"Fuck, shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?"
Sugar Bean Man’s muscles twitched all over, like a stuffed doll bomb about to explode at any mont.
The mosaic face flickered with all sorts of garbled codes.
He tried to stand up, only to find himself pinned down by a switchblade, so he resigned himself to slumping on the tal bench, as if he had accepted his fate, yet with an unsettling calm.
"Sir, you can’t leave a lady in a place like this. Sakura Cross Street is a hellhole; even if there aren’t any Ghouls, there are gang punks fighting to pick up the corpses."
"Oh, so you’re a good guy now?"
"Of course, on my turf, when bodies co in, they leave as ashes; if they co in breathing, they leave breathing as well. That’s what I call responsible service~"
Sugar Bean Man said with a mocking tone.
There was still a switchblade stuck in his arm.
[Kill Sugar Bean Man. (Optional)]
[Spare Sugar Bean Man. (Optional)]
John had a very strong urge.
[Mantis Blade crushing the shoulder bone, blood spraying, then stabbing through the center of the mosaic face, watching the body twitch, spark, and die...]
John’s mind even conjured a detailed image, as if it had really happened.
"Hoo—"
He took a deep breath and retracted the Mantis Blade into his arm.
The sticky blood was squeezed out from the synthetic leather, trickling down the vent seams to his fingertips.
"What’s wrong with her?"
"Just sleeping. She needs rest, so I added a little sothing to the air system to make her sleep like the dead."
"That doesn’t sound like a good thing."
"Why not? The dead don’t have nightmares, don’t wake up drenched in sweat, and don’t startle awake from pain... Death is a peaceful and sacred thing."
"You sound more like a priest than the other guy."
"Thanks for the complint."
The yellow mosaic ford a smiley face.
"Don’t worry, sir. She’ll wake up in about an hour, feeling as refreshed as on a low-pollution morning. You see, no matter how many Prosthetic Bodies humans implant, their mind and brain still need proper rest~"
Sugar Bean Man was already on his feet as he spoke.
He let an arm hang down and began pressing various hidden buttons at the bar.
The bar was packed with "atballs," combined with the green ergency exit sign and the filthy walls, it looked like sothing out of a horror-thed Super Sensing Chip.
John helped Gino onto a tal chair.
It felt like they had never left.
The room still rumbled noisily.
The difference was, now there were added noises of arm repairs.
Clatter...
Tools fell out from a compartnt.
Thud.
A "matching prosthetic limb" wrapped in a body bag tumbled onto the table right after.
Sugar Bean Man started disassembling his own body just like that.
He seed to be in a good mood, his throat crackling like a malfunctioning radio trying to play a complete tune.
"You need rest too, what I just said was ant for you."
"Hm?"
John lowered his gaze.
Sugar Bean Man’s body blocked half the light, making the already dim little room even more cramped and eerie, yet the mosaic-assembled smile brightened.
He was replacing an artificial blood vessel, speaking without lifting his head.
"Sir, haven’t you noticed?"
"What?"
"Take a deep breath, feel the root of your tongue."
"..."
John furrowed his brow, instinctively swallowing, only to find a slight sourness at the tip of his throat.
"The air’s poisoned?"
"It’s dicine, sir, there’s a difference..."
Sugar Bean Man shook the vein probe in his hand.
"You’ve started to lose your sense of taste, right? Insomnia, nightmares, headaches that strike out of nowhere, suddenly rembering things from long ago, trouble focusing unless stimulated... like, killing!?"
The mosaic head tilted at an eerie angle.
"How does it feel? Killing two Ghouls, was it pleasurable? Because the adrenaline neutralizes your side effects, making you subconsciously seek excitent to feel more comfortable..."
"What the fuck are you getting at?"
Feeling uncomfortable under the stare, John’s tone grew harsher.
Sugar Bean Man’s head stayed still, maintaining that eerie smile, pointing at John with the arm he just repaired.
"Martyr GTX, I recognize that thing. Where’d you get it from, the East District, or the West District?"
"..."
John raised the hand stained with blood.
Earlier, when washing at the entrance, he had accidentally lifted his work jacket, revealing a small segnt of countdown green numbers.
Sugar Bean Man let out an unpleasant laugh.
"We’re all gonna die, so why worry about all this? The famous Mr. John, your stories are all over the streets."
He dropped the act and called John by na.
"Let’s be honest, and consider this as making a friend."
"What if I’m not willing?"
"This news isn’t that important. In all of Eden City, those who can recognize the Martyr GTX... there aren’t many left who can still breathe. This thing’s almost wiped out, and actually, it’s clear where they are; two in the West District, one in the East District, and the others are all in the company’s hands."
Sugar Bean Man ticked off numbers on his fingers, then turned back.
"What about yours?"
[Answer truthfully. (Optional)]
[Refuse to answer. (Optional)]
[Lie. (Optional)]
"F**k!"
John had a sudden wave of sharp pain in his head.
He felt his eyes were filled with tears, unable to wipe them clean. His prosthetic eyes frantically zood in and out, unable to find focus, pale yellow data streams flowed across the surface of his electronic iris...
The scene before him changed.
[Goods from the West District? Haha, impossible. Lying ans your source is shady, the Martyr GTX can’t be left to the company, I need to retrieve it.]
A blurry conversation appeared in John’s mind.
He tried to open his eyes, but amidst a field of black-and-purple snow-like patterns, he saw a hazy image.
This feeling was very familiar.
Every ti John interacted with corpses at the landfill, using external devices to read data, he’d "experience" fragnts of the deceased’s mories.
This ti felt very similar.
But the protagonist was himself, and the scenes were of things that hadn’t happened.
"Hiss—"
Severe headaches knocked John down.
He felt like his brain was boiling.
The visions continued.
After Sugar Bean Man finished speaking, he suddenly launched an attack.
Toxic smoke poured from the ceiling, and after a grueling battle, John finally killed the opponent in the rain at the alley entrance.
Police sirens grew closer.
John was forced to flee Sakura Cross Street with Gino.
"Ah—F**k!"
John suddenly looked up, breathing heavily.
He found himself still seated on the tal stool.
None of it had happened.
[Detected data redundancy, cleared, ergency plan 0, scanning for abnormal paraters...]
Familiar yet unfamiliar prompts flashed before him.
No response from Black Light.
Gino leaned asleep on his shoulder.
Sugar Bean Man toyed with the intravenous needle.
He tilted his head, smiling.
"Is it really that tough? I was just asking where your stuff ca from..."
The mosaic face’s smile remained unchanged.
John stared at his body, then glanced around.
Even though he didn’t understand the flashing scenes in his mind just now, everything felt too real. If he chose to lie, the other might really change their face and rush over!
[Answer truthfully. (Optional)]
[Refuse to answer. (Optional)]
[Lie. (Optional)]
Mission prompts hovered before him.
As always.
Yet John hesitated.
He had thought more than once—if he made different choices at certain monts, would things develop differently?
But he’d never had such an "intuitive" feeling.
John felt like a cheating gar reading a corrupted save file.
Why was this happening?
Was it because his body was on the brink, causing issues with the mission prompts?
What exactly is this thing?
Even at the brink of death, John hadn’t figured out what these [mission prompts] were—his cyber psychosis or so "super code" accompanying Black Light.
Dong, dong dong.
A series of knocks pulled John back to reality.
Sugar Bean Man had fixed his arm, quietly sitting at the bar tapping keys with his newly repaired arm.
The opponent’s patience was nearing its limit.
John hesitated for a mont and chose to speak the truth.
"East District."
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