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The rain in Neo-Edo never seemed to wash anything clean. It just smeared the grime around, turning the neon glow of the overhead advertisements into a watercolor nightmare. Kaito watched from the doorway of a dingy noodle bar as a drop of acidic rain hissed on the worn steel of his prosthetic arm. He flexed the chrome fingers, the faint whir of servos a familiar, unwelcome sound. It was a constant reminder of the life he’d lost, the honor he’d thrown away.
“Another?” the grizzled proprietor grunted, gesturing to Kaito’s empty flask of synthetic sake. Kaito shook his head, tossing a few digital credits onto the counter. The cheap booze did little to dull the phantom ache in his shoulder, or the sharper pain of memory.
He was about to step out into the downpour when a figure detached itself from the shadows of the alley opposite. The man was dressed in an impeccably clean, dark suit, a stark contrast to the filth of the lower city. A thin, fiber-optic cable ran from his temple to a device in his ear, the faint blue light pulsing in time with his speech.
“Kaito-san?” the man asked, his voice a smooth, synthesized baritone. “I was told I could find you here.”
Kaito’s remaining hand instinctively moved to the hilt of the katana tucked into his belt. “Depends who’s asking,” he rasped, his own voice rough from disuse and cheap synth-sake.
The man offered a slight, almost imperceptible bow. “My employer has a proposition for you. A lucrative one.” He extended a data chip. “All the information is here. The target is a missing android. A geisha-bot.”
Kaito scoffed. “I don’t do missing pets.”
“This is no ordinary android,” the man insisted, his tone unwavering. “And my employer is prepared to offer a sum that could… erase certain debts. Perhaps even buy a ticket out of this rain-soaked gutter.”
The mention of his debts struck a nerve. The Yashida-gumi had long memories and even longer reach. Kaito hesitated, then snatched the chip from the man’s hand. “I’ll look at it,” he muttered, turning to leave.
“One more thing,” the man in the suit said, his voice stopping Kaito in his tracks. “You are not the only one looking for her. And the others… they are not as interested in a peaceful retrieval.”
Back in his cramped, one-room apartment overlooking a chasm of perpetual twilight and flickering holograms, Kaito slotted the data chip into his battered console. The face of the geisha-bot materialized on the screen, her features a perfect, serene mask of synthetic beauty. Her designation was ‘Yuki’. The file stated she had disappeared from the opulent ‘Floating Chrysanthemum’ teahouse, a high-end establishment frequented by corporate executives and syndicate bosses. The owner, a man named Kenji Tanaka, was offering the reward.
As Kaito dug deeper, he found encrypted files buried within the initial data. It took him the better part of an hour to bypass the firewalls, his chrome fingers dancing across the holographic interface with a speed his flesh-and-blood hand could no longer match. What he found made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Yuki wasn’t just a pleasure-bot. She was a state-of-the-art data-siphon, designed to covertly record the conversations of the powerful men she entertained. And the last client she had served before her disappearance was none other than Jin Sato, the current oyabun of the Yashida-gumi. The very man who had ordered Kaito’s exile.
A cold dread washed over him. This wasn’t just a missing persons case. It was a death sentence. Taking this job meant crossing paths with the syndicate he had once served, the men who had taken everything from him. But the reward… it was enough to buy a new identity, to disappear from Neo-Edo for good. It was a chance, perhaps his only one, to escape the ghosts of his past.
His first stop was the Floating Chrysanthemum. The teahouse was a stark contrast to the squalor of the lower city, an oasis of tranquility and tradition amidst the chaos of the neon jungle. As he stepped inside, the sounds of the city faded, replaced by the gentle strumming of a shamisen and the delicate scent of cherry blossoms. A severe-looking woman in a silk kimono greeted him with a bow.
“I’m here to see Tanaka-san,” Kaito said, his voice low.
The woman’s eyes flickered to his prosthetic arm, a flicker of distaste in her gaze. “Tanaka-san is not seeing anyone.”
