This is the underground parking.
Below the Bolago Club is a vast interconnected parking lot, sowhat similar to the underground market in the East District, just not as grand in scale.
If you don't want to wander around on the surface between the apartnt area and the core business district, just find an entrance to go down, traverse to the corresponding area, and then take the elevator up.
Access to the area requires mbership.
John followed Jilead a few steps and saw the alternating yellow and white electronic gates.
Six ard guards blocked the way.
They were different from the gang lackeys roaming the streets—dressed in standard black suits, wearing Argos Company's laser sunglasses, with a distinctive golden boutonniere at their chest.
John's prosthetic eye flashed with light.
Scanned a high-end loadout.
The muscles on these black guys' bodies were tougher than car belts.
[Feels like a reckless mix of materials.]
Sora provided a fair assessnt.
The guards' prosthetic bodies were enough to deter ordinary troublemakers, and their nurical advantage was evident, but they couldn't compare to the ticulously coordinated and finely calibrated professional rcenaries.
Like the baseline of urban security.
Special Event Handling Action Team (SAT).
Their squad configuration didn't look as uniform, aside from the matching color sche battle uniforms, each person's equipnt, firearms, and even their body types varied.
Combat power and aesthetics don't blend well.
"At least it looks proper; if it really kicks off, trying to force through would end badly."
John replied softly.
The Black Gold Gang had invested heavily, and it wasn't just for show; regardless of the practicality of the prosthetic bodies, at least it upheld their facade and maintained a baseline, providing clients with visible security.
Jilead verified his identity.
When John went through the security, the detection equipnt beeped, and the scanning grid projected by the surveillance caras was a scarlet red.
But no one spoke up to stop him.
If anything happened, Jilead would take the hit.
The elevator ahead led to the Bolago Club, and the floor it reached was for mbers only.
They walked a little way and began waiting for the elevator.
Jilead put away the cold face he showed to the people below, reverting to the deanor he used with friends.
"You're willing to work for Bone Shards, so why make things so tense? Give it a try, loosen up a bit, think of him as another Vito Russell; it's worth it to gain the camaraderie of a gang's speaker."
"..."
John stared at the decreasing floor numbers.
He bit his teeth, suppressing the urge to retort, turned around, and looked at the other party silently.
Jilead was also staring at him.
His gaze was steady.
Emotionless.
Jilead just directly called Mr. Vito by na, with no hint of respect in his tone.
It's not that John had any particular reverence for the "Godfather."
He just suddenly realized—the change occurring in his friend in front of him was bigger than he imagined.
The elevator carriage was about to arrive.
"Ha."
John chuckled.
"If I don't like Bone Shards, will there be a group of ard n when the elevator opens later?"
What he said even frightened himself.
Ding—
The elevator arrived.
The carriage inside was resplendent, and empty.
John breathed a sigh of relief and walked in first.
Jilead hesitated for a few seconds, then followed, full of bewildernt.
"Hey, wait...what the fuck, John! Did you actually think...I, I would arrange for people to kill you!?"
"I didn't say that."
"That's exactly what you ant! This is ridiculous, it's too hurtful, I always thought we were good friends!"
"Alright, I apologize."
"That's not sothing an apology can fix!"
Jilead clutched the belt with one hand, his expression toggling between seriousness and sadness.
"Ah..."
John raised his hands in surrender.
"It's not all my fault, you acted like a missionary for Bone Shards, not joking, that bastard seriously would do sothing like this!"
"You're the biggest bastard!"
Jilead was genuinely angry.
He believed that he had made significant achievents under Bone Shards and hoped John could join too; with his rcenary skills, his treatnt wouldn't be any worse than his own.
That was it.
John placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Sorry, sincerely, but Bone Shards and I just don't see eye to eye; getting what we need is best. Why don't you get that?"
"The West District has changed."
Jilead's tone was growing weary.
"You're the one who doesn't get it."
He snapped his fingers, the elevator glass rippled like fish scales, then beca transparent, revealing the bustling streetscapes of the West District