Vito had arranged a eting at the club for the evening.
John hung up the phone and decided to use the dayti to sort through the spoils, refocusing his attention on the computer screen.
The screen showed firearm transaction information for Eden City.
The public network of Eden City allowed access to weapon dealers’ official websites, but these pages were primarily for product information.
To expand new product sales, companies would publish so paraters, but upon clicking to purchase, the original parts would appear as sold out. In reality, transactions still had to be made through black market channels or illegal websites.
John frowned and sighed.
A quality gun needs upgrades and modifications, but in everyday life, ammo is the most costly part.
Holding down the trigger feels great, but settling the bill afterwards can be a heartbreaker. Rumor has it that so fools even end up losing money on their assignnts.
Every bigshot who rose from the ashes basically mastered the skill of ammo making, with everyday scavenged scraps finding a place to be consud.
John pondered for a mont and called a vendor.
[Hey there, big custor, glad to see you’re still alive.]
"Living quite comfortably, just a bit busy... I can’t easily return to Oil Drum Street lately. Can you provide delivery service?"
[I’d definitely refuse anyone else, but since it’s you, John, I heard you’re making a fortune in the West District, thought you found soone else, yet you still rember taking care of my business.]
The vendor’s words were still unreliable.
John could even imagine him counting money with his legs crossed, sitting in the shop, smoking while playing music with terrible taste.
[Order away, sweetheart. It’s buying day. What do you want?]
"I want to make ammo at ho myself."
[No problem, first go to the supermarket and buy a asuring instrunt, record specific paraters for the tool room, and send them to . Do you want quality or just for ergency use?]
John glanced at his account balance.
"Quality stuff, sothing that can produce common ammo types."
[No problem. Send the paraters before dark, and I’ll deliver by noon tomorrow, but won’t install it. Oh, by the way, I’ll also send over the ground drilling robot you ordered last ti, it’s been stored here for a while.]
"Thanks, buddy, doing business with you is always nice."
[Tsk tsk tsk, sweet mouth. Let remind you, West District has quite a few punks. The better soone does in Eden City, the sharper they are. Be careful dealing with them.]
"I recently dealt with soone called Tie Clip, a middleman on the West District streets. Heard of him?"
John inserted the magazine and asked casually.
A disdainful laugh ca from the vendor on the other end of the line.
[A worthless punk, typical businessman. The tasks he sends out are basically related to corporate middle managent, possibly organizing regular orgies. Never received an invitation, not sure about it, but he’s a crafty one, able to split a dollar into seven.]
"Mm-hmm, I’ve seen it firsthand."
John couldn’t help but laugh.
He made quite a fortune on this trip anyway.
[The workbench will take so ti. Crafting ammo is skilled work, needing gradual attempts and transitions. Go buy ready-made ammo for now. I’ll recomnd you a weapons vendor in the West District, reasonable prices, diverse categories.]
"I’ll check it out."
[I’ll send the bill later, make sure you don’t f*cking die.]
The coordinates given by the vendor weren’t far, it seed to be a shop inside the comrcial street.
John originally planned to walk, but considering he’d be shopping, he drove a Silver Rider 577 out.
The West District streets were bustling.
Colorful cars often parked in the streets, with gang mbers sitting cockily next to the speakers—watching Super Sensing Chip, playing VR gas, or working out on industrial styled equipnt.
The Black Gold Gang’s territory was relatively stable.
Illegal transactions inside business premises were managed by dedicated personnel, paying rent on ti ensured steady business operations.
John passed by graffitied red brick walls, bypassed the exotic dance club, and found the weapons shop deep within the building.
This place was renovated from an old bank.
The hall and other floors were subdivided and reallocated, a half counter with tal bars and three independent warehouses behind ford a new storefront.
There was no sign at the door, but one look and you knew what was sold here.
The weapon shop owner was burly, with cybernetic arms so thick they made the large caliber shotgun in his hand resemble a normal-sized rifle.
Shaping boards hung full of firearms, chips sat in slots, and ammo boxes were neatly stacked under the counter.
Several gun modification workers could be seen in the compartnts rushing orders.
True to the Black Gold Gang’s territory, the most striking parts in the shelves were golden.
John found a seat and swiped on an offline terminal, seeing a dazzling array of weapons and ammo on the screen.
In the Cyber Era, cybernetic enhancents beca common, weapons proliferated.
Under constantly rising danger levels, people were compelled to push advancents in armor.
For civilians, it seed like just another day, materials technology declared breakthrough, leading to a deluge of subcutaneous armor appearing.
It was considered a revolutionary breakthrough in cybernetic enhancents, with multi-layered armor rendering cyber maniacs impervious, also causing great disruption to the traditional bulletproof vest market.
Weapon manufacturers refused to be outdone.
Ammo branched into various specifications and additional properties, besides basic armor penetration it could carry special effects like EMP electromagnetic interference, burning, acid corrosion...
John replenished regular ammo and picked so backup ammo.
He took the items back, placing parts in the garage and apartnt, got his tech rifle ready, headed to the club for the appointnt.
The Black Gold Gang controlled more than ninety percent of the West District.
Like other powerful gangs, they ran so legitimate businesses like chain restaurants, strip club nightclubs, large bars, and vehicle repair factories...
Various illegal deals infiltrated these venues—money laundering, human trafficking, smuggling stolen cars or firearms.
Of course, it also included gang fights and resource plundering.
These were the core incos that could support the gang and expand influence.
[Eden City - Bolago Club]
This was the most famous money-burning spot in the West District, countless celebrities and billionaires ca here to indulge, with daily turnover sky-high.
It was converted from an entire shopping mall.
Besides the usual disco revelries, it included various large and small boxing arenas and fitness clubs, opening different zones based on clients’ spending ability and mbership level.
Bolago Club was fully open.
This ant anyone could co and go.
Hackers, rcenaries, wanted criminals, ordinary Eden City citizens, even mbers of other gangs could go to the outer boxing hall to watch, or work out vigorously on primitive equipnt, showcasing their freshly injected muscles.
In a sense:
This building, after countless years of changes, ultimately returned to its original attributes and purposes, becoming a place for people to unwind.
John was invited over.
Eisenberg’s supercar drove through the internal road, directly parking in the VIP zone, appearing rather low-key compared to the flashy luxury cars around.
He passed by security guards in sleek suits, bypassing grandeur, accepting checks under dance floor lights of various colors.
[Detected scanning, no signs of intrusion.]
John’s firearms were temporarily confiscated, upon entering the office he heard an agitated roar inside.
A middle-aged boxer sat gloomily at the table, went silent upon seeing John appear, after all, had to show respect to the boss.
Vito Russell rolled up his shirt sleeves, motioned John to sit.
"Punctual, great, John... I specifically inquired about the work you’ve done in Eden City, employers speak very highly of you."
He poured two glasses of wine. "Hope this one goes smoothly too."
"Co on, Vito, it’s just a job, hardly worth soone like you flattering . What’s the shipnt really?"
John picked up the glass, tasted a little.
He hadn’t modified his digestive system, daring not to drink casually outside.
Vito nodded towards the table edge.
The boxer picked up a bag, placed it on the coffee table, unzipped it, revealing packed illegal raw materials.
John gaped and swallowed his drink.
"F*ck, how much is all this?"
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