029: Bullet
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Vito had arranged to meet at the club that evening.
John ended the call and decided to spend the day sorting through his spoils, so he turned his attention back to the computer screen.
Displayed there was information on firearms trading in Eden City.
Eden City’s public network allowed access to the official websites of weapons dealers, but those pages were mainly intended to provide product information.
To expand sales of their new products, the companies published certain specifications. But when you actually clicked on “Purchase,” you would find that all factory components were listed as out of stock. In practice, transactions still had to go through black-market channels or illegal websites.
John frowned and sighed.
A good gun that fit the hand needed upgrades and modifications, but in everyday use, ammunition was what really burned through money.
Holding down the trigger was exhilarating, but the bill afterward could bring tears to your eyes. There were even rumors of idiots who lost money carrying out missions.
Nearly every major figure who had risen from obscurity had mastered the art of manufacturing ammunition. The odds and ends scavenged in daily life finally had somewhere to be put to use.
After thinking for a moment, John called Cabinet.
“Yo, big spender. Glad to see you’re still alive.”
“I’m doing pretty well, just a little busy... It’s not very convenient for me to get back to Oil Drum Street lately. Can you provide delivery service?”
“If you were anyone else, I’d definitely refuse. But you’re John. I heard you went to the West District to make your fortune and thought you’d found someone new. Turns out you still remembered to look after my business.”
Cabinet was still as irreverent as ever.
John could almost picture him sitting in his shop with his legs crossed, counting money, smoking, and listening to music in appallingly bad taste.
“Place your order, sweetheart. Today’s procurement day. What do you want?”
“I want to make ammunition at home.”
“No problem. First, go buy a measuring instrument from a supermarket, record the exact specifications of the workshop, and send them to me. Do you want something high-quality, or will an emergency setup do?”
John glanced at the balance in his account.
“I want the good stuff—the kind that can produce all the common types of ammunition.”
“No problem. Send me the specifications before dark. I’ll deliver it tomorrow around noon, but installation isn’t included. Oh, and I’ll send over the excavation robot you ordered last time while I’m at it. It’s been sitting here for a while.”
“Thanks, buddy. Doing business with you is a pleasure.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such a sweet mouth. Then let me remind you of one more thing: there are plenty of bastards in the West District. The better someone does in Eden City, the sharper they tend to be. Be careful when dealing with them.”
“I just dealt with someone called Tie Clip, a middleman operating on the streets of the West District. Have you heard of him?”
John inserted a magazine and asked casually.
A contemptuous laugh came from the other end of the line.
“A dickless bastard, a typical businessman. Most of the jobs he posts involve corporate middle management. Maybe he organizes regular sex parties—I’ve never received an invitation, so I wouldn’t know. But that guy is devilishly clever. He could split a single dollar into seven pieces.”
“Mm-hmm. I noticed.”
John could not help laughing.
He had made an absolute killing this time.
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“The workbench will take some time. Making bullets is a technical craft; you need to experiment and ease into it gradually. Buy ready-made ammunition for now. Here, I’ll recommend a weapons dealer in the West District. His prices are reasonable, and he carries a wide selection.”
“I’ll take a look.”
“I’ll send you the bill later. And don’t fucking die.”
The coordinates Cabinet had given him were not far away. The destination appeared to be a shop located somewhere inside a commercial street.
John had intended to walk, but since he needed to shop, he drove a Silver Rider 577 out instead.
The streets of the West District were bustling.
Vehicles painted in garish colors were often parked along the roadside. Here and there, gang members lounged arrogantly beside loudspeakers—watching sensory-chip recordings, playing VR games, or working out on industrial-style equipment.
The area controlled by the Black Gold Gang was relatively peaceful.
Illegal transactions within commercial establishments were managed by people specifically assigned to the task. As long as the rent was paid on time, merchants could conduct business without worry.
John passed red-brick walls covered in graffiti and went around a strip club before finding the weapons store deep inside the building.
The place had been converted from an old bank.
The lobby and the other floors had been divided up and repurposed. Half a counter fitted with metal grilles, along with three separate storerooms behind it, made up the new shop.
