Chapter 41: Heart-to-Heart

John asked casually, "Can you tell me anything about this gig of ours? Well, if it involves any trade secrets... just pretend I never asked."

Eden poured a cup of coffee at the self-service bar, maintaining a blank expression as he replied indifferently, "Plato is collaborating with Gaia Cells on a massive project. Internally, they're calling it a groundbreaking, epoch-making technology."

He always spoke of corporations with utter contempt, as if harboring a deep disdain for the megacorps.

"The cyberpsycho attack on the warehouse a couple of days ago wasn't just a simple robbery. That out-of-control lunatic was connected to this technology. Right now, both Plato and Gaia Cells are trying to recover the stolen goods and silence anyone involved."

"It's that serious?"

"You know how Haven has close ties with the SAT (Special Event Handling Action Team)? That cyberpsycho's corpse was autopsied, and a bunch of unregistered implants were dug out. Both companies are meddling behind the scenes, and they've requested the return of the body more than once. That sample seems vital to them."

Eden only shared this much because he believed John knew how to keep his mouth shut.

"The person I'm trading with is named Bismarck. On the surface, he's a Plato technical department supervisor; underneath, he's essentially a high-functioning corporate cyberpsycho."

Eden looked straight at John and said earnestly, "Don't go provoking him lightly."

Yet, rather than Bismarck, he was more curious as to why John was so reluctant to undergo upgrade surgery at Haven.

"Our military surgeon has seen action twice. Just between us, even a few political celebrities pay top dollar to have him perform procedures."

John, however, shook his head and said, "It's not about his skill... It's, well, a psychological thing. I almost had my organs harvested by a doctor once, so now I've got a bit of a complex about unfamiliar operating rooms. I've got a doctor I'm used to."

Eden didn't press the matter further and remarked, "Fair enough. Finding a doc you can actually trust in Eden City is luckier than winning the dead-man's lottery on the local network. Take care of yourself; I'll notify you in advance the next time there's a job."

[Quest: Roadblock (Completed)]
[Rewards: Alloy Skeleton, Suresh CQC v7.5 (Chip), Raiki Industries - Ronin (Chip)]

John stepped out of the corporation building.

The morning sky was glaringly bright.

He had simply been wandering around Bolago last night, never expecting Eden to rope him into a gig.

Since this place shared the same skyline as the East District commercial street, John unusually decided to leave his Silver Knight behind, opting instead to ride an air-cab traversing the transit rails high above the city streets.

Sunlight streamed through the carriage windows.

John held his duffel bag by one strap over his shoulder, gripping a handrail and swaying alongside the morning rush-hour passengers, when a prompt suddenly flashed across his vision.

[Scan detected, no intrusion signs.]

He naturally let out a yawn, switched the arm he was using to hold the handrail, and glanced left and right, spotting a few shady-looking petty crooks.

These days, eyeballs equipped with thermal and X-ray vision were commonplace, making it easy to discern the contents of John’s bag.

Conversely, someone like John—carrying high-end cyberware on his back while riding public transit—stood out like a sore thumb, acting essentially like someone dropping cash on the highway and expecting nobody to pick it up.

John just smiled at them.

The young men averted their eyes.

The anticipated conflict never materialized. He reached the East District underground market without a single mishap—which made sense, really. Anyone who managed to survive on the streets possessed situational awareness, and outward displays of wealth usually meant only two things...

You were either a fool, or someone you couldn't afford to cross.

John located the doctor, dumped the alloy arm on the counter, grabbed a bottle of brandy from the desktop, and lay down on the surgical chair to wait.

Ryan Randall donned his auxiliary equipment, making small talk as he began swapping out the cybernetic limb.

The atmosphere could hardly be called cozy, and the equipment and environment were worlds apart from Haven.

Yet, it radiated a comforting sense of familiarity. Once the neural pain blocker kicked in, it almost made him sleepy.

Replacing the arm required cutting through the original synthetic skin, navigating around nerves and blood vessels, and hooking it back into the central nervous system, making the whole procedure rather bloody.

Yet in the cyber-era, it was just a minor operation.

How many people in Eden City could actually afford the prices charged by official, regulated institutions? Street-corner ripperdocs were already the best option available.

