Arasaka used him for many jobs. Well no, that wasn't quite true.

Arasaka used him for exactly two types of jobs. The first was a relatively simple form of deployment that he only rarely got to engage in.

Whenever Arasaka needed to send a very clear message that something had offended them, they sent him out to murder everything in a given region. Whenever someone or something thought they got away with a flagrant disrespect that Arasaka couldn't resolve with other, more diplomatic means, he was deployed to a given location to make sure everyone remembered that he existed.

That you wanted Arasaka to use diplomatic means of dealing with you, and the way to do that was by cooperating. That you wanted to be careful about making Arasaka notice you impacting their bottom line. That you remembered that Arasaka had monsters like him on their call.

In total, Arasaka was directly responsible for around 30,000 deaths each year. He alone was responsible for 300 of those on a bad year, and 3,000 of those on a good year. Assuming he had killed his exact average each year for every year that he had worked for Arasaka thus far, then his personal kill count was somewhere around 115,500. He wasn't sure about the exact number.

There was a neat bit of cyberware you could get back in 2020 called the kill counter. He didn't know if they still made them today. It was a little implant that you could hook up to your neuralware and it would automatically track how many kills you made. Useful for bragging. There was a program back then that could scan your memories and check how many you made before too, and combined they could tell you how many you were personally responsible for.

He bought one in 2022, and received an immediate refund from an apologizing meatbag after getting it taken out again. Those kill counters only went up to 9999. He was already maxed out back then. He did get a free T-shirt and sponsorship deal for the thing out of that encounter, so that was nice. Where was he?

Ah, right, kill counts. He didn't know what his actual kill count was now, but considering he just threw a couple nukes and flooded a good chunk of India, it must be in the millions now.

Well, it would be if he was counting indirect kills. He and Uriel thought it over for a bit and decided that they couldn't, because if they did that would mean that Mao Zedong was probably ahead of him, and that would be annoying. Also if he was counting indirect kills then all those deaths over in India would actually belong to the Old Man because he was there on his orders and…

It was too irritating to try to work out the fiddly details. They had decided to chalk it up to around 115,500 kills and 1 man-made disaster so far. Regardless, those jobs were his first type of job, going out and making sure meatbags remembered why playing nice with Arasaka was within their best interests.

His second type of job was infinitely more boring. Bodyguard duty. Of course, when the bossman tells you to do something, you do it. That was the nature of having a job.

So here he was, standing menacingly behind the Old Man as he patiently sorted through a small summary document that the incredibly nervous underling on the other side of the table had given him.

Finally, after many long moments, the Old Man looked up from the tablet to stare at the salaryman who wasn't making eye contact. It wasn't any wonder why, the Old Man was an intimidating guy to most.

"You are dismissed." He said simply, to which the Salaryman quickly went through the motions of respect before all but fleeing from the room. Saburo then twitched his right eyebrow once, which apparently signaled V3 to approach and pour a perfect cup of tea for him. Drinking it slowly, Saburo sat down the tablet and simply enjoyed the tea for a few moments.

"Yojimbo, tell me your thoughts on Goro and Oda's performance during your mission." It had taken a few days for him to ask that, so the old man was probably busy with something. This might be his first block of free time in a week. As he was not told to drop formalities, he didn't let himself get casual.

"Both of them were professional quality. They were quick, efficient, able to adjust as the situation progressed and capable of sufficient initiative to capitalize on openings. Goro has no notable flaws outside of still being mostly meat, but Oda still uses a sub-optimal loadout and potentially hindering hairstyle."

Saburo hummed into his tea for a moment, thinking it over. V3 stole glances at him.

"Elaborate on suboptimal."

"A pair of thermal mantis blades is useful against meat, and almost pointless against metal. He has little way to harm actual threats."

"Recommendations?" He took a sip.

"At minimum change out the thermal blades for vibroblades. I'd recommend changing his fighting style entirely. He needs a way to deal with armored units, his fists alone should be good enough for standards. I'd also recommend both of them trading their kerenzikovs for sandevistans and receiving a full-body conversion."

"And the hair?"

"It gets in front of one of his eyes."

A pause. Saburo sipped his tea.

"You may drop formalities."

"It also looks fucking stupid."

Saburo let out a small chuckle, closing his eyes in amusement. He held out his cup for a refill and calmly sighed.

