The following morning, the light of the early day sun pokes through the thin spaces between his dark curtains over the window on the wall opposite the entrance, though it isn't enough to stir the augmented man awake. What does wake him, however, is the sudden, obnoxious blaring of his smartphone's ringtone about a foot away from his resting face. His half-conscious eyes flutter open, and he grabs the loud device off his nightstand as quickly as possible. He notices two things upon viewing the bright screen: one, is that it's barely 9 AM, a time where calls are quite rare, and two, that the caller is none other than his boss, Ryuji. Considering the two details, Atreus immediately assumes something important is behind the call, and answers.

“Hello?” he asks in the phone, sounding purposefully awake and alert, expectant of a job of some sort.

“Atreus,” Ryuji's low, coarse, authoritative voice is heard from the other end. “Did you just wake up?”

“Yeah. I had a somewhat late night, but I'm fine. What's up?”

“I got a call from Okada-san. He needs to see you.”

Atreus's eyes open with muted surprise. Hiroshi Okada – a name he hasn't heard in a while, but one he knows well, referring to the senior advisor of the Sanada-gumi. He works directly with the chairman, and has held a very favorable opinion of Atreus since the incident that cost him his arms. However, they're only rarely in touch due to how far they are from each other in rank.

“What about?” the freshly-woken gangster inquires, unable to contain his curiosity, which is mixed with a tinge of worry.

“He can explain things better than I can. He'll be waiting for you at Sanada-gumi Headquarters. He said it's urgent, so when's the earliest you can get there?”

“If I get up right now, I can be there in under half an hour.”

“Do it. Don't keep him waiting. When you're done, come by the office, okay?”

Atreus nods instinctively even though Ryuji can't see it, “Okay, aniki.”

“Good. I'll see you later.”

“See you,” the conversation closes, and Atreus hangs up.

Despite being extremely curious as to what the situation could be, he wastes no time in pushing himself out of bed and getting dressed for the day. He begins by first entering the bathroom and sloshing around mouthwash in lieu of brushing so he can multitask and save time. He then opens his closet and grabs a dress shirt, vest, and pants, all identical to those he wore yesterday. He grabs his phone to call for a taxi in a few swipes of his thumb, and slips on his spotless pair of Oxfords and ties his necktie. Now fully dressed in record time, he finally returns to his bathroom to spit the mouthwash out into his sink. A notification sound blares from his phone again, and he sees that the ride he summoned during his dressing had arrived.

Atreus grabs his wallet on his way out and locks his apartment door behind him. Waiting for him on the street immediately in the front of the building is another silver, logo-covered sedan similar to what Devin rode home the night prior. He scans the QR code on his phone's screen with a device next to the door's handle to verify his ride purchase, which unlocks and welcomes him in. He climbs into the bamboo-laden interior, sits down in one of the two front seats that swivel on an axis like an office chair, and buckles his belt.

“Thank you for riding with Automa,” an enunciating, disembodied male voice begins playing a routine greeting from the vehicle's speakers. “When you're ready to depart, please press–” it's cut off by Atreus quickly hitting the 'DEPART' button on the touchscreen embedded into dashboard. “Departing...”

Automa, the United States' leading self-driving taxi service, has been around for decades now as the first ever of its kind after establishing itself immediately upon California's authorization of the operation of autonomous vehicles back in 2011. Within ten years afterward, they had released their app for smartphones, along with a series of electric test cars in the Los Angeles and San Francisco areas to track their performance. Only two years after that, they deemed their vehicles perfected and began expanding. Now, Automa has firmly planted itself as a crucial public transportation service and is present even in rural towns where getting to places on foot within a reasonable time is practically impossible.

With the advent of self-driving vehicles, road accidents have dropped an incredible degree over the last twenty years, allowing the government to comfortably raise – or even completely remove, in some cases – speed limits on roads and freeways throughout the country. As an added bonus, car insurance has also become incredibly cheap, and, in regards to the user experience, passengers feel more secure in doing things inside an autonomous taxi that they wouldn't do in a non-autonomous one, such as sleep. For many, having no driver to interact with also removes the potential for irritating small talk when silence is preferred.

