawo Collins.
It was like a fishing hook baited for one tokubetsu (special) fish. If any other fish bit, it’d raise red flags.
In Night City, nobody plays hero for no reason. Even if someone did, why pick a fight with the Devil Gang specifically?
The Devil Gang was causing trouble in Santo Domingo, which was the Six Street Gang’s turf. Anyone sticking their nose in would look suspicious, like they were tied to the "Immortal Devil," Dawo Collins.
"They’ve got a foothold here, so the Six Street Gang must be getting some serious okane (cash) on the side," Jack Welles said, scratching his head awkwardly. He was the one who brought this up, and now it felt like he’d almost dragged everyone into a mess.
The kaisha inu played their part perfectly. The "Devil Worshippers" who spilled into Heywood were taken out so easily it was almost a joke. Those guys were weak, probably just cannon fodder the Devil Gang rounded up to throw away.
The Six Street Gang had clashed with the Devil Gang too, but it was looking more like a staged shibai (play). Everyone knew Six Street had shady ties with Militech, so it wasn’t a shock they’d take bribes to play along with the corporates.
"Let them fish. We just don’t bite," Riku said, shrugging it off. The hook wasn’t chasing them, after all.
Still, the poor souls caught up in the Devil Gang’s chaos were innocent collateral. As the root of this mess, Riku felt a twinge of guilt, but guilt wasn’t action. For now, all he could do was metaphorically tap an electronic mokugyo ( деревян fish) for them. No way was he biting that hook.
"Let’s gather more intel first," Lucy piped up, her voice cautious. Anything involving kaisha (corporations) demanded extra care, and she was already half-ready to bail.
"Leave this to me. I’ll handle it," Riku said, waving them off. This wasn’t something they should get tangled in. The Devil Gang was tied to too many dangerous players.
The group exchanged glances, picking up on Riku’s intent. This was too yabai (dangerous), and he didn’t want them caught in the crossfire.
"Don’t treat me like some coward, Riku. They’re just kaisha inu. I’ll smash their heads in," V said, smirking defiantly. She already saw Riku as nakama (one of her crew), and her restless spirit wouldn’t let her sit out something this big.
"We’re gonna be Night City legends! You think we’re scared of this?" Jack chimed in with a grin. Compared to blowing up Arasaka Tower, this was small potatoes. Hesitating and playing it safe? That’s not how you become a densetsu (legend).
V and Jack were fired up, their eyes practically sparkling with excitement. In Night City, you don’t make a name by playing it safe. After tasting success, they were only getting bolder.
Sasha stayed quiet, her gaze fixed on Riku with unshakable resolve. She felt responsible for how things had spiraled and wasn’t about to back down just because it was risky.
"..." Lucy, on the other hand, stayed silent. She felt cornered. Her bond with Riku wasn’t deep enough to risk her life for him.
"No rush. Let’s head back for now," Riku said with a smile, dropping the topic.
He understood Lucy’s hesitation. Her background made her guarded, not the type to open up easily. Their biggest connection was a shared past, but that wasn’t enough for her to go all-in. Still, Riku trusted her—she’d never side with the kaisha, even if she chose to stay out of it.
"I’ll drive you back," Jack nodded, taking the wheel. They’d come out full of energy, but now they were heading home with heavy hearts, each lost in their thoughts.
The Devil Gang situation had dampened the joy of Riku’s return to Night City.
Back home, Sasha immediately started digging through the net for info. She knew Riku wouldn’t let the Devil Gang slide, and she wanted to help.
She was right. After parting ways, Riku got to work, contacting Father Sebastian Ibarra, hoping the priest could shed light on the situation. Father had dealt with the Six Street Gang plenty, making him a solid lead.
"Father, what do you know about the Devil Gang?" Riku messaged, cutting straight to the point.
"Devil? You’re back in Night City? You’re picking a fight with them?" Father replied quickly, sounding worried.
"It’s a trap set for you. Don’t walk into it," he added before Riku could respond. Clearly, Father knew something.
"We figured that out already. Got anything else?" Riku typed back, mentally cursing Jack. That baka (idiot) hadn’t done his homework, hadn’t even asked Father, just spouted what he thought he knew. The kaisha inu’s full-on shibai had fooled him.
Jack thought like a street punk—thought it made sense, so he didn’t question it.
"It’s Arasaka pulling the strings. There are a lot of Nihonjin (Japanese) involved," Father replied.
Riku had suspected as much. The two goons chasing them were Nihonjin, riding Kusanagi bikes—favorites of the Japanese underworld. If they hadn’t been sporting Dawo Collins-style makeup, Riku would’ve pegged them for Tiger Claws gang ronin (wandering samurai).
"For specifics, talk to Old Captain Muammar Reyes. He’s been keeping tabs on this. Don’t worry, he’s shinjitsu (trustworthy)," Father said, passing along a contact number for the most famous fixer in Santo Domingo, V’s “good son,” the Old Captain.
"Thanks, Father. I’ll have Jack drop off some pure fruit tomorrow," Riku replied, promising a delivery of natural goods.
"No need to thank me, kid," Father responded warmly, not refusing the gesture.
Riku added the Old Captain’s number, and it was accepted almost instantly.
"Yo, who’s this? Selling a ride? Looking for a gig?" Muammar Reyes messaged, his tone smooth and practiced, clearly used to random contacts.
"Neither. I’m looking to mess with Arasaka," Riku shot back, knowing the Old Captain had a serious grudge against them.
Like Father said, when it came to screwing over Arasaka, the Old Captain was as shinjitsu as they come.
"Who sent you?" Reyes replied after a brief pause, clearly thrown by Riku’s bluntness.
"Father," Riku answered.
This time, there was no hesitation. Reyes sent an address. "Meet me here."
The location was in Santo Domingo’s River Valley, not far from the factory the Devil Gang had taken over.
Afterrule. After a night of running around, it was already morning, so Riku hopped on the NCART subway to River Valley.
Along the way, he caught a few curious glances, but this time, they were different—no longer tinged with fear, just people checking out a kakkoi (cool) guy.
In an abandoned warehouse in River Valley, Riku met Muammar Reyes, the Old Captain. The guy had a sly, almost yakuza-like vibe—black hair, maybe in his forties, lounging on the hood of a sleek silver Mizutani Shion MZ2 sports car, puffing on a cigarette.