"Yorinobu, how has your work under him been like so far?"

He grunted and thought about it for a moment, before replying. "He's been watching me, and asking what I would do in any given situation. Pretty sure he's still trying to get a read on me."

Saburo didn't sigh, but it seemed like a close thing. "It has been weeks. You are not a very complicated man, Yojimbo. He should have already…" He closed his eyes and took a drink. "...He has told you that he's testing you?"

"Everytime so far." He wasn't offended over the old man saying he wasn't very complicated, because he completely agreed. He liked to kill things, that was about all there was to him, he liked it that way.

Saburo hummed again. "Ah, I see. He is appealing to your honest nature while still evaluating you. Two objectives with one action is… a good start." He took a sip. "A good start…"

Adam stared at him for a moment, before speaking up. "Stress isn't good for the heart, Old Man."

Saburo didn't react for a moment. V3 looked downcast.

"Ten years."

He raised a brow, Saburo continued.

"I will die in ten years according to the best case scenario. In the worst case scenario, my body will finally fail me in less than a year."

Saburo turned his head to look at him. "I have been busy making sure the preparations for my death are all in place. My son is one such preparation. It is my hope that he can be molded into an effective executive before then. This is complicated by his hatred for my life's work."

Adam grunted. "I don't have any advice to give Old Man, I've never had a kid."

Saburo's eyes glinted for a moment and a hint of a smile grew on his face. "Ah, but you do have an apprentice, do you not? There is little difference to my old eyes."

He snorted in reply. "The brat is going to be my backup once he's finally trained up. That's about it."

"Nothing more?"

"Nothing more."

"You guard your heart well, Yojimbo. Ever since your falling out with my granddaughter."

He clenched a fist and glared at nothing. Saburo observed his reaction for a moment, before setting down his tea cup and folding one hand over the other.

"You are Adam Smasher. Self-loathing will only dull your blade."

"I don't loathe myself, I loathe her."

"No, you don't." Saburo let his eyes slowly shift into a glare. "You loathe that you let your guard down. That you let yourself be vulnerable, and that it almost cost your life. Everytime you see her it is a reminder of that."

He didn't bother replying, no use in arguing with the boss. V3 took nervous glances at the both of them. Saburo huffed in frustration.

"You are the Sword of Arasaka. Your forging, tempering, and sharpening are all complete, but a sword always drawn will dull and shatter in time. Cracks in the blade born from each clash."

"You must find a sheath Yojimbo. I refuse to let my masterpiece rust into nothing."

He stayed silent, a quiet show of his immense displeasure with the topic at hand.

He was Adam Smasher. The day he needed someone else was the day he died.

Saburo closed his eyes and furrowed his brow for a moment, before relaxing and taking up his tea again. He moved on, topic discussed.

"...I have already been fitted with the appropriate cybernetics to unleash the soulkiller upon the moment of my death. It will be loaded into a chip in my socket." Saburo tapped his neck twice. "In the event of my death, so long as that chip remains intact, it will only be a matter of time before I return."

He nodded, understanding why the Old Man was telling him this. It was to prevent his Long-Term Contract from breaking the moment he learns that Saburo dies. Knowing the conditions of his return is the same as knowing that he was still alive, more or less.

"If I have to go get it, who should I bring the chip to?" He asked, just to be sure.

Saburo sipped his tea for a moment. "Either Hanako or Goro. Attempt to get it to Hanako if you can. If neither is available, I'll entrust it to you. Do not tell Yorinobu that you have my soul until after I have been revived."

He nodded in confirmation.

Saburo was about to speak again, but then V3 finally spoke up. "Arasaka-sama.". She didn't elaborate further.

He turned to her and nodded, slowly standing up. Seems like he told her to keep his schedule too. He began to walk, and like a proper bodyguard he followed, opening the door for him and letting V3 (Rin was it?) walk through too.

"As you know, the Jorogumo line had to be put on hold with their original purpose. The looming war makes their usage untenable as suspicions build. Instead their line will be repurposed into the Tsukumogami line. A mass-production model of cyberforms that will be subsidized and sold cheaply. Their primary use will be household chores."

"Ultimate loyalty to Arasaka I'm assuming."