Things could be far worse...

Ghouls, outcasts, and unscrupulous black-market dealers would perform similar surgeries right down in wastewater-dripping sewers.

"Full of worries, kid? Haven't your gigs been going smoothly lately?"

"Doc, can I trust you?" John asked earnestly. "I really need someone I can have a genuine chat with right now."

"Back when I worked at the Nocturne Bar, I heard lines like that all the time. Of course, they weren't directed at me. And those conversations that started with 'heart-to-heart' invariably ended up rolling into bed."

"Go fuck yourself!"

"You've got plenty of spirit when you're talking trash."

Ryan maintained his usual decadent, laid-back attitude. This bald, chubby middle-aged man seemed to have lost all his drive, though heaven only knew what he had been through.

"Remember the night you saved me?"

He laid his cards straight on the table with John.

"Your data cable linked directly into the clinic's system. To be honest, I don't know what kind of methods you used, but this clinic was practically hacked by you—just like down at the Nocturne, right?"

John averted his gaze, feeling a slight pang of guilt.

[Clinic Central Control System (Hacked)]

He couldn't control the Blacklight, but the doctor was speaking the truth.

Ryan sighed, "You only hacked the system, you didn't pull any other shady stunts, and you always paid your clinic fees reliably."

"Sorry, Doc. I can't explain it."

"No need to explain. I've seen too much to sweat the small stuff. The system scanned you three or four times and didn't pick up a single anomaly; unless you confess it yourself, I can't pin it down anyway. What's the point of worrying?"

Ryan Randall unstrapped his auxiliary robotic arms and snatched John's brandy bottle, taking a long, heavy gulp straight from it.

"In a sense, my entire livelihood is in your hands. I just hope you don't turn into some lowlife street scum down the road, otherwise I'd have to pack up my things and run for my life yet again."

The doctor sighed.

"So don't come crying to me about secrets, futures, and troubles... To be honest, I couldn't give a damn. But in this world, only those who truly don't care are able to open up."

The surgery was nearing its final stages, leaving the rest to the automated mechanical arms.

"The Nocturne taught me one lesson: opening your heart in Eden City either means someone's after your body, or they're after your life. After seeing so much betrayal, I've started feeling like flesh-and-blood transactions are the only pure love left out there."

"Thanks for the warning."

John slumped back into the surgical chair in relaxation, letting the mechanical arms slice and stitch up his arm.

Taking advantage of the downtime, he recounted the recent events to the doctor, including the earlier transport mishap at Iron Rod Logistics.

However, as he began to speak...

John abruptly realized he couldn't recall many details of his final run driving for Iron Rod Logistics. All he remembered was a very mundane drive, a robbery, a massive explosion, a firefight, a string of deaths, and waking up in a hospital only to find himself kicked out of the corporation.

After listening, Ryan just shrugged.

"Alright, take it for a spin."

He genuinely didn't care, cutting off the conversation, moving the equipment away, and instructing, "Need me to recommend a suitable built-in chip? Good hardware means nothing if your software can't keep up. Street punks install combat chips just to pose with butterfly knives, but this new arm of yours can do a lot more."

John produced the goodies Eden had provided.

The doctor picked up the chips from the desk, plugging them into the console one by one—regardless of where a chip came from, it had to run through the scanner first to ensure it was clean before letting it anywhere near your own neck.

"John, I don't know what tricks you're pulling, but those cyberpsycho symptoms from last time could genuinely get you killed. You've got to be careful. If you actually go full psycho and make the news, Eden will call up his buddies on the Special Event Handling Team and blow you to smithereens."

The chips checked out. They were clean.

There was another reason John preferred not to upgrade at Haven—the Blacklight would inevitably interfere with anything physically connected to him.

He picked up one of the chips and jammed it into the port at the back of his neck.

[Data loading, download complete.]

Chips were the ultimate hallmark of the cyber-era.

They compressed mastery and skills into tiny pieces of hardware through advanced technology, allowing greenhorns to plug in and instantly transform into kung-fu superstars capable of executing flawless spinning kicks.

Human uniqueness was being systematically eroded, turning raw talent and years of grueling training into nothing more than reproducible, downloadable data.