"Why hasn’t the Serum co to find us?"
John found a problem.
He was commissioned by the Serum to bring Kenichi Sora out from the ga server.
But the Serum hasn’t arranged any further plans, it just said Kenichi Sora would save his own life and hasn’t even contacted him to ask for Sora.
[...]
Sora was silent for a mont.
[It’s waiting for to heal you, this is part of the deal too.]
"Ha, a madman with credibility? Then it’s more moral than most humans in Eden City."
John made a joke.
But he would keep Sora’s warning in mind and be cautious when the Serum reappears.
Click.
The door was pushed open and then imdiately closed.
Kenichi Sora took over John’s body, yanked open the door handle, and pressed the submachine gun against the intruder’s head.
"Ah!"
A full-lipped xican girl raised her hands in panic, her scream mixed with apologies.
"Sorry, BOSS! I didn’t know you were inside..."
As Sora raised the gun, he activated the prosthetic eye scan program.
[Na: Gaf]
[Faction: None]
[Scan: Reinforced Tendons Type I, Pragmatist Arm Kit [Hemingway 45 model], etc.]
[Bounty: None]
[Profile: xican, vehicle driving number... undocunted immigrant, no Eden City registration information...]
The implants on Gaf were all basic, used not only for daily needs but also to find better jobs.
This was a characteristic of undocunted immigrants.
Every day there are people who can’t pass identity checks, forced to cross through Eden City’s Border Wall illegally.
With tensions in Europe growing, the latest wave of immigration is nearing its peak.
It’s reported on TV ads every day.
Politicians bla the gang wars in the city on the increasing "unstable population."
John took back control, holstered the gun.
"Relax, she’s my employee."
Sora’s reaction was sowhat excessive, although he didn’t say it directly, the discussion about the Serum clearly made him tense.
Gaf raised her hands.
Two pieces of half-thawed at products fell to the floor.
"Sorry, I... I was just here to change my work clothes, I didn’t know you were inside..."
The gun’s sight made her tremble all over, she was breathing rapidly, forcibly controlling her fingers and gesturing slightly towards John’s room.
There’s a hook next to the stacked goods.
Two sets of kitchen uniforms hang on it.
There’s no logo because John’s restaurant doesn’t have anything like a trademark yet.
Both outfits are a standard size, obviously procured by Gerry from sowhere for temporary workers to make them look more like part of the staff.
Maya has closed her eyes.
Her reaction was also exaggerated, clearly she could have explained when the door opened, but instinctively fled, her emotional response to the gun wasn’t faked.
This girl has PTSD related to guns.
And as a victim.
Considering her status as an undocunted immigrant, it’s normal that she’s had similar experiences.
"Sorry, Gaf."
John put away the gun, opening the pathway.
Gaf rubbed her arms, slipped inside sideways, and locked the door.
The sky is now fully bright.
Heart-pounding sunlight is pouring through the take-out window and vehicle window.
Honking and industrial humming echoed.
The restaurant had just finished its morning rush; Gaf needed to replenish ingredients quickly to handle the group of burly n with overnight alcohol at noon.
This restaurant was once a chain supermarket.
Two floors with attached warehouse and basent, surrounded by car paths, near the industrial zone there’s also a public parking lot.
John sat in a corner on the second floor.
A succession of waking up criminals pushed open the restaurant’s glass door, the explosion-proof glass had several cracks that appeared recently, obviously from clumsy prosthetics users or not completely sober thugs.
John didn’t need a scan to know they carried more than bounties.
The rcenaries found places to sit.
Without a bar counter, custors would lean against the ordering counter to chat with Gerry.
The topics were strange and bizarre.
Behind the order counter was a television showing free news programs, subscription costs low, currently replaying last night’s corporate executive execution incident.
Most people in Eden City saw Mr. Tomn swinging outside the glass curtain wall.
The rcenaries in the restaurant could evidently empathize with the news better than the morning rush custors.
They’re in this business.
Raphael would definitely spread the news through various channels to boost his prestige.
A loud mouth burst into the restaurant.
His muscles knotted, tattoos old, a hefty large-caliber revolver tucked in his waist, starting to shout across a group of dining and chatting colleagues.
"Gerry! I heard, this was your boss behind it, did he die?"
"I don’t know, and..."
Gerry frowned, utterly unfazed by the other’s aggressive deanor.
"Fuck you, Crab! You’ll certainly die under the cops’ guns before my boss!"
"Hahaha, shut up, give two Russian-style sausages, that thick."
The rcenary nad Crab raised his hands with his middle fingers pointed towards his groin, while the chatting one beside the bar laughed and tossed him a straw.
Laughter erupted around the restaurant.
Gerry pinned the printed paper nu onto a protruding nail, turned and walked into the kitchen.
Crab walked over, grabbed the nail and threw it behind a custor about to sit down.
Then followed screams and table crashes.
Glass shards flew to the second floor, the thin floorboards barely dampened the sound of fists hitting flesh.
John finally understood:
The short intervals he ca, the reason for the newly added damage.
[Oh oh oh! Join them, brother, take down quickly, I promise to solve it speedily.]
"Just joking, don’t spoil the fun."
John had seen these kinds of rugged custors often at Angelica’s bar.
Yet the true reason that stopped him was the ssage Gerry sent from the kitchen.
[Contact - Gerry [Unread ssages]]
[Crab will compensate, they’re frequent teaming-up buddies, there’s also a hacker, two shift drivers...]
Gerry described several regular custors in the mail.
Soon the restaurant door was pushed open.
A man with deep-set eyes walked in, pulled out a short knife, and cleared the brawling crowd with the bladed side.
He warned in a low voice, dispersed the boisterous bar crowd, then tapped on a table, waiting.
Maya erged from the kitchen, wiping her hands.
He seed to know Maya’s previous profession, at least that she was more reliable than Gerry.
The man showed her the briefcase lined with two rows of funding chips, then exchanged a few words, only ordered a cup of hot coffee and fried eggs.
John held back the urge to scan him.
This guy surely has an external cara disruptor implanted, detecting a scan would alert him to John sitting upstairs.
John doesn’t want to deal with fellow professionals just yet.
Maya picked up the briefcase, walking back to the kitchen without looking upstairs.
"What’s going on?"
John frowned.
[He’s called Cassie, nicknad Gacha, a pimp for anonymous hackers.]
Kenichi Sora answered him.
[Information trade, settling paynts, a hacker doesn’t want to expose their identity, so they have a middleman transfer the money to the restaurant, later retrieving it through take-out drones or the car pick-up window.]
"How do you know?"
John was surprised.
[It’s all written in the emails, brother, you’re really an incompetent boss!]
Sora opened John’s email inbox in his view.
Gerry was a competent second-hand employee.
He never disturbed John, but regularly compiled emails detailing what happened in the restaurant and its operational intricacies for the boss.
John knew about it.
But rcenary work is high pressure and ti-consuming, especially after his ntal breakdown, he stopped caring much.
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