As of right now, Automa is in the middle of expanding their flying car taxi service, which has fallen victim to a severe inability to meet demand. Their wingless, self-piloting flying vehicle models are capable of reaching an altitude of two hundred feet and, as one would expect, reaches a passenger's destination in only a fraction of the time a grounded vehicle would take. Unfortunately, only a few thousand are in circulation in the Los Angeles area, meaning that ordering a ride on the fly could constitute a wait time of hours before one is available, necessitating at least a full day's reservation if you want one on time. Otherwise, one can simply purchase their own flying car for the 'low' price of just over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and that's after earning a flying car license.

Atreus's quiet ride slowly makes it way through the usual morning road congestion as thousands upon thousands head to work or school, most of whom are in Automa taxis themselves. A creeping worry continues to poke and prod at his brain for what could possibly be the cause for his summoning at Sanada-gumi headquarters, something that hasn't happened to him since he was still partaking in physical rehabilitation. He questions if it's a disciplinary call of some sort, but he can't imagine what for. It's highly unlikely to be a purely social meeting either, as Ryuji wouldn't need to be a middle man for that. The gangster dwells in his contemplative silence as his silver cab proceeds to its destination.

After about twenty minutes of threading through gaps in traffic, Atreus reaches a large, secure building at the southeastern edge of Kyoba. The cab pulls up to the front gate which is a series of ten-foot-tall study steel pillars that collectively stretch fifty feet wide to prevent entry to any unwanted visitors.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“You've arrived at your destination. We hope you've enjoyed your ride with Automa,” the monotone, but easy-to-listen-to voice announces the end of the short trip.

Before the AI's niceties are even complete, Atreus is already halfway out of the vehicle. Once he closes the door behind him, the autonomous taxi takes off to pick up its next customer, and the augmented man walks up to a security booth to the right of the driveway. A single man with short hair and a neatly trimmed goatee, wearing a black uniform, and donning body armor and a gun at his hip, leans out of the booth's window with a smile.

“Hey, Atreus,” he beckons the visitor over; the identification card pinned to his chest bears his portrait and name, Joshua Mitani. “What's going on, man? We were told to expect you this morning.”

“Hey, Josh,” Atreus returns the greeting as cordially as he can despite his tinge of anxiousness. “Yeah, I got a call earlier telling me to come over. Do you know what it's about?”

Joshua shakes his head, “Nah, man. I was hoping you'd tell me. I was just told that you'd be coming under order from Mr. Okada and to let you in immediately. It must be pretty damn important, so I won't keep you. Go on ahead.”

The guard grabs his ID card and presses the front of it against a touchscreen mounted against the wall near him, which beeps with a confirmation sound. A keypad shows up on it, and he punches in his own unique four-number code and pushes his thumb against a print reader. Another beep sounds off, and the steel barrier preventing entry into the area begins to sink into the ground, one pillar at a time, opening the way into the parking area.

“Thanks,” Atreus offers his gratitude with a quick nod, and wastes no time walking in. On the opposite side of the paved lot, he ascends the short staircase to the front door, which slides open automatically, and enters headquarters proper.

In contrast to the cold, yet stylized modern exterior of the building, the interior is somewhat old fashioned, featuring traits of classic Japanese architecture, including wooden floors elevated over a faux ground of synthetic grass and smooth stones that line the elongated man-made ponds, abundant with fish, pressed against the walls adjacent to the entrance. Each patch of false earth also has a short wooden bench for anyone who wishes to come down and have a moment of clarity. Atreus steps onto the raised floor and approaches the lone desk in the middle of the lobby, where a single, clean-shaven man in a suit stands in wait between two more silent guards, also in suits.

“Good morning, Atreus,” the man in the middle greets his visitor with a monotone delivery and eerie smirk. “Mr. Okada is waiting for you in his office,” he turns and gestures towards the elevators behind him in a rigid manner. His movements are such because he's not human. He's an android, evidenced by the pulsating blue circular lights on each side of his neck, directly below his ears.

“Thank you, Justin,” Atreus responds in kind despite not really needing to, and enters the first elevator he sees, hitting the button for the fourth floor – the top floor – with measured urgency.

When the elevator lets out a ding to sound off its arrival, the gangster walks through the wide, bare hallways of slate color walls, royal blue carpet lined with black marble tiles to the sides, and high, brightly lit ceilings with steps of quick pace and long strides. At the end of the path, he reaches the double doors of room 417, where yet another guard, this time sitting on a stool against the wall, greets him.