For a split second, Riku swore he saw a doppelgänger of some shady character from a far-off place like Yunnan’s Nujiang River.
"Hey, kakkoi kid, what’s got you so suicidal you’re picking a fight with Arasaka?" Reyes said, hopping off the car and strolling over with a grin, offering Riku a cigarette.
"No thanks," Riku declined politely, getting straight to business. "I’m here about the Devil Gang. What do you know about those yaro?"
"Devil Gang, huh?" Reyes tucked the cigarette away, squinting at Riku as his grin faded, replaced by a serious edge.
Sure, in the game world, Reyes might come off as a bit of a clown, always calling V “Daddy” or “Majesty.” But in reality, he’s a big shot with serious connections. In Santo Domingo, he could talk to anyone. That “Daddy” bit? It’s more like aniki (big brother) or ou-sama (king/queen)—a sign of respect, like a pirate captain saluting his nakama queen. Calling him “Daddy” is just a playful mistranslation that makes him sound less badass than he is.
Riku knew this, so he kept things straight with the Old Captain, no messing around. This guy was a big deal, after all.
Chapter 132: Santo Domingo Stories
“What’s your beef with the Demon Gang? Why’re you gunning for them?”
The Old Captain leaned against his silver Mizutani Hoon MZ2 sports car, asking casually as he lit up another cigarette.
“They killed my friend in Heywood.”
Riku tossed out a reason. He couldn’t exactly say he was pissed because these punks were causing chaos under his name. And since the Old Captain was a big shot in Santo Domingo, Riku couldn’t claim he was a local looking to clean up the streets for the people.
The Demon Gang had tried to muscle into Heywood before, only to get a beating from the Valentinos and kicked out. But they’d still caused some damage there, which gave Riku a solid enough excuse.
“For loyalty, huh?”
The Old Captain nodded. It was a street-level reason—only someone from the streets would go all out for something like that. That kind of brotherly bond didn’t exist in the corporate world.
Most people might not buy that excuse, but the Old Captain had worked for a corp before and knew how those corpo dogs operated. He wasn’t fooled by their games.
“The Padre said you’ve been keeping tabs on the Demon Gang, planning to take them down. That true?”
Riku pressed further. He figured the Old Captain, a born-and-bred Santo Domingo guy, would care about the district’s well-being. As a fixer, he’d definitely be keeping an eye on the Demon Gang.
“You bet. I’ve been watching those Demon Gang bastards closely.”
The Old Captain took a drag, his tone ice-cold. Clearly, he had zero love for those “demon worshippers.”
“What’s your take on them?”
Riku was curious to hear what a local like the Old Captain thought about the Demon Gang.
“My take? I wanna wipe ‘em out. Ever since those punks showed up, Santo Domingo’s been at least three times messier than before.”
The Old Captain let out a dry laugh. What else could he think? Every Santo Domingo resident felt the same—those guys had to go.
“I just don’t get it. What’re these corpo dogs thinking? That ‘Immortal Demon’ Davos Collins isn’t even from Santo Domingo. If they’re trying to lure him out, why set up this Demon Gang to wreck our district? Shouldn’t they be stirring up trouble in Heywood instead?”
The Old Captain started venting. Santo Domingo had nothing to do with Davos Collins. Why not let the Demon Gang mess up Heywood?
“Probably because the Valentinos are tougher to deal with than the 6th Street Gang.”
Riku offered his theory. The Valentinos had been fighting tooth and nail against corporate influence in Heywood, especially in Little China, where outsiders were tailed and watched. The Valentinos shut down every corporate development plan, keeping all the corps at bay.
“You’re not wrong there. Those 6th Street punks are money-grubbers, taking dirty cash from Arasaka and Militech.”
Riku’s words hit home for the Old Captain. If 6th Street had been as hardcore as the Valentinos, the Demon Gang would’ve never gotten a foothold in Santo Domingo.
For the corps to set up a lure for Davos Collins, they couldn’t get too involved themselves—too much meddling would tip people off and defeat the whole point of the Demon Gang.
With minimal corporate interference, they had to work with local gangs. The Valentinos would never play ball with corpo dogs, so they were out. That left Santo Domingo as the spot, likely the result of some corporate deal-making.
“The Demon Gang was Arasaka’s doing, and 6th Street’s got some shady ties with Militech. Santo Domingo was a compromise—everyone could stick their fingers in the pie.”
Riku nodded. It made sense. When corpo dogs stirred up trouble, there was always a web of deals and trade-offs behind it. They couldn’t just do whatever they wanted wherever they pleased.
Even corpo dogs from the same company would stab each other in the back, let alone dogs from different corps.
Everyone wanted to nab Davos Collins. If Arasaka had set up the Demon Gang in, say, Tyger Claws’ territory—where they had good relations—other corps would’ve stuck their noses in. Before they could even draw out Davos Collins, the corps would’ve started fighting among themselves.
“So, to take down the Demon Gang, it all comes back to 6th Street. With all the strings attached to this gang, nobody wants to touch that mess without a good reason.”
The Old Captain tossed his cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it under his boot. After watching the Demon Gang for so long, this was his conclusion: going solo wouldn’t cut it. It had to be a big player like 6th Street.
“6th Street took the money. You think they’d still double-cross them?”
Riku frowned. Relying on 6th Street? That sounded like a gamble.
“You think corpo dogs are all on the same page? You think 6th Street is any different?”
The Old Captain grinned, and that grin gave Riku a strong sense of déjà vu. He barely held back a laugh—good thing he was a pro and kept it together.
“6th Street’s split into two factions: one’s cool with working with Militech, the other’s against it. The Demon Gang got the green light because the pro-Militech faction won out.”
The Old Captain clearly had this all figured out, laying it out like he’d been planning for a while.
“But when the Demon Gang started tearing up Santo Domingo, the anti-Militech faction got the upper hand. Right now, there’s a lot of bad blood in 6th Street toward the Demon Gang.”
The Old Captain’s small eyes glinted with confidence as he grinned. He clearly trusted his intel network—6th Street’s internal drama was an open book to him.
“So, if someone gives 6th Street a little push, they won’t put up with the Demon Gang anymore?”
Riku caught the Old Captain’s drift. 6th Street wasn’t like other gangs. When it was founded, it was more like a neighborhood watch than a typical gang.
