043: Involuntary Labor

The alloy RCH tore into Danny Street.

It vaulted over the slope, slammed heavily onto the ground, and a long, sharp screech of friction echoed through the parking garage.

Surveillance cameras swiveled in unison.

Every security guard in the subterranean garage was watching him. A client walking down from the club was nearly sent flying by the speeding motorcycle, creating chaos all around.

A man sitting on the hood of a luxury car, fondling a hot girl, cursed loudly after being rudely interrupted.

"What the hell! Are you hammered?"

"Watch where you're going, you fucking idiot!"

...

Alloy door A31 slid open.

John tumbled off the bike and retched up sour bile.

The robotic arm overhead began to move, washing the blood off the motorcycle and replenishing its fuel according to the service package John had purchased...

There were cameras in the garage too, but relying on his last shred of sanity to avoid exposing his secrets, John grabbed the water hose and doused his head.

The ice-cold solution, mixed with cleaning agents, poured into his body armor, soaking his shirt and jacket entirely.

John's body temperature was soaring alarmingly.

He didn't remember how he took the elevator or navigated the corridor; it felt like a blur of all sorts of people flashed before his eyes until he collapsed onto the living room floor.

Making sure the surrounding area was secure, John pulled out a special inhibitor and jammed it into his neck.

[Redundant data purging. Calibration complete.]

"Hiss, damn it!"

John arched his back as if he had just been injected with adrenaline.

The horrifying hallucinations rapidly receded from his vision.

He was like a drowning man breaking the surface of the water.

The imagery of dismembering the thugs kept flashing in his mind, and the tactile sensation of the alloy blade slicing through flesh disgusted him.

John stood beneath the showerhead.

The water cascade was turned to maximum.

Swish, swish, swish—

He panted, washing away the bloodstains, wiping the steam from the mirror to lock eyes with himself.

Please tell me you're not a freak... right?

The man in the mirror offered no answer.

The washing machine tumbled dirty clothes, free blues downloaded from the radio played from the speakers, and the pillar projector remained in standby mode, cyclically casting product advertisements from various corporations.

It was raining in Eden City, and the downpour was intensifying.

John lay on a bed outfitted with soft blankets and thickened padding, resting his newly replaced alloy arm behind his head, and fell into a deep sleep.

The night radio broadcast began to go live.

[Wiggle that ass, junkie, time to wake up. This is your favorite Roy, open your eyes and take a look at this damn city...]

***

John retrieved his dried clothes.

His mental state had recovered significantly, and his thoughts were no longer chaotic. After a moment of hesitation, he reluctantly brought up his contacts and sent a message to Necktie.

The coffee maker emitted a series of beeps.

John received a call just as he picked up his cup.

[Necktie: Good evening, John. What do you want employee information from Ironbound Logistics for?]

"Is it necessary to dig to the root of everything?"

[Of course not. Fixers understand confidentiality best, but you aren't my client, John. I only service those idiots pulling top-dollar salaries in the skyscrapers, and you—you're a smart guy.]

"Heh, nicely said. So you're not willing to take my business?"

[Business takes many forms. Stealing corporate data consumes a mountain of personal favors, and you need to smooth over numerous nodes so you don't have to look over your shoulder afterward.]

"Name your price."

[You can't afford it...]

Necktie sighed and patiently explained.

[No offense, and don't hang up just yet. Put yourself in my shoes: I could use those connections to rake in a massive pile of cash, hold onto all sorts of juicy dirt, or even save my life in a critical moment. Just how much profit would I have to squeeze out of you to make that worthwhile?]

"Sorry to bother you then. You could have just replied to my text instead of wasting time making a call."

[Don't be so hasty, John. I've realized you harbor some strange prejudice against me. Explaining the stakes clearly benefits both of us, and me making this call means I'm willing to help.]

"What do you mean?"

[I don't want to make money off you; I'd rather lean toward a win-win partnership... I'll need some time to get what you're looking for, and in the meantime, you handle a few troublesome chores for me. Don't worry, payment is extra. I never shortchange anyone.]

