Qiao started smoking again.
John had probably already guessed the content of the task.
"Do you have any leads? Anything at all."
"Just a nickna, Canned, used to hang around the West District, but hasn’t been seen for a while—might be dead. The West District is Black Gold Gang territory, but the camp has a competitive relationship with the Eden City gangs."
"I checked after I left Damascus Camp, but the Black Gold Gang’s Speakers have already changed."
"For a long ti, whenever I saw or heard about soone dealing in underage Super Sensing Chips, I’d tremble all over."
Qiao shook his head with a bitter smile.
"That’s all I know."
"That’s enough."
John got up to say goodbye and left.
He didn’t offer any guarantees or even reveal his purpose for this trip, after all, the follow-up requirents were unclear. What if he couldn’t free the person involved from their nightmares?
Qiao called out to him.
"Hey, John, who is it really... fuck it, I’ll just say it, is it Nando?"
John hesitated for a mont before asking back.
"If it is, would you be willing to return to the Damascus Camp?"
"Heh."
Qiao waved his hand.
[New contact created - Qiao]
John drove back to the West District.
[Task objective updated]
[Inquire about Canned-related information. (Incomplete)]
He called Jilead midway, then briefly explained the situation.
The events took place when Bone Shards controlled the streets.
Back then, the Black Gold Gang was violent and chaotic, and finding soone with an outdated nickna was much harder than imagined.
Luckily, Jilead had a good relationship with John.
Using his local advantage, Jilead thought for a long ti and finally sent over a shop address in a comrcial district, telling John to ask an old-tir there.
[Shop - Sensitive Scale (Tattoos, Glowing Implants, etc.)]
John rode his motorcycle through the bustling area.
He saw an about-to-fade photo wedged in a crate’s corner, with only half of the neon lights still glowing.
The owner, holding a bottle, reeked of a peculiar sll.
Once John confird he was still alive, he went up to chat. The conversation was inefficient, so he couldn’t help but fetch a sobering agent from a nearby vending machine.
The owner drooled as he sat up.
Bones crackled.
"Fuck your mother, who are you, a Ghoul or sothing? You fucking jabbed with a needle, what’s inside, STD-laden blood or a sedative, are you out for social revenge, you piece of..."
"My na’s John, Jilead sent ."
The owner’s expression paused for a mont.
He seed to shake off his groggy state and began overclocking his rusty, sluggish mind.
[Street reputation increased↑]
[Black market has unlocked more goods and services.]
"Ah, I’ve heard of you... co, sit down."
The owner rubbed his mouth.
"You’re really too clean-looking. You don’t appear to be soone of significance on the street. Let recomnd so very rare designs to you, fluorescent ones too. A few years back, the annual boxing champ ca here to get one done, an English abbreviation above his lower back..."
[Task objective updated]
[Obtain intelligence from the owner. (Incomplete)]
He seed to get into the groove of chatting.
"Sit down, John, let share so gossip with you. He publicly claid it was a lucky letter, but it was actually his boyfriend’s initials. Who would’ve thought the rough guy who knocked out the runner-up in just three punches was actually the bottom?"
"Hey, wait a minute!"
Wanting to save ti, John proactively transferred so money.
The smile on the owner’s face beca more pronounced.
John ntioned the nickna Canned and described the specific ti and situation.
The owner said that nicknas often overlap.
But then he changed his tone.
"Canned might be slang."
"Hmm?"
"When Eden City gangs battled for territory, Canned beca a popular term at the docks because the additives Enterprise used in the canned goods were too much, linking it to drug worship."
"Can this knowledge help find soone?"
John paid hoping to see results.
The owner introduced with a professional yet opportunistic expression.
"This is Eden City, friend. On Black Gold Gang territory, every graffiti pattern has a aning, tattoos are no exception. Canned Worship gave birth to a series of tattoo styles, which were very popular in the ’50s."
"Can you find them?"
"Fuck, do you take for a census worker, or soone at ECPD in charge of resident files?"
Though the owner wanted to lose his temper, he was patient, thanks to the money, in explaining to John.
"People who roam the streets have short lives, most are dead by now. Anyone you still see involved with Canned Worship probably isn’t carrying a gun anymore and has turned to safer businesses."
He slumped down on the stool, continuing to drink while muttering about the custors he could recall.
John was planning to call Jilead again.
The worst outco might be bothering Mr. Vito.
He learned from Oulos that by troubling others, you’re actually building relationships.
"...That fat guy never slimd down, the tattoo’s on his right shoulder..."
"What did you say?"
John suddenly turned around.
"Uh, you an the gambler Sangbu?"
The tattoo parlor owner was recalling custor information. After all, it’s easy to beco sensitive to patterns in this line of work.
He described the appearance characteristics again.
John, in a flashback of mory, had seen the figure of the perpetrator and felt there’s a strong likelihood it matched.
[Negotiate with Sangbu. (Incomplete)]
John rode his motorcycle to the residential area north of the West District.
This place was mostly ho to heavy industries, with cheap housing cramd full of society’s underbelly of druggies and gamblers.
Jilead was a small brother.
Reviews
All reviews (0)