Fifty years ago, after the Fourth Corporate War, Night City was a mess. Gangs ran wild, the NCPD was useless, and a group of veterans formed 6th Street to protect their streets. They gathered gear, retrained for combat, and hit the pavement to keep order.
They didn’t mix with the local gangs. Instead, they took on the troublemakers and thugs, becoming the district’s guardians.
6th Street’s first leader was a charismatic figure. He taught people how to protect themselves and their families, how to stand up to other gangs, and he won their hearts. Under him, 6th Street became a symbol of order in Santo Domingo.
That legacy held up. The NCPD rarely got involved in Santo Domingo—6th Street handled things. Most of its members were ex-soldiers, former corporate security, or ex-cops, with high combat skills and discipline. Even civilians who joined got military training. It was a gang with serious budo—martial spirit.
And it had to be. If 6th Street didn’t have that kind of grit, they wouldn’t have been able to keep Santo Domingo’s peace in place of the NCPD.
“Sure, these 6th Street punks don’t exactly live up to their ‘justice for the city’ motto anymore, but they’ve still got some attachment to their home turf and its people.”
The Old Captain had plenty of connections in 6th Street. To operate in Santo Domingo, you had to have ties with them—it was unavoidable.
“What can I do?”
Riku got straight to the point. He didn’t mind being the one to nudge 6th Street into action against the Demon Gang. It wasn’t as straightforward as just charging in, but it kept him out of the spotlight.
“Hold your horses. Even with the Padre vouching for you, I need to see what you’re capable of first.”
The Old Captain shook his head with a smile. This was too big to just hand over to Riku, even with the Padre’s word. He needed to test Riku’s skills himself.
“No problem. What do I need to do to prove it?”
Riku wasn’t surprised. The Old Captain cared deeply about Santo Domingo and its people. His crew felt the same, ready to die for their home. They all despised corps, especially Arasaka.
Riku knew why. Arasaka had screwed Santo Domingo over, polluting the district’s water supply. And they didn’t just pollute it—they kept quiet about it, letting people drink tainted water for years.
During that time, adults kept getting sick, kids kept dying, and Santo Domingo was shrouded in death. By the time the residents figured out the cause, countless people had died. Arasaka’s response? They claimed they had no idea.
Nobody bought that nonsense. Santo Domingo’s people swore a blood feud against Arasaka—a real blood feud. Almost every family had lost someone to that disaster.
Arasaka’s ability to cause misery was unmatched. Even now, Santo Domingo was still suffering the consequences. People kept getting sick from the polluted water, kids included, and the district’s average lifespan was shorter because of it.
“Kill someone for me.”
The Old Captain laid out his request, catching Riku off guard. He’d half-expected the guy to ask him to steal a car or something.
If Rogue at the Afterlife was Night City’s “Queen of Fixers,” the Old Captain was its “King of Used Cars.” Of course, his cars usually weren’t legit—stolen or jacked, always dirt cheap and a good deal.
That alone showed how tight he was with 6th Street, who ran the chop shop game. Doing used car business in Santo Domingo without their blessing? You’d be flatlined by 6th Street in no time.
“I sent you the target.”
The Old Captain lit another cigarette, clearly a chain smoker.
“An old man?”
Riku checked the file, puzzled. The target was Derek Garman, an elderly guy with white hair.
“Environmental expert, Santo Domingo native. Took Arasaka’s dirty money. This old bastard’s been shilling for them, saying the water pollution wasn’t their fault. Meanwhile, his own granddaughter died because of it! But for the eddies, he sold his soul.”
The Old Captain practically spat the words, clearly despising Derek Garman.
“He’s got Arasaka agents guarding him on the sly. They’ve made him a poster boy—a walking slap in the face to Santo Domingo. If you can take him out, I’ll trust you with the Demon Gang job.”
The Old Captain’s voice grew angrier as he spoke. Riku got it—this Derek Garman was a “Santo traitor.” People like that? Everyone wanted them dead.
“Got it.”
Riku nodded and turned to leave. Killing a guy like this? No burden at all. It felt good. He was vibing hard with Santo Domingo’s rage—a “Santo traitor” deserved to die.
The Old Captain was a pro fixer, and his time in Santo Domingo wasn’t for nothing. The intel he provided was detailed: Derek Garman’s daily routine, where he’d be, which routes he took—all meticulously documented. The power of a local kingpin was terrifying; even Arasaka’s agents hadn’t noticed they were being watched.
“Too bad I won’t need this.”
Riku skimmed the file but decided against overcomplicating things. He was going for simple and brutal.
That night, Riku arrived at Derek Garman’s apartment. The old man clearly hadn’t skimped on the dirty money—he lived in a standalone house in Santo Domingo’s Coronado Farms.
If he’d been in an apartment building, it might’ve been trickier. But a place like this? Easy pickings.
Sniff, sniff.
Riku’s nose twitched, picking up the positions of several Arasaka agents. Some were inside the house, others outside.
“Six. Arasaka’s taking this guy seriously.”
Riku activated his optical camo, softening his breathing and moving silently in the quiet night.
Drawing from Demon Slayer’s Tanjiro Kamado, who could move without a sound, Riku knew the value of stealth. He’d specifically studied those tricks, and now they came in handy.
Crack!
Riku slipped behind an Arasaka agent and, with a quick “neck twist,” took him out. The guy probably didn’t even know what hit him.
Dragging the body into the bushes, Riku vaulted through a window into the house. In a few steps, he was behind another agent on watch in the living room. Another “neck twist”—silent, like a ghost.
Without hesitation, Riku headed for the master bedroom. There was his target, Derek Garman, the white-haired old man, fast asleep, oblivious to the danger.
Shunk!
The Shadow Sword Case appeared, and Riku drew Bloodsong. One swift slash to Derek Garman’s throat, and the old man was done—head separated from body before he could react.
Mission complete. Riku slipped away like a phantom. By the time the other agents noticed something was off, it was too late.
“Job’s done.”
Riku messaged the Old Captain, who was floored.
“? That fast?!”
The Old Captain was genuinely shocked. He hadn’t expected Riku to wrap it up the same night.
“You can send someone to check.”
Riku smirked. Honestly, a job like this was overkill for him. With Derek Garman’s level of security, even V and Jack could’ve handled it.
“The Padre’s guy is the real deal.”
