"Is it because of the gun? Does wielding a gun boost combat power by +5 or something?"
Riku picked up the homeless guy's pistol. It was a compact little thing, easy to hide on the body. As for the bullet caliber, well, Riku had already felt its impact firsthand.
"Judging by the model, it's kinda like Lexington from Militech. Tsk, this gun… if your aim's not on point, you're better off not using it."
Riku muttered, sharing his thoughts post-gunshot. In plain terms, the damage was pitiful—basically a squirt gun. Unless you hit a vital spot, it wasn't doing much.
"But even a low-key weapon like this bumps a homeless guy's experience points up to 5? How the hell does this system decide experience values?"
Riku couldn't wrap his head around it, but he wasn't in a rush. He'd have plenty of time to figure it out later.
As he squeezed the bullet out of his body, he tucked the pistol into his clothes and glanced at the homeless guy's corpse.
If he could, Riku would've loved to change into something else. But even in his bloodstained, tattered rags, he wasn't about to swap them for this guy's clothes.
No way. Even with dried blood all over his outfit, it still smelled better than the homeless guy's gear.
"Hm? Someone else coming?"
Riku was about to leave when the scent of humans drifted into his nose again.
Two figures shuffled into the alley, both looking rough around the edges, each carrying a black bag. One held a submachine gun, while the other had an assortment of surgical knives strapped to his body.
Riku spotted them, and they definitely saw him—and the homeless guy's corpse on the ground.
"Ha, looks like we hit the jackpot today."
The two didn't seem fazed by stumbling onto a murder scene. One of them even let out an excited whistle.
"Hey, buddy, if you don't want this guy, we'll take him off your hands."
One of the two approached Riku, the one with the submachine gun, wearing a narrow-brimmed hat. He looked Eastern European.
"What do you want with him?"
Riku took a step back, letting the corpse lie between them, acting like he wanted to avoid trouble.
"Ha, what do you think? Can't you tell what we do for a living?"
The other guy stepped closer, spinning a sharp surgical knife between his fingers with expert precision. He was dressed like a butcher.
"Scavs," Riku said.
Of course he knew. In the dark alleys of Night City, you wouldn't run into ghosts or urban legends, but you'd definitely cross paths with these organ-harvesting lowlifes.
Calling them "organ harvesters" was honestly too narrow. These scumbags did way more than just carve out kidneys.
"You got it! City scavengers, cleaning up cyberware, organs, you name it. Letting a fresh corpse like this rot here? That's a damn waste. This guy's a goldmine."
The scav grinned, revealing he only had one cybernetic eye—a weird one with a telescoping function that could extend outward.
As he talked to Riku, that cyber-eye kept popping out and retracting, stealing the show.
It reminded Riku of a phone he'd once owned with a pop-up front camera—popping out when needed, retracting when not.
But the lifespan of those things was always an issue. Constantly extending and retracting? Bound to break eventually.
"Click!"
Sure enough, the scav's cyber-eye gave out with a weird noise, getting stuck in the extended position.
"…"
Silence fell over Night City's alley. The atmosphere turned awkward as hell.
Riku pressed his lips together. He hadn't been trained for this, but he knew when to laugh and when to keep a straight face.
"Damn it, can your shitty eye stop screwing up when we're working?"
The submachine gun scav's mouth twitched, clearly pissed at his partner.
"Relax, it's a small glitch. You don't get how good this eye is. It's not like that cheap crap you guys use."
The knife-wielding scav didn't seem fazed by the malfunction. Ignoring it, he crouched to start carving up the homeless guy's corpse.
"Hold up."
Riku frowned, stepping in to stop the two scavs, who'd been talking like he wasn't even there.
"When did I say I was handing this corpse over to you?"
Sure, the homeless guy wasn't exactly a saint, but these scavs? They were the scum of the earth.
Among the types of people Riku despised most, human traffickers and organ dealers were always near the top.
And for these scavs, that was just another day at the office. It was their whole job description.
"The hell? Since when did Animals start scavenging corpses? If you're not giving him to us, what's the point? You gonna eat him or something?"
Riku's words drew the submachine gun scav's attention. Not that his gun barrel had ever left Riku's direction.
"…"
What could he say? The scav wasn't exactly wrong. For Riku, the corpse could technically be food.
"Forget talking to him. I gotta harvest these organs quick."
The knife-wielding scav squinted, sizing Riku up. This Animal gang guy looked pretty jacked—his organs were probably top-notch.
But too bad. The organs of muscle freaks like this, pumped full of hormones, testosterone, and maybe even spliced with random animal genes, weren't worth much on the market.
That's why they hadn't jumped Riku. The risk wasn't worth the reward.
Animals usually didn't have much cyberware, their organs had no market, and their combat skills were no joke. Why bother messing with them?
Plus, this Animal guy looked like bad news. He was modded to the point of barely looking human.
Scavs worked in small crews, picking their fights carefully, preying on careless law-abiding citizens.
Their MO was simple: ambush, kidnap, kill, harvest, and sell. If they could, they'd throw in a "braindance recording" for extra cash. It was a streamlined operation.
Sometimes they'd take small-time gigs no one else wanted—petty robberies, brawls, or knocking someone out cold.
But going head-to-head with corpos, NCPD, or big gangs? They didn't have the skills or the guts for that.
"Get the hell outta here. I'm in a good mood today and don't feel like killing. Don't make me shoot."
The submachine gun scav barked at Riku, firing two warning shots near his feet for emphasis.
He was loud and aggressive, but it was all bluster. Deep down, he was scared. The textbook definition of all bark, no bite.