Night City, Westbrook District — Jig-Jig Street.
A narrow side street branching off from Japantown, right next to the famous Sakura Market.
As the city's most renowned entertainment zone, Japantown in Westbrook never disappoints — no matter what you're into.
Love motels, braindance parlors, bars, izakayas, arcades... everything an entertainment hub should have, it's got. It's also just one bridge away from the corpo plaza by city hall.
Add to that the ever-present Tiger Claws, and you've got "order," Night City-style.
If Japantown is a neon-soaked paradise, then Jig-Jig Street is its sleazy, must-see detour.
People say: If you're rich, head to Cloud Nine — best braindances and girls in town. If you're broke, hit up Jig-Jig Street — cheap, dirty, functional.
And that's exactly what this place is. Cheap thrills and quick "street food" for those scraping the bottom.
It's nighttime — peak hour.
Lin Mo kept his head down, face tucked beneath his mask. He weaved through the crowd until he stopped outside an adult goods store.
A few brightly dressed sexbots were smoking and chatting out front, occasionally laughing in bursts.
The shop provided their "gear," so loitering out here was part of the ecosystem.
Lin Mo's presence got their attention. The women paused and looked over.
Some recognized him.
A blue-haired one giggled. "Well, well. If it isn't our little mailman. Got something for us?"
Lin Mo pulled down his mask, revealing a pale, soft face. "A Tiger Claws brother requested this lady in one hour. Here's the location."
His black eyes lit up with blue light as his neural processor beamed the coordinates to the red-haired woman's neural chip.
She smiled, gently patting his head. "Thanks again, little courier."
Lin Mo just nodded and turned to leave.
"Such a shame," the sexbot said, watching him jog away. "If I had the eddies, I'd adopt him myself."
"For real," another added with a smirk. "That face? He's gonna be a grade-A heartbreaker. Pure-blood Asian beauty — totally useful in the future."
They all laughed.
They were bottom-feeders on Jig-Jig Street. No clients meant no food. Talk of adoption? Just pipe dreams.
Even Wakako Okada, owner of the local pachinko parlor, had tried and failed to take him in. What chance did they have?
—
A few dozen meters later, Lin Mo stopped in front of a vending machine. He tapped a button and a blue-wrapped item dropped into the slot.
[XXL Wrap – Sky Blue Flavor]
A system panel popped up in his vision: [Transaction complete. 3 eurodollars deducted.]
In this age of cyberware, basic implants had replaced phones entirely.
The central processor in his skull acted like a microcomputer. The data panel projected HUDs into his vision. A chip in his thumb let him pay with just a tap.
He unwrapped the food and devoured it in a few bites.
Taste? Not great.
It was mushy like paste, the blueberry sauce artificial and way too sweet.
"Fucking disgusting," Lin Mo muttered.
The first time, it was bearable. Now? Every bite was a fight with his own taste buds.
Life at the bottom was like that.
Food came pre-packaged. Tech evolved, the environment collapsed, and real ingredients were a luxury fantasy.
If you climbed the social ladder, you might afford synthetic freshness — lab-grown meat and veggies, courtesy of All-Foods Corporation.
But actual meat from real animals? Real vegetables from the ground?
That was gourmet for the elite.
Lin Mo adjusted his mask, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and followed the crowd down a street choked in neon and smog.
He'd been in this world eight years now.
Like a stray dog, he ran endlessly through the filth. All for one thing: survival.
If the simulator hadn't told him he'd meet his benefactor at age eight, he might've lost all hope.
To make sure he met that Kang Tao exec, he'd even rejected Wakako Okada's offer when he was six.
He remembered her well from the game.
Wakako — fixer of Westbrook. V got gigs from her in Cyberpunk 2077.
Fixers connected mercs and clients. They were smart, plugged-in, and always in the middle of something.
Wakako looked like a sweet old granny. But anyone who lived to old age in Night City?
That was already half a miracle.
So why didn't he take her up on it?
Simple — he wasn't ready to deal with fixers yet.
And she wasn't exactly the kind type. Being her god-grandson? Risky business.
He was still a kid. No chrome. Any punk on the street could turn me into scrap.
That simulation — the one where he got organ-harvested — was still burned into his brain.
This time around? He was playing it safe.
"Still no sign of that overprotective sugar-mommy I was promised… figures."
Still hoping, he ducked into an alley.
Tight alleys boxed in by towers were common in Night City. Sometimes, you'd even find corpses — days old, reeking.
Lin Mo had seen it all. He was numb.
Sometimes the Tiger Claws even called him to haul the bodies out — couldn't have the smell scaring off customers.
He didn't mind. The pay was alright. And sometimes, you could loot something decent.
He pulled a foam cushion from a nearby bin, dusted it off, and sat.
The bin was empty. In Night City, "freedom" meant tossing garbage anywhere except the bin.
Thankfully, it hadn't rained. Otherwise, the place would smell like a sewer pit fermenting for weeks.
Neon lights painted the street outside in glowing haze. The alley behind was cold and dark.
Hidden from view, Lin Mo pulled out his simulator.
"I still can't believe this thing followed me here," he muttered, looking at the sleek dark-metal headset.
The Life Simulation Braindance.
Back in the real world, he'd put it on for an immersive run — and landed here, for real.
Somehow, the device came too.
He put it on, pressed the activation switch.
[Welcome, Immersive Simulation User.]
Would you like to simulate tomorrow?
Even here, in the world of Cyberpunk, the simulator still worked — but only once per day.
Lin Mo tapped [Confirm].
[Simulation Starting...]
Morning: A shopkeeper hires you for food delivery. Pay: 2 eddies.
You grab a bowl of wontons from Rulai Diner for breakfast. Hoping for a smooth day.
Noon: You deliver a message for a shy Tiger Claws lackey — to a bashful young sexbot.
One of the girls is sick. You grab her some painkillers from a ripperdoc — on the house.
You pass a sexbot in the alley, cyberware shot to hell, mumbling nonsense.
You call in the Tiger Claws to clean up before customers notice.
Stuff like this happens every day. You're used to it.
Sexbots at the bottom are expendable.
Night falls. You roam the streets, looking for another gig.
Maybe a new girl needs a guide — those jobs pay well.
As midnight approaches, you bump into a woman in a hurry.
She's wearing a Kang Tao uniform.
Tiger Claws thugs are tailing her.
You don't hesitate.
You step forward—
[Simulation Evaluation: Turning Point of Fate]
[Rewards: Day's earnings – 40 eddies | Memory of special event retained]
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