A short while later, the Old Captain replied. He’d already sent someone to confirm—Riku had indeed taken out Derek Garman. Arasaka’s agents were scrambling to find the killer.
Chapter 133: Raising Night City’s Moral Bar
The Old Captain was genuinely impressed. This guy Father sent over had some serious saikou (top-notch) skills. No wonder Father was hyping him up like a shonen protagonist.
With this guy’s help, the job was practically in the bag. The targets were just a few Six Street Gang yaro (punks), nowhere near as tough as taking out Derrick Garman.
“Disguise as Devil Gang members to take out Six Street guys? You think a simple frame job like that’s gonna work?” Riku raised an eyebrow, skeptical. It felt too blunt, like something out of a low-budget anime plot.
“They’re just itching for an excuse. All we’re doing is handing them one. It’s that simple,” the Old Captain said, spreading his hands with a grin. They were just fanning the flames. Six Street was already a powder keg, and a few killings would be the perfect spark.
“Alright, I’m on it. Just wait,” Riku said, no more arguments. He skimmed the intel the Old Captain sent—detailed profiles on the four targets, like a mission dossier straight out of Ghost in the Shell.
“These guys are no seigi no mikata (heroes of justice),” the Old Captain added. “Taking them out is practically a public service. They’re hardcore kaisha inu (company dogs).”
He’d handpicked these targets carefully. They had enough clout in Six Street to make waves, but they were also scum. If they were nobodies, their deaths might go unnoticed. If they were decent, the Old Captain wouldn’t have signed off on it.
“Got it,” Riku nodded. Taking out trash like this? No kokoro (heart) would weigh heavy on him.
That night, Riku got to work, slipping into the house of a Six Street yaro.
Meanwhile, Derrick Garman’s death was starting to ripple through Santo Domingo. An environmental “expert” biting the dust wasn’t big news in Night City, but in Santo Domingo? It was a daijiken (huge deal)—and a damn good one.
A corporate shill like Derrick Garman was universally hated around here. His death let the locals breathe a collective sigh of relief, like they’d finally landed a critical hit. That photo of “Derrick Garman’s decapitation”? It was already framed on some Santo Domingo walls, though, yeah, it wasn’t exactly kawaii (cute) decor.
That same night, Riku repeated his trick, sneaking into the yaro’s standalone house. Compared to Derrick Garman’s place, this was a cakewalk. Garman had Arasaka’s elite security—pros watching his back 24/7. These Six Street punks? No such luck. At 3 a.m., the house was pitch-black, save for the guy’s loud snoring.
Riku slipped in and out like a ninja. But then came the tricky part: how to pin it on the Devil Gang? Killing was easy, but proving it was the Devil Gang’s work? That needed some flair.
“Got it,” Riku muttered, heading back inside. Eyeing the room’s setup, inspiration hit. Writing “Killer: Devil Gang” would be too on-the-nose, like a bad shonen villain’s calling card. Instead, he’d stage a satanic ritual, a “Devil Sacrifice Ceremony.”
It was still obvious, but it fit the Devil Gang’s aesthetic. They called themselves “Devil Worshippers,” nakama (followers) of the “Immortal Devil” Dawo Collins. A sacrificial ritual was right up their alley, the perfect signature.
Riku quickly searched up some ritual references online. He wasn’t a real devil, so he didn’t know this stuff, but he figured the Devil Gang yaro were just as clueless. Still, as the honmono (real deal) Dawo Collins, whatever ritual he cooked up should be the “official” one, right?
He carefully set up the scene, and—yokatta (thankfully)—nothing weird happened. No actual demons popped up or anything.
“At least, as far as I know, this world doesn’t have that kind of bakemono (monster) nonsense,” Riku quipped to himself, then left for the next target. Four yaro total—he was “sacrificing” them all tonight.
By morning, Six Street got the news and rushed to the scenes. Riku had gone all out, turning the bodies into grim art pieces to sell the ritual vibe. The result? It screamed evil sacrifice—enough to give anyone the creeps.
“Those Devil Gang bastards! This is too far!” one Six Street member roared, pointing the finger at the Devil Gang without a second thought.
“…”
Trying to defend the Devil Gang in front of this? Good luck. Before the “Devil Worshippers” showed up, nobody was pulling this kind of stunt. It was an instant connection.
“Isn’t this a bit too obvious? This is straight-up framing!” one of the pro-corporate Six Street guys piped up. They couldn’t stay silent—not when their side was taking the hit and the okane (cash) they’d pocketed was on the line.
“Framing? Looks pretty pro to me. Who else would bother with this crap? It’s gotta be the Devil Gang!” another shot back.
Obvious or not, it didn’t matter. They had their excuse, and it was a damn good one.
“Nice work!” the Old Captain cheered, practically fangirling in his little warehouse. After these two jobs, he knew Riku was a takanotsume (dragon among men)—a real heavy-hitter.
“No big deal. Did your plan work?” Riku asked. He didn’t have connections in Six Street, so he had no clue what kind of impact his work had caused.
“Oh, it worked. Just wait—Six Street’s gonna move soon,” the Old Captain said confidently. His sources had already confirmed: Six Street had reached a consensus. They’d drive out the Devil Gang to “restore order” in Santo Domingo.
“Six Street’s such a mess. They want the glory and the okane, but end up looking like fools either way,” Riku snorted. Classic human nature. Six Street might’ve started as seigi no mikata (heroes of justice), but over time, with new blood, some cared more about their own pockets than the cause. No pretense anymore.
The internal struggle between the selfish and the traditionalists made Six Street’s actions feel chiguhagu (all over the place). One day, they’re playing hero, keeping order. The next? They’re just another gang, fleecing the community and screwing over Santo Domingo’s people.
“Will they hit the Devil Gang’s main base directly?” Riku asked. He was itching to join in, maybe blend into the Six Street crew and storm the Devil Gang’s hideout to add some extra punch.
“Nah, I doubt it,” the Old Captain shook his head. “They’ll probably strangle them slowly—cut off their tentacles one by one. Storming the base would be too blatant, like spitting in the kaisha inu’s face.”
Six Street was on the corporate payroll, after all. They couldn’t go too hard. Most likely, they’d play it subtle.
“Anytime the Devil Gang steps out, Six Street will pounce. Santo Domingo’s their turf. No one moves here without them knowing. The Devil Gang’s got nowhere to hide under all those eyes,” the Old Captain explained.