“Oh, hey, Atreus,” the bald, thick-necked man stands up and pockets his phone, which he was idly fiddling with until now. “One second.”

He straightens out his blazer and approaches the left door, raising his large fist to knock on it three times. Almost on the very instant the third knock connects with the surface of the door, it springs open. A striking young woman with dark blonde hair and large green eyes stands into the threshold, her blue LEDs on her neck shining with intensity.

“Greetings, Atreus. Please, come in,” she beckons him into the room with the usual stilted delivery and stiff motion that makes her man-made nature obvious despite her deceptively human-like appearance.

Atreus enters the generously spacious office as the android closes the door behind him. An older, middle-aged man standing at the window opposite the door turns around. He has short, dark hair combed to the side and a five o'clock shadow that gives him a rugged aura despite his expensive and pristine black suit. The golden Sanada-gumi pin on his lapel shines with an almost distracting glow. He holds a whiskey glass in his right hand, already just about empty, leaving only shriveled ice cubes. Contrary to what was expected, his eyes don't seem angry or hint at any intent on reprimanding the clueless gangster. Instead, the advisor seems worried.

“Welcome, Watanabe-kun. It's been a while,” Okada gives a halfhearted greeting with a forced smile, but tries to maintain a professional demeanor. “Please, take a seat,” he points to the black leather sofa next to the coffee table in the center of the room. The somewhat apprehensive underling obliges. “You want a drink?” the advisor asks.

“No thanks,” Atreus responds. “Isn't it... a little early?” he remarks without really knowing why. After the words leave his mouth, he hopes he doesn't inadvertently insult his superior.

“Yeah, it is,” Okada casually admits as he walks to the leather chair adjacent to the sofa, also facing the table. He slowly sits himself down onto the thick cushion while heaving an exhausted sigh. It might not necessarily be 'morning' from his perspective, depending on when he woke up, or if he even slept at all. After leaning back, he looks at Atreus with a strong gaze. A thin blue light traces the pupil of his right eye, making a lap around the interior of the iris. “Your heart rate's up a bit. Are you alright?”

The gangster takes a deep breath to steel his nerve,. “On the way over here, I've been worrying about what this sudden meeting is supposed to be. Ryuji didn't tell me anything, but he made it sound serious.”

“Oh. Don't worry, you're not in trouble. Sorry about using Ryuji as a middle man; I know I have your number, but I just didn't know your schedule,” the advisor is quick to wave away the gangster's fears with his drinking hand as he brings the glass up to his mouth for the last sip of liquor inside it. “On the contrary, I'm the one who might be in a bind here, hence the secrecy.”

“What are you talking about?” Atreus leans forward with strong interest and suspicion. “Did you summon me here for a job?”

Okada nods somberly, “I did. There was a murder last night at around midnight.”

Atreus takes a pronounced moment to process the news, unsure of what kind of question to ask first.

“Of... a Sanada-gumi member?” he settles on the most obvious one.

“No. Of an employee of Atmos Dynamics,” the advisor reveals.

Atmos Dynamics, the world's leader in the research and manufacturing of all things relating to cybernetics, including Atreus's own arms. With revenue confidently breaking past one hundred billion dollars every year, and all assets adding up to a combined worth of over two hundred billion dollars, they are, without question, a large corporation. They have many office buildings and warehouses scattered throughout the world, including one of the larger ones in Los Angeles. However, the most important thing about them isn't their income. They're important in this instant because the Sanada-gumi is a minority shareholder, thanks to the foresight of the previous chairman over twenty years ago. This is a fact that has been kept mostly under wraps due to their ties being hidden under a vast, complex array of pseudonyms and dummy corporations.

In recent years, however, Atmos has grown increasingly wary of maintaining their connection to the Sanada-gumi, for fear of it seeing the light of day with conclusive evidence. It wasn't as much of an issue back when they were simply an ambitious start-up, but they're becoming more and more insistent on buying back their shares. Of course, the clan is extremely reluctant to give up such a lucrative source of income, but the relationship is unsteady at best, and the Sanada-gumi have since resolved to not strain it further, maintaining a reluctance between the the groups.