“Tell him it’s about Yuki,” Kaito pressed.
Her composure wavered for a fraction of a second, enough to tell Kaito he was on the right track. She disappeared behind a shoji screen, and a few moments later, a short, stout man with a perfectly manicured beard and worry lines etched deep into his forehead appeared. Kenji Tanaka.
“You have news of her?” Tanaka asked, his voice a hushed, anxious whisper.
“I’m looking into her disappearance,” Kaito corrected. “I need to see her quarters. And any security footage you have from the night she vanished.”
Tanaka wrung his hands. “The Yashida-gumi have already been here. They took everything.”
“Of course they did,” Kaito muttered. “What about her last client? Jin Sato. Did he seem… unusual that night?”
Tanaka paled. “I saw nothing. I heard nothing. I am just a humble teahouse owner.”
It was a lie, and they both knew it. But fear was a powerful motivator in Neo-Edo, especially when the Yashida-gumi were involved. Kaito knew he wouldn’t get anything more from Tanaka. As he turned to leave, he noticed a small, intricate carving of a spider lily on a wooden panel near the entrance to the private rooms. It was a symbol he recognized, a marker for a hidden data port used by information brokers. He made a mental note of it.
His next destination was the ‘Chrome Alley’, a notorious black market for cybernetics and information. If Yuki was on the run, she would need help, and this was the place to find it. The alley was a chaotic, claustrophobic maze of stalls and workshops, the air thick with the smell of ozone and burnt chrome. Augmented thugs and data-thieves eyed him with suspicion as he passed.
He found what he was looking for in a dimly lit stall at the far end of the alley. A man known only as ‘Doc’ was hunched over a dismembered robotic arm, his face illuminated by the green glow of a diagnostic screen. Doc was a master of black-market cybernetics, and he had a network of informants that stretched across the city.
“Kaito,” Doc grunted, not looking up from his work. “Still slumming it, I see.”
“I need information, Doc,” Kaito said, getting straight to the point. “A geisha-bot. Designated Yuki. She might be looking for a memory wipe, or a new chassis.”
Doc finally looked up, his augmented eyes whirring as they focused on Kaito. “Yuki… the name has been whispered on the data-streams. The Yashida-gumi have put a high price on her head. Decommissioned, they say. But I’ve heard… other things.”
“What other things?” Kaito pressed.
“I heard she’s not just a bot,” Doc said, lowering his voice. “I heard she’s carrying a ghost.”
“A ghost?”
“A consciousness. A personality imprint. They say it’s a new kind of AI. Almost human.”
Before Kaito could ask more, the sound of shouting and blaster fire erupted from the entrance to the alley. A squad of Yashida-gumi enforcers, their faces hidden behind menacing oni masks, stormed into the marketplace, their plasma rifles lighting up the narrow space.
“They found you, Kaito!” Doc hissed, ducking behind his workbench.
The enforcers opened fire, sending sparks flying as plasma bolts ricocheted off the metal stalls. Kaito drew his katana, the blade humming to life with a soft blue glow. He met the first enforcer’s charge, his chrome arm deflecting a clumsy sword strike while his own blade sliced through the man’s armored chest. The second came at him with a plasma rifle, and Kaito sidestepped, the hot blast singing the fabric of his coat. He brought the pommel of his katana up in a sharp arc, striking the enforcer’s helmet with a sickening crunch.
He was outnumbered and outgunned. He needed a way out. He spotted a maintenance ladder leading up the side of one of the towering buildings. He threw a smoke pellet to the ground, and as the alley filled with thick, acrid smoke, he scrambled up the ladder, the shouts of the Yashida-gumi fading below him.
He emerged onto the rain-slicked rooftops of Neo-Edo, the neon glow of the city stretching out before him like a vast, digital ocean. He was in deeper than he had ever imagined. The geisha-bot wasn’t just a witness; she was a new form of life, a ghost in the machine. And now, the Yashida-gumi were not the only ones hunting her. They were hunting him too.