That’s the power of the local jigoku (underworld). If a stranger rolled into Santo Domingo, the Old Captain would hear about it fast. Six Street, rooted here for fifty years? They’d know even quicker.
“That’s a solid plan. Trap the Devil Gang in their lair, let them rot, then leak that they’re backed by kaisha. Once their purpose—luring Dawo Collins—is exposed, the kaisha inu will cut them loose,” Riku nodded, seeing the checkmate.
The Devil Gang only existed to bait Dawo Collins. Blow that cover, and they’re done.
“Exactly. Just sit back and watch,” the Old Captain said, extending a hand. “Pleasure working with you.”
“Pleasure’s mine. Next time, though, I’m charging,” Riku grinned, shaking his hand. This was a nakama (team-up) with a shared goal, so no okane this time. But moving forward? Work’s work.
“No problem. Actually, I’ve got another job. You in?” the Old Captain asked, his eyes glinting. He liked Riku’s skills and wanted to keep him in play.
“What’s the job?” Riku asked, open to helping. The Old Captain was easy to read—he cared about something bigger than himself, and that made him predictable, easier to work with.
“Snag a batch of drugs. 100,000 if you pull it off,” the Old Captain said, squinting as he laid out the deal. The drugs were hitting Arasaka’s waterfront dock in two days, then heading to Corporate Plaza. Tough route to hit, so he was ready to haggle.
“For treating the folks suffering from water pollution?” Riku cut in, nailing the Old Captain’s motive.
“...Yeah,” the Old Captain admitted after a pause, nodding. He hadn’t mentioned the purpose, worried Riku might jack up the price. But this guy was sharp—figured it out quick.
“You charging them for the treatment?” Riku asked, locking eyes with him. It wasn’t a weird question. Those drugs could either fleece the sick for every last en (yen) or be given out cheap—or free.
“Of course not. I’m handing them out free,” the Old Captain said firmly. His used-car business? Just a front to fund meds for the sick.
“Santo Domingo’s kokoro (heart)?” Riku mused, genuinely impressed. The Old Captain and his crew were rare in this world. They were practically raising Night City’s average moral bar.
This kind of disease, Riku might actually be able to treat. The kagune from Tokyo Ghoul’s Nika had insane healing powers. Problem was, using it on regular people could spike their Rc cell count, potentially driving them nuts. You’d need Rc cell suppressants to clear it out.
Since those treated wouldn’t have a kakuja (ghoul organ), flushing out the Rc cells would fix them. But Riku didn’t have enough suppressants on hand—not nearly enough.
“What kokoro? I’m just doing what I can,” the Old Captain shrugged, brushing off the praise. He wasn’t some hero. He just couldn’t watch kids die.
“Actually… I know some medical techniques. Take me to see them. I might be able to help,” Riku said slowly. He’d use what suppressants he had and, if needed, restock from Tokyo Ghoul’s world.
Why was the Old Captain so easy to read? Because he and his crew would risk it all to save Santo Domingo’s kids. If Riku could cure this disease, they’d practically worship him.
“You’re serious?” the Old Captain asked, skeptical. If this disease was that easy to cure, they’d have done it already.
“Won’t know till we try,” Riku said with a grin. He didn’t look like a meii (famous doctor), so the doubt was fair.
Santo Domingo’s people had tried everything. Robbing corporate drugs was their last resort, and that’s where they were now.
“I can’t promise a cure, but I won’t make things worse. That, I can guarantee,” Riku added, tempering expectations as the Old Captain looked intrigued. No need to overhype when he wasn’t sure himself.
Chapter 134: No Choice But to Fight
“Let’s take a look. Got any ideas?”
The Old Captain decided to bring Riku along to see the situation. They’d tried countless ways to tackle this disease, so no kibo (hope) was too small to chase.
“…”
Riku stood silent for a moment, gazing at the timid child in front of him. Even with his limited medical knowledge, he could tell the kid’s condition was yabai (serious). Without quick treatment, this little one wouldn’t last long.
“The kid’s family is broke, and his body’s weak. No way he pulls through on his own,” the Old Captain said bluntly, his usual grin gone as he held the child. No sugarcoating—why bother? In Santo Domingo, facing Arasaka’s sins head-on was the first step to surviving. Every local knew the kaisha (corporation) had blood on its hands.
“Even if he makes it, growing up’s no guarantee he’ll see adulthood,” the Old Captain added with a sigh. The poisoned generation hadn’t reached adulthood yet. It’d only been fourteen, fifteen years since the water pollution hit—too soon for a new crop of adults.
But the disease didn’t just target kids. Adults caught it too, and young or old, it could kill.
“I’ll need to prep. This isn’t a small byoki (disease). It’ll take surgery,” Riku said to the Old Captain, his face serious, almost like a meii (master doctor) from an anime, moved by the situation.
And he was moved. He was still human, still fighting to stay that way. Seeing Santo Domingo’s misery, these kawaii (innocent) kids suffering—any normal person would feel their kokoro (heart) stir.
But moved or not, Riku wasn’t about to whip out his kagune and start healing. Emotions couldn’t cloud his judgment. A power that kills? That’s no big deal. A power that saves? That’s what draws greedy eyes.
Riku knew this all too well. He’d chosen the kagune for its healing potential in the first place. But if he just used it and cured the kid like it was nothing, it’d look too easy.
Some things you can call a small favor, but you can’t let others see it as one. Some repay a drop of kindness with a fountain; others shrug off a “small” favor like it’s nothing. Riku wanted to help, but he also wanted to maximize the payoff—at least make the Old Captain owe him big time.
Testing human nature? Not his style. Better to make it look complicated, like he’s pouring his tamashii (soul) into it.
“How soon can you be ready?” the Old Captain asked, nodding. He wasn’t surprised Riku needed prep time. If anything, he’d have been suspicious if Riku didn’t.
They’d tried everything—doctors, methods, you name it. If Riku whipped out a miracle pill claiming it’d fix everything, the Old Captain would’ve pegged him for a damashi (con artist). Scammers had come before, preying on desperate folks. When the Old Captain quit the kaisha to become a Santo Domingo fixer, his first move was cleaning out those kuzu (scum) profiting off misery.