John couldn't think of a better way for the moment. Truth be told, he had only called to ask for a price, but with his recent spending spree, he simply didn't have the cash to spare.

"Fine. Any jobs right now?"

[As a matter of fact, yes. I have a client who ordered something from the Outcasts. I'll send the coordinates to your end later. Help me bring it back alive.]

"Alive? What the hell..."

[You'll find out, little cutie. The specifics will be delivered downstairs shortly.]

Necktie's tone was playful—he was definitely up to no good. With a couple of chuckles, he hung up the phone.

The Cabinet had once mentioned:

Necktie was a fixer maneuvering among corporate management. Pulling off a task like getting employee records was neither overwhelmingly huge nor trivial, but seeking him out was the most reliable and cost-effective route.

John couldn't think of any other avenues for now.

[Mission Objective Updated]

[Before Necktie acquires the information, help him handle his employer's troublesome chore. (Pending)]

A prompt popped up in front of John's eyes.

This was the first time the main quest's progress had updated, indicating that he was finally taking steps in a certain direction, and implicitly suggesting that Necktie might actually be able to acquire what he wanted.

John stood up, dressed in his gear, and selected his weapons.

He had been using the Zebra GUB tech rifle lately, but picking up the fully customized Alligator after such a long time felt much more comfortable. Perhaps the increased strength of his arm had improved his mastery over kinetic weapons.

There was also another crucial factor—electromagnetic rounds were a bit expensive, and since he was broke right now, he needed to save where he could and spend where he must.

***

John tidied up and went downstairs to grab some food.

Stepping out of the elevator, he saw a girl smoking by the pilot-pilot pilasters, her chin jutting out with a mocking smile as she looked at him.

"Tough guy, did you sleep off the booze or wear off the meds?"

"You looked one hell of a lot majestic when you came back yesterday."

A bunch of Black Gold Gang thugs were clustered together lifting weights, next to a boombox playing rap music. The leading squad leader made a hand gesture toward him.

"Yo, bro, last night you smashed off the rear wing of some big shot's sports car in the VIP zone and scared the crap out of his chick."

John stared in utter bewilderment. "Fuck, I did that?"

"The surveillance footage is crystal clear, man... That dumbass put the word out that he's gonna waste you, but Mr. Vito stepped in and smoothed things over for you."

"I'll go thank him in person once I'm done with my current business."

"Mmhmm. Watch your dosage, don't OD and crash into a wall on the road."

"Thanks, pal."

John stepped closer to bump fists and shoulders with him—having spent so much time on Black Gold Gang turf lately, he had picked up a few greeting techniques.

He hadn't expected to experience memory blackouts from his episodes last night. It was probably memory confusion triggered by intense emotional stimulation.

[Danny Street - Food Plaza]

In the cyberpunk era, the focus of the agrarian economy had shifted toward fuel, with coarse-milled sustenance and synthetic foods dominating the civilian market.

Even though what went into their mouths tasted roughly like sawdust, the undercity populace still wrung out every ounce of creativity to satisfy their palates.

John sat before a street-side stall, his back to the advertising projections.

He squashed the last half of a sweet-sauce burger into a ball, shoved it into his mouth, washed it down with half a gulp of functional energy drink, and headed toward the underground garage.

A package sat in front of the A31 pillar marker.

John picked up the item, walked into his private garage, and stood before the LED-ringed metal table to dump out the contents.

Four heavy blocks wrapped in butcher paper rolled out.

[Item: Mixed Fresh Meat]

[Weight: 20kg*4]

[Manufacturer: Kelen Kancibi Ranch]

John looked at the items before him with a mix of novelty and confusion—on average, residents of Eden City only tasted fresh meat once or twice a year.

A funding card was tucked inside the package as well.

Necktie's mission call came through right at that moment.

[John, did you get the goods?]

"Since you can have someone drop packages right at my doorstep, why couldn't you just take the money and go trade with the Outcasts yourself?"

John was exceptionally guarded against Necktie.

"Lay everything out clearly. I have no intention of playing the sucker."