044: Little Darling

[I have a client who loves small animals and wants to expand their collection, but as you know, nowadays any living thing other than cockroaches is a pain to get. Ever since birds started going extinct, most creatures have to be obtained through illegal smuggling channels and then cross-city transport.]

The Tie Clip introduced patiently.

[You've seen how high the risks are outside the city, just look at the Damascus Camp, but you'll have to handle this job solo. Because the person I contacted is their sworn enemy, a smuggling Exile leader named Ironfoot Kumbu. We had a great deal going originally, and the cargo was already brought to the Eden suburbs for me...]

"And?"

John knew there was a twist coming.

[Did you pay attention to that cyberpsycho warehouse bombing in the city the other day?]

"For fuck's sake, why is everyone connected to this damn mess?"

[Heh, this involves a lot of people. That shark-brain Kumbu is deeply entangled in it, and both Plato and Gaia Cell have placed massive bounties on his dog life. So, you get it?]

"You sold him out to the corporations!?"

[I neither confirm nor deny that. Although my deal failed, Kumbu managed to cheat death and pull through. If they didn't finish him off, it's just the corp military being incompetent, and since he survived, he should get down on his knees and thank me.]

"Double-dealing again, right? Absolutely damning. You screw him over this badly, and then turn around and send me to do business with him?"

[Hey, it's not that bad. Kumbu has the cargo and can't use it. Rather than letting it rot in his hands, he might as well look for another buyer to offload it... right?]

John didn't speak.

He even felt like hanging up the phone.

[Don't worry, John, I used an alternate channel to contact the other party. Just don't mention my name during the transaction, who's going to guess? You'll just disguise yourself as another buyer who loves small animals, and safely bring the stuff back into the city.]

A sigh came from the other end of the Tie Clip.

[The cargo is in the hands of Kumbu's lackeys. We've checked, and there are hardly any heavy hitters among them. If push comes to shove, you can just take it by force. Rest assured, no matter what means you use to get the goods, I won't take back the funding card, and the reward will be paid separately.]

The Tie Clip sounded utterly confident, but if anyone actually believed his bullshit, they wouldn't even have their bones left.

He seemed to realize there was something a bit sketchy about this job, so he shifted his tone and spoke with a rather helpless voice.

[I have no choice, John. My client holds immense power and can definitely help you get the wanted list you're looking for.]

"..."

The phone hung up.

[Mission: Little Cutie]

[Reward: Remuneration (Variable)]

John packed up the package, threw it into the passenger seat of the Silver Knight, revved the engine, and drove away from the underground garage on Danny Street.

Gang members were active on the outer ring road.

The patrol frequency of police vehicles was far higher than before, and the crackdown on gangs and exiles was unprecedentedly severe. Those system parasites who usually couldn't even be bothered to care about street racing were now actually intercepting and engaging in firefights on daytime highways—clearly responding to an internal bounty.

John smelled something foul. He had no idea what the corporate dogs were actually worried about.

[Mission objective updated]

[Proceed to the trading location. (Not completed)]

He drove through the checkpoint, left the outer ring road, and sped toward the desolate suburbs outside the city.

The new windshield featured light-sensing adjustment, so there was no need to worry about diffuse reflections burning his eyes.

Yellow soil and gravel brushed against the car's surface from time to time, though the wear-resistant coating meant he didn't have to worry about scratches. A modified ride like this was high-maintenance anyway, and even minor issues could be handled by a maintenance package.

[Eden City Suburbs - Ferti National Highway (Old)]

In the distance, John spotted an abandoned industrial plant:

Old-fashioned hardened greenhouses wrapped around the old warehouse. All equipment was powered down, the metal frameworks and leftover debris had been completely scavenged, not a single pane of yellowish glass remained intact, and burn marks and living debris were scattered everywhere.

The Silver Knight turned off the main road.

The tires crunched against the gravel road, cutting through a puddle-filled path in the middle of the factory grounds.

Two armed figures emerged from the compound wall.

They brandished kinetic rifles, wearing leather coats and shirtless torsos, with sexually suggestive patterns and meaningless character words tattooed across their chests.

[Faction: Exiles (Ironfoot Kumbu)]

The lookouts began firing warning shots to signal him.

John was neither a lost wanderer nor some playboy who came to the badlands to shoot off rounds.

He ignored the gunfire and continued driving inward.

Abandoned containers sat next to piles of sand, the boundary wall was shattered, and wooden frames were used to bridge a path over the flowing puddles, where a bunch of people seemed to be gathered.

A bulky van blocked the middle of the road.

There was a half-burned fabric sofa, surrounded by various dismantled wooden fragments.

The moment John stepped out of the car, he immediately felt several gazes on him.

A bunch of exiles emerged from all directions. Their hairstyles were eccentric, their cyberware integration rate was relatively high, and their weapons were mostly combat saws and Kammer brands, predominantly submachine guns.

[Mission objective updated]

[Acquire the trading cargo. (Not completed)]

As John picked up the package and stepped away from the car door, a mission prompt popped up before his eyes, accompanied by at least three gun barrels aimed right at his face.

He suppressed the urge to draw the Gambler and his kinetic rifle.

The lead exile stepped forward, sizing John up and asking, "Are you Nazmi Eisenach?"

John's cheek twitched twice.

These exiles were just like he thought—how could anyone have such a weird name?

"None of your business. Just hand it over as long as you get paid."

"Bring it."

The exile tilted his head.

His lower jaw had been replaced by an implant with an integrated filter, which explained why his voice sounded muffled as if trapped in sand.

John stared at him. "Where's the stuff?"

"Pay first. We've been screwed over once already."

The exile looked displeased. He had no eyebrows, and his gaze resembled that of a vulture.

[Trade with the Exiles. (Optional)]

[Eliminate the Exiles 0/15. (Optional)]

"What's that got to do with me? That's not how business is done. Fork over the goods, or let it rot right here in this wasteland alongside your corpse."

Swish, swish, swish—

The sound of weapons being raised echoed around them.

Yet John closed in on that lackey, staring down directly into his eyes.

Besides intimidation, it was also a tactical move.

His CQC chip contained a close-quarters human shield combat technique; if a fight broke out, this guy would serve as his meat shield while he drew his gun and fired.

The other man flinched, flicking his chin to signal the others to lower their weapons.

John followed him to the van, yanked open the rear hatch, and saw a giant glass tank crammed to the brim.

Turbid liquid was churned up, with floating algae and various debris drifting back and forth, when suddenly a massive, toothy maw slammed against the glass right in front of his face!

Bang!

The entire van shook.

"WTF?"

John's hand was already resting on his grip. "You call this a fucking little cutie?!"

"What... what kind of thing?"

The lead exile cast a disgusted glance at John. "This thing weighs over four hundred pounds! What part of it is cute? We even had to use special anesthetics just to stuff it into this glass tank. See those fingers floating in the water? Talk to me—what are you planning to buy this back to do with it?"

"Boil it and eat it."

"Fuck you, where's the money!?"

The exiles were truly out of patience.

Their squad all looked gaunt and malnourished, clearly having taken a severe beating during the previous transaction.

Several junkies unconsciously rubbed their necks.