“Just wait for my call. Shouldn’t take long,” Riku said, done playing coy. He’d head back, prep the Rc cell suppressants he’d brought for V and Jack, and start saving who he could. Funny how things turned out—those suppressants were meant for his nakama (crew), not this.
“Alright,” the Old Captain agreed, sealing the deal. Riku didn’t linger, turning to leave.
“Surgery…” the Old Captain muttered, holding the kid, lost in thought. No danger? He didn’t buy it.
Riku made his way back to Watson District, hitting Little Chinatown by mid-morning.
“Old Vik!”
To save time, Riku went straight to Viktor, hoping to borrow his old base for the job. Setting up a surgery room from scratch? Too much hassle. Better to use a ready-made one.
“Hm? V? You’re here too?”
Riku stepped into Viktor’s ripperdoc clinic and spotted V sprawled on the operating table, getting a hand cybernetic swapped out.
“Riku? What the hell have you been up to these past couple days?” V asked, curiosity all over her face. She’d noticed him sneaking out early and coming back late—living next door, it was hard to miss. She’d asked before, but Riku kept tight-lipped, leaving her with no leads.
She had her guesses, though. Probably tied to the Devil Gang, especially since he’d told them to stay out of it. But she, Jack, and Sasha had been keeping tabs on the gang, ready to jump in if needed. No action, though—Riku hadn’t gone after them, which left her mucha (clueless).
“Just some stuff. It’s handled,” Riku said with a grin, dodging her question. He turned to Viktor.
“Old Vik, you know the Old Captain?”
He needed to borrow Vik’s old base for the treatments, but it depended on Vik’s mood.
“Muammar Reyes, from Santo Domingo? Yeah, I know him,” Viktor replied, working on V’s cybernetic. “What’s up?”
The Old Captain was a big name in Santo Domingo. Vik had crossed paths with him before.
“I want to use your old base. For treating people,” Riku said straight-up. No need to beat around the bush with nakama.
“What? Riku, since when do you play meii (doctor)?” V cut in before Vik could respond, her face screaming disbelief.
“Lie still and zip it,” Riku shot her a look, brushing her off.
“Hmph. If you’re gonna play quack doctor, I’ll be the first to call you out!” V huffed, not letting it go. She wasn’t about to let Riku pull some yabai (shady) stunt.
“You mean the Santo Domingo water pollution disease?” Viktor asked, ignoring V and frowning at Riku. He’d connected the dots—Old Captain, medical treatment, it could only be that.
“Exactly. Did he come to you about it too?” Riku asked, raising an eyebrow. It made sense—Viktor was a Night City legend. The Old Captain wouldn’t have skipped him in his search for a cure.
“He did, but I couldn’t help,” Viktor nodded, then shook his head. If he could’ve fixed it, he would’ve by now.
“Vik couldn’t fix it, and you can? Riku, don’t go giving people false hope,” V chimed in, still skeptical. She wasn’t buying that Riku was suddenly a saint.
“If your head got chopped off, could Vik fix that?” Riku asked, smirking at her.
V froze, not sure how to answer.
“He couldn’t,” Viktor answered for her. A missing head? No fixing that.
“But I could. I learned it for you guys,” Riku said, grinning like he was daring her to be grateful. V’s jaw dropped.
“You’re not joking?” For a second, V wondered if the anesthesia was messing with her head. This sounded like yume (dream) talk.
“Think I’m bluffing? Wanna test it now?” Riku mimed slicing his neck, looking eager to prove it.
“Ahem, nah, let’s not,” V coughed, shutting her eyes and clamming up. Believe it or not, she wasn’t signing up for that test.
“You confident?” Viktor asked, not doubting Riku. After everything he’d seen from the guy, nothing shocked him anymore. Riku could claim he was flying to the moon, and Vik would half-believe it. That’s the kind of reputation Riku had built.
“No guarantees, but it’s worth a shot,” Riku said, keeping it real. He’d know more after trying.
“Take the base. I’ll go with you. If something goes wrong, I can step in,” Viktor said without hesitation. For Santo Domingo folks, any chance was worth taking, even if it was a kyuushinoichigeki (one-in-a-million shot). They had no choice but to fight.
Vik trusted Riku wasn’t the type to mess with lives for kicks. He could see that much.
“You’re serious?” V blurted, unable to stay quiet. She couldn’t believe Vik was backing Riku’s wild plan.
“Come along. Bring Jack. See if I can pull it off. If you think I’m screwing around, shoot me on the spot,” Riku said, inviting V and Jack to supervise.
“As if we could take you out,” V rolled her eyes. A single shot to kill Riku? Even the kaisha inu and MaxTac couldn’t manage that.
She grumbled, but the next day, she showed up with Jack Welles in tow.
“This legit?” Jack whispered to V, clearly doubting Riku’s sudden healer arc, especially for a disease Vik couldn’t touch.
“Just watch. Vik’s on board, so it’s got some weight,” V muttered. If Vik was in, she’d give it a chance, but she wasn’t calling the shots.
“Fair enough,” Jack nodded. If Vik had been against it, they’d have pushed back harder.
“Quit yapping. Our guest’s here,” Riku said, shutting them up with a smirk. Whispering behind closed doors was fine, but with the Old Captain arriving, they couldn’t diss him like that.
V poked Riku in the back but kept quiet. The Old Captain’s car pulled up.
“This place is a pain to find,” the Old Captain griped, stepping out. He wasn’t in his flashy silver Mizutani Shion MZ2 but a beat-up Villefort Columbus van.
Riku clocked it instantly—the guy was playing it safe. Even if Riku’s plan wasn’t guaranteed, the Old Captain clearly wanted to keep this quiet. The fewer who knew his weak spots, the better. A fixer’s life depended on that.
“Brought the patient. Show me what you’ve got,” the Old Captain said, helping a man in his thirties out of the van.
“Come in,” Riku said, glancing at the guy without fanfare, leading them inside.
No kid this time—probably because the child could still hold on, or they didn’t want to put a kid through this. The man looked aware, likely volunteering, ready for the surgery to flop.
“Call if you need me,” a rough-looking guy shouted from the van’s driver seat.
“No worries, it’ll be fine,” the Old Captain replied with a smile. After working with Riku, he didn’t think this guy had any reason to scam him.
The driver didn’t respond, watching the Old Captain follow Riku inside. The van still had others inside—cargo vans like the Columbus could hold more than three.