There was no sign outside, but one glance was enough to tell you what it sold.
The weapons dealer was broad and heavyset. His prosthetic arms were absurdly thick, making the large-caliber shotgun in his hands look about the same size as an ordinary rifle.
Guns hung all over the display panels. Chips sat in their slots, while boxes of ammunition were stacked neatly beneath the counter.
Several gunsmiths could also be seen in the partitioned work areas, rushing to fill orders.
This was, after all, Black Gold Gang territory. The most eye-catching accessories in the shop were all a gleaming yellow.
John found a seat and swiped through an offline terminal. The screen displayed a dazzling array of weapons and ammunition.
In the cybernetic age, prosthetic augmentation had become part of everyday life, and weapons had grown increasingly ubiquitous.
As the danger level continued to rise, people were forced to push defensive technology forward.
For ordinary civilians, it felt like just another day: materials science announced a breakthrough, and then subdermal armor suddenly appeared everywhere.
It was hailed as a revolutionary breakthrough in prosthetic augmentation. Armor could be layered several times over, making cyberpsychos nearly impervious to bullets and blades. It also dealt a tremendous blow to the traditional bulletproof-vest market.
Weapons manufacturers were not to be outdone.
Ammunition evolved into countless specifications with various additional properties. Beyond basic armor penetration, rounds could produce special effects such as electromagnetic interference, incendiary burns, and acid corrosion.
John replenished his supply of standard ammunition, then selected a few other types as well.
He brought everything back, stored some of it in the garage and some in the apartment, loaded his smart rifle, and headed to the club for his appointment.
The Black Gold Gang controlled more than ninety percent of the West District.
Like other gangs with vast spheres of influence, it operated legitimate businesses as well, including chain restaurants, strip clubs, large bars, and vehicle repair plants.
All kinds of illegal trades permeated these establishments—money laundering, human trafficking, the smuggling of stolen vehicles and firearms.
And, of course, there were also gang wars and the plundering of resources.
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Those were the core sources of income that kept the gang alive and allowed it to expand its influence.
[Eden City—Borago Club]
This was the West District’s most famous den of indulgence, where countless celebrities and tycoons came to squander their fortunes in pleasure. The daily turnover was astonishingly high.
The club had been rebuilt from an entire shopping mall.
Besides the usual dancing and revelry, it contained boxing arenas of all sizes and fitness centers. Different areas were open according to a customer’s spending power and membership level.
Borago Club was completely open to the public.
That meant anyone could enter.
Hackers, mercenaries, wanted criminals, ordinary citizens of Eden City, and even members of other gangs could visit the outer fighting halls to watch the action or pump iron on primitive equipment, showing off muscles they had only just injected into existence.
In a sense, after enduring countless years of changing fortunes, the building had ultimately returned to its original nature and purpose, becoming a place for people to while away their time.
John had been invited there.
Isenberg’s supercar passed through the interior road and stopped directly in the VIP area. Compared with the flamboyant luxury vehicles around it, the car even seemed understated.
He passed the sharply dressed guards, skirted the scenes of wine and debauchery, and submitted to an inspection beneath dance-floor lights of every color.
“Scan detected. No signs of hacking.”
John’s firearms were temporarily confiscated. He had barely stepped into the office when a burst of angry shouting came from inside.
A middle-aged boxer sat gloomily beside the desk. When he saw John enter, he fell silent, evidently unwilling to undermine the boss’s dignity.
Vito Russell rolled up his shirt sleeves and gestured for John to sit.
“Right on time. Excellent, John... I made a point of asking around about the work you’ve done in Eden City. Your employers had very high praise for you.”
He poured two glasses of liquor.
“Hopefully this job will go just as smoothly.”
“Come on, Vito. It’s only one job. Someone of your status doesn’t need to flatter me. What exactly am I delivering?”
John picked up his glass and took half a small sip.
He had never modified his digestive system and did not dare drink carelessly outside.
Vito nodded toward the edge of the table.
The boxer lifted a backpack and placed it on the coffee table. He opened it, revealing package after package of tightly packed contraband raw materials.
John stared wide-eyed as he swallowed his drink.
“Fuck. How much of this stuff is there?”