"You assume correctly. Naturally, the populace will not be informed of such, and as that information will be stored in their biosystems, it will be impossible to glean through Netrunning. In another decade Arasaka will have a direct monitor in every household that has need of an attractive gynoid to help around the household."

"What do you want me to do?" He asked, the old man wouldn't bring this up out of nowhere to him after all.

"One of their variants will be combat models to assist high-quality warriors, the Kosho-class. You have one such prototype now serving you. You are to devise a two-year training regime to bring her up to acceptable levels of combat, that will be the basis for the training course for the future model type."

He grunted. "Why not just use my memories to train them?"

Saburo slowed his pace a tad, and turned to look at him. "You have no qualms about your hard earned skills being distributed so easily?" That was a strange question as he was company property, but the old man was sentimental like that.

"Planning on asking you to turn them all into some BDs for the brat. I promised them if he managed to win that tournament going on back in NC."

Saburo got a contemplative look in his eye and nodded. "I will arrange it. They will be used to train the Kosho-class instead."

He nodded, and Saburo started walking again. After a moment they reached the entrance of the compound where a black limo-AV was waiting for them. Saburo didn't move, but instead nodded at him.

"This will take you to a festival. I have arranged for you to sing alongside one of the musical groups Arasaka has invested in. You will perform to the best of your abilities."

That was an order, his contract could feel it. He stared at the AV for a moment, before mechanically turning his head to the Old Man. Foxy bastard's face was unchanged, but his eyes twinkled in amusement.

He grumbled as he stepped into the almost-too-small AV. This was fucking bullshit. Fucking old man dropping this shit on him.

He was flown away as Saburo turned and headed back into the compound, one hand on his cane, the other behind his back.

'Do his best'.

Fucking hell.

—

When the old man told him that he was going to sing with a musical group, he was expecting an older sort. Maybe one of those old-timer bands that he would fit right into with age alone, with a bunch of old japanese men who would also sing old japanese songs. It would have been easy to deal with, relatively speaking.

He was not expecting this.

"So.. uh… umu." The girl in the frilly dress continued to stutter in front of him. She was dressed in a lot of pink, red, and whites. Looking at the two girls who were half hidden behind her, he could tell that they were color-coordinated to some degree, Pink with white hair and fair skin, Red with white hair and tanned skin, and purple with black hair and fair skin. The woman to the side of them all dressed in a black three-piece suit and an opti-shield, was their manager. She too was looking a bit nervous, but that nervousness was quickly being replaced by what seemed like mild aggravation judging from how she was pinching the bridge of her nose listening to the girl in pink stutter.

It was a fucking idol group. The Old Man wanted him to sing with a fucking idol group. Old bastard was probably laughing his wrinkled ass off right now about his misfortune. The girls were sheltered little meatbags, no wonder they were fucking quivering right now. How fucking annoying.

He glared down for a moment, before turning to the manager. "When is the event?" He rumbled out. She flinched a bit, and all three of the tiny idols also flinched back. The manager regained her composure quickly and replied.

"Ah… six hours before it starts. It will last for one hour and practice for what songs will be sung is important…" She trailed off, turning her gaze away from his glare.

He huffed in slight frustration and turned his gaze back towards the idols, who flinched again. Fucking terrified little meatbags are going to sabotage this entire lousy affair. He turned his glare to the ceiling for a moment, lamenting the path his life had taken.

"I should have never picked up the guitar." He walked over to the instruments, past the girls, and picked up the first guitar that didn't have glitter and shit on it. Plugging in his interface cable to the end of it, he strummed it once. "Fucking live show bullshit. Fucking meatbags."

Needless to say, he was not happy.

"Umu… do you not like making music..?" The girl in pink managed to speak up. He didn't bother to look at her as he replied.

"Music is a hobby. Having to put up with bags of literal shit made out of meat is the annoying part."

He strummed once, twice, and got into the rhythm of making slight adjustments to the tensile strength of each string through the interface cable again. It had been years since he had touched one of these things. After a few long moments of shaking off the rust of a few decades, he glanced over his shoulders to look at the trio of girls who were around half his height.

They flinched as he turned around. He ignored it, barrelling through any nervousness they might have with the task at hand.

"What do you want me to do?" He asked, fully content to not make any decisions here. That way he didn't have to try as hard.