V glanced at the driver, then slammed the door shut with a bang.
“Vik?” The Old Captain blinked, surprised to see a familiar face in the surgery room.
“Been a while, Muammar,” Viktor nodded. They weren’t exactly nakama, but they knew each other.
“Hand him over and step out, please,” Riku said, guiding the patient to the table.
“This…” The Old Captain hesitated. No watching? How was he supposed to know if Riku was healing or pulling something shady?
“Muammar, trust us. I’ll be here watching,” Viktor reassured. Riku had already told him the procedure was top secret. No spectators.
“Alright,” the Old Captain nodded, convinced by Viktor’s rep. In Night City, Vik was a rare seigi (upright) soul. He left the room.
Outside, V and Jack kept the Old Captain company. The three hit it off quickly, chatting like old nakama. V and Jack had high standards for Night City folks, so they meshed well with the Old Captain’s vibe.
Inside the surgery room, Riku had already unleashed his kagune. The patient was under anesthesia, completely unaware.
Chapter 135: Medicine Can’t Save Santo Domingo
As Riku worked, the mutated Rc cells surged into the patient’s body, swiftly repairing damaged tissues. At the same time, they targeted the diseased cells, attacking and devouring them with relentless precision.
The Rc cells moved with a brutal efficiency, tearing through the patient’s body like a storm. The diseased cells that had plagued Santo Domingo’s people for years were no match for them, crumbling under the onslaught.
“Looks like it’s not a problem.”
Riku manipulated his kagune, the tail-like appendage from Tokyo Ghoul. This was his first time using its healing abilities, and it was even stronger than he’d expected. No wonder it could reattach a severed head—this was some serious power.
The severe damage caused by the water pollution was nothing to these mutated Rc cells. In the blink of an eye, they repaired the damage, and the viruses ravaging the patient’s body were like prey meeting their natural predator.
The patient’s kidneys were as good as new, and every damaged organ was fully restored. The guy was practically factory-fresh.
Normal Rc cells didn’t have this kind of healing ability. The kagune’s Rc cells clearly had a unique mutation, making their healing powers exceptional.
“Is this one of the ways Rc cells can manifest based on imagination?”
Riku couldn’t help but think of Tokyo Ghoul’s world, where kagune could take forms like lightning or flames. This healing ability was another kind of mutation.
The tail kagune could also manipulate the dead, but that was far from true “resurrection.” It was more like puppeteering a corpse, as seen with Takatsume Sen’s body in the series.
That kind of “revival” was nowhere near Kanou Akihiro’s research results, nor was it much different from Takatsume Sen’s experiments with kagune-altered monsters. It wasn’t resurrection—just turning a corpse into a new kind of monster.
Rc cells had immense potential, but mastering their ability to change at will was no easy feat. Even with Riku’s deep knowledge of the Tokyo Ghoul plot, he didn’t know how to fully control such transformations. He’d have to keep experimenting.
After the treatment, Riku pulled out a vial of Rc cell suppressant and injected it into the patient. The once-ferocious Rc cells wilted instantly under the suppressant’s effect, rapidly clearing from the body. The patient’s system was left pristine.
This Rc cell suppressant was a groundbreaking invention from the Tokyo Ghoul world. Even full-fledged ghouls with kakuho organs would be suppressed by it, unable to manifest their kagune. For a patient merely infused with Rc cells, it was overkill.
The suppressant had no side effects on the human body. Once the Rc cells were gone, the remaining suppressant dissolved as if it had never been there.
“All done.”
Riku retracted his kagune and turned to Old Vic, who was standing there, jaw practically on the floor.
Old Vic shut his mouth. He’d thought he was past being shocked by Riku’s antics, but clearly, Riku always had something new up his sleeve.
Just like that? A quick jab with that kagune, and the problem that had plagued Santo Domingo for years was solved?
Healing wasn’t the issue—the disease wasn’t incurable. The problem was that treatment was expensive, and the drugs and medical equipment were monopolized by the corps. Getting them through legit channels was nearly impossible.
But Riku’s method was almost too simple. It was way beyond Old Vic’s expectations—an outcome he hadn’t even dared to imagine.
Now Old Vic understood why Riku had asked the Old Captain to step out. If anyone saw this, they’d easily misunderstand and think Riku could cure this disease effortlessly.
Old Vic glanced at Riku. He got it—Riku was using this to earn the Old Captain’s gratitude and trust. That’s why he couldn’t let the Old Captain see the process. Some things worked better with a bit of mystery. Showing the results was enough.
“Let’s wait here a bit before heading out.”
Riku smiled at Old Vic. This was a perfect chance to pick Old Vic’s brain about medicine and cyberware.
Tech expert Pila’s methods were pretty wild, and while Old Vic had started out that way too, he’d eventually gone legit. Old Vic had knowledge Pila didn’t, stuff Riku could learn from.
Tech experts and ripperdocs weren’t the same. Tech experts leaned toward hardware, weapons, and cyberware, while ripperdocs, with that “doc” in their title, were more focused on the medical side. Different specialties.
For instance, Old Vic wasn’t great at modding weapons, while Pila’s medical skills were only so-so.
Riku had been diving deep into medicine lately and had plenty of questions for Old Vic. This closed-off space was perfect for learning.
“If you can, try to save as many people as possible.”
Before they started, Old Vic spoke up. He didn’t want to push Riku, knowing it was his call.
As a friend, he was just offering advice, hoping Riku would make the right choice and not use this ability as a bargaining chip. That didn’t sit right with Old Vic’s principles.
“I’d love to, but I’m running low on this stuff. Without the suppressant, the Rc cells would mess them up. They’d probably wake up in a daze, if at all.”
Riku shook the vial of Rc cell suppressant with a wry smile. Healing wasn’t the problem—getting the Rc cells out afterward was. He didn’t know of any kagune with that ability, so he had to rely on the suppressant.
“How do you make this stuff?”
Old Vic eyed the suppressant. If he could help, he wouldn’t mind pitching in.
“It’s not hard to make, but the raw materials are special. Normal people can’t get them. I’m the only one who can source them.”
Riku shook his head. Old Vic could probably whip up the suppressant with his skills, but both the suppressant and Rc cells were unique to the Tokyo Ghoul world. They didn’t exist here.
