She sat. The core’s hum vibrated through her ribs.
“You have a reputation,” Honda said, voice flat as a blade. “Not for pleasure. For extraction. Three Yakuza lieutenants. Two corporate whistleblowers. All last seen ‘entertaining’ you.”
“Entertain you?” she said, picking up the chip. “Let me show you what I can really do.”
She went to entertain her client. She left with a war.
He didn’t smile. “Sit.”
Her blood turned to ice. How did he know about the heel bomb?
Momo’s smile never wavered. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Honda-sama,” she purred, stepping forward. “I’m Momo. Here to entertain you.”
“DS,” she whispered—the kill-code for her handler. “Backup.”
Honda leaned forward. “Your handler sold you out, Momo. You’re going to work for me now. Decrypt the chip. It contains the location of a rogue AI that’s been erasing memories from Tokyo’s underground. My daughter is one of its victims. She doesn’t remember my face.”
The room was sterile. No champagne, no dimmed lights, no velvet chaise. Instead, a single metal table held a polished, fist-sized object—a fusion reactor core, humming with a faint blue light. And behind the table, a man in a grey suit sat motionless, his hands folded.
“I’ll find your daughter’s memories,” Momo said, standing. “But when I do, you’re going to help me kill the man who sold me out.”