The pink one blinked. "Ah… You want us to decide?" They apparently hadn't been expecting this. Shame for them, he wasn't going to do jackshit of the actual hard work of deciding marketing bullshit. He was ordered to perform, and that's all he was going to do.

"Your event, isn't it meatgirls? Tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it."

The pink one stared for a moment, before straightening up and pounding a fist into an open palm. She gulped and asked "H-how fast can you learn a new song? Are you only good with guitar?"

"Play it, and yes."

She pulled a tablet out from the manager's hands and boldly stepped forwards to stand next to him. She tapped several times before holding the screen up as high as she could so he could see the music-sheet she had pulled up.

Pressing the play button, the speakers around the room began playing some japanese pop-song he didn't know. The lyrics eventually came over the speakers with what he assumed to be the voice of the purple one singing.

"Everytime I think of you

I feel a shot right through within a bolt of blue

It's no problem of mine

But it's a problem I find

Living a life I can't leave behind."

Music was ultimately just memorization and reflexes. Play the right notes at the right time. His memory was cybernetically perfect, and his reflexes second to none. Needless to say, he only had a handful of errors the first time he tried playing it, and none the second time.

The idols very quickly started rambling excitedly about what songs they were going to play, and got to practicing.

Seven more hours Adam, then you can be done with this shit.

"H-hey! Do you have any songs you haven't released yet?" The red one asked, and he nodded before thinking. He then groaned as they started badgering him for sheet music.

Uriel, you fucker, you got him into this mess, now you were going to help him out.

'I'll do my best.' Uriel begrudged

—

"Alright!" Pink yelled into a microphone.

"ALRIGHT!!!" A crowd of thousands yelled back, lights in the crowd flashing this and that way, most of them wearing virtuality goggles, glasses, or optics.

The reason why? Modern day idol performances were partially in Virtuality these days, both singing in person but with visuals and whatnot also accompanying them in the Netspace around them.

A decent performance enhancer, Uriel took notes for ideas on how to improve the Arena.

"Now before we begin! We have a special guest for this night's performance!" Pink announced.

"Manager-san asked us if we wanted to have him on, and while he's pretty scary, it sounded fun!" Red spoke into her mic.

"Turns out, he's a bit of a softie after all!" Purple gave a faux-giggle into her mic. That was his que.

"Oi Oi, What the hell do you think you're saying?" He announced, the curtain rising up from around him after his (really Adam's) voice boomed out over the crowd.

The crowd that was stunned silent for a moment, before beginning to build up into an uproar once more. Adam internally groaned from within his body. He was supposed to be met with fear and shock, not this… whatever this was. Uriel gave him the mental equivalent of a shrug and continued to play up his part.

What part was that?

Tsundere Yankee.

He was having a little fun with it, to be frank.

Shame that he was going to have to sing in front of a crowd now.

"Eep!" Purple gave a comical jump and moved to hide behind Red, who put her hands on her hips and laughed.

"Listen up you meatbags!" He announced to the crowd. "I'm here because I was told to be, got it! I don't like a single one of you! The sooner this is done the sooner I can get back to fighting!"

"He's saying he has stage-fright." Pink gave a pretend whisper through her mic.

"Like hell I do!" He immediately countered.

Red pointed at him and made little devil horns with her fingers, which was apparently slang for being a liar. The crowd cheered, Adam grumbled.

"Alright! Let's not make him too grumpy!" Pink announced to the joy of the crowd. "One! Two! Three!"

The first song began, thankfully he wasn't singing this one. That would come later.

Adam took over the arms, and focused on playing.

The best of his abilities.

Fucking hell Old Man. This was a waste of his time. Use him to kill stuff, not this shit.

—

Adam Smasher revealed 2 new songs in the "Prismatic Idol Group 2077 January Tokyo Festival". According to insider sources, he was asked by the girls if he had any love songs, which explains the content of the two new singles. One of these songs was a remake/cover of a city pop classic 'Plastic love', the title of which was revealed in the Prisma Jan-Tokyo-77 album release to be 'Something About Plastic Love.'

The second song is believed to be an original, or at the very least, a cover of a song that we no longer have records for. The title was revealed in the same album release to be "Baka Mitai" ('I've been a fool." Is the currently most commonly accepted translation).

The addition of Adam Smasher to their performance would go on to prove a successful idea in the long term, as sales of the album spiked well beyond what was projected for their previous releases.