“That’s a tough one.”
Old Vic frowned. This wasn’t much different from the Old Captain and his crew stealing drugs and equipment from the corpo dogs. You could only save a few at a time, and it was dangerous. Not a long-term solution.
Though Riku made it sound simple, Old Vic had already translated it in his head. To him, “only I can source them” meant Riku was raiding biotech corps for supplies. In his mind, the two were one and the same.
Stealing from corpo dogs wasn’t a guaranteed win. The Old Captain’s crew couldn’t always pull it off, and neither could Riku. It was risky and unsustainable.
“Relying on medicine is just treating the symptoms, not the cause. Santo Domingo’s huge, and so many people get sick from the water pollution every year. How could we possibly save them all? To fix this, we need to tackle the root of the problem.”
Riku shook his head. He hadn’t planned to save Santo Domingo with medicine. Bluntly put, studying medicine wouldn’t save Santo Domingo.
Studying chemistry, though? That might do it. Unless they addressed the water pollution at its source, what was the point of endless treatments?
Old Vic sighed. Riku wasn’t wrong. Santo Domingo’s problem wasn’t something medicine could fix.
“Time’s about up.”
After roughly an hour and a half, Riku called it. An hour-and-a-half “surgery” was quick but believable enough not to raise too many questions.
Riku and Old Vic stepped out of the operating room. The patient was still under anesthesia.
“How’d it go?”
The Old Captain rushed over the moment he saw them, his face full of hope. Riku and Old Vic looked relaxed, which gave him a good feeling.
“Very successful. Completely cured.”
Riku said with a smile, but his words made the Old Captain skeptical. Completely cured? That sounded too good to be true.
“It’s true. Fully healed.”
Old Vic met the Old Captain’s gaze and confirmed it. The Old Captain froze, then bolted into the operating room.
Old Vic chuckled and followed, ready to explain things to the Old Captain. Riku shook his head and went in too.
Even without Old Vic, the Old Captain would’ve figured it out. He’d seen this kind of thing plenty of times—though usually with flatlined patients. A fully healthy one? That was new.
Old Vic started explaining, and as he did, the Old Captain’s eyes lit up. This treatment was better than the drugs they’d stolen from the corpo dogs!
“Don’t get too excited. This isn’t a long-term fix.”
Seeing the Old Captain’s ecstatic expression, Riku threw a bucket of cold water on it.
“I get what you’re saying. We can’t fix the root cause right now, but we can’t just leave the kids to suffer.”
The Old Captain nodded, accepting Riku and Old Vic’s point. Stealing drugs and treating the sick was just a Band-Aid. In harsher terms, they were just crops for the corps to keep harvesting.
But what could they do? If they could overthrow the corps, they would’ve done it already. Who’d choose to live like this?
“As long as the kids can grow up strong, it doesn’t matter how many of us die. Our generation’s mission is to keep Santo Domingo’s legacy alive, even if it costs us our lives.”
The Old Captain paused, his eyes shining with conviction.
“The corpo-ruled world is like a plague. Everyone’s sick. But plagues get cured. They can’t defeat humanity. Power will return to the people one day. We’ll make it happen—just wait and see!”
His words were downright rebellious. In Night City, that kind of talk would get you hunted by the corpo dogs.
Power to the people? The people in Night City were nothing—disposable resources at best. They didn’t deserve to talk about power.
But for a Santo Domingo native, the Old Captain’s mindset wasn’t surprising. The district was a hub for the working class, with organized unions to boot.
“…”
Riku pursed his lips, staying silent. Honestly? He wasn’t optimistic about the Old Captain’s dreams.
This world was under the corps’ iron grip. Power returning to the people sounded like a fairy tale—too fantastical even for a dream. Even power returning to nations was a pipe dream, let alone the people.
Still, Riku didn’t shoot down the Old Captain’s ideas. To carve a path through the impossible, to cling to that sliver of hope, required people like the Old Captain to stand up.
If everyone gave up because the road ahead was dark, there’d never be light. They’d be stuck in the shadows forever.
Only by having people burn brightly, lighting the way for those who come after, could there ever be a chance to see the dawn.
“A single spark can start a prairie fire.”
Riku nodded, quoting wise mant felt fitting for Night City.
It was a powerful encouragement. Even if the Old Captain and Night City’s unions were barely a spark, that defiant spirit—the courage to fight—could never be lost.
On that note, Riku had to give props to Johnny Silverhand from Cyberpunk 2077. Say what you want about him, but the guy never backed down from the corps. That unyielding spirit was why his music still resonated.
“Well said! One day, we’ll burn the corpo dogs’ order to ashes and take back everything they stole for the people!”
The Old Captain nodded enthusiastically. He’d worked for a corp and wasn’t naive—he knew their power. But for Santo Domingo, for the suffering, they had to keep fighting.
As they spoke, the patient woke up. He could feel the change in his body immediately.
“I’m…”
He adjusted to his restored health, tears streaming down his face. It had been years since he’d felt this good.
“The kids! Muammar! Get the kids!”
After a moment of shock, the man shouted to the Old Captain, his face alight with joy. He looked at Riku like he was a god—Riku had completely healed him!
“Please, save the kids!”
After yelling to the Old Captain, the man turned to Riku, pleading desperately. To him, Riku was a savior—more effective than any corpo dog.
“Mr. Riku, how many more can your medicine save? What’s the price?”
The Old Captain nodded to the man, then turned to Riku. He was sharp, avoiding any moral pressure and getting straight to business.
“Let’s not talk price yet. Saving people comes first.”
Riku waved it off, sidestepping the money talk. The Old Captain paused, knowing that sometimes “free” came with a steeper cost than eddies.
“I’ll bring the kids. Use your medicine on them first—they’re Santo Domingo’s future.”
The Old Captain didn’t overthink it. Nothing was more important than treating the kids.
Whatever Riku wanted, as long as he’d heal the children, Santo Domingo would deliver. Even if they didn’t have it, they’d risk their lives to get it for him.
“Start with the worst cases. No more than 150.”
Based on the suppressant used earlier, Riku estimated he had enough for about 150 people. He hadn’t brought much, but each treatment used only a small amount.
“Got it!”
The Old Captain’s eyes lit up at the number 150. Their usual desperate runs only saved maybe a dozen or two. Saving 150 at once? He couldn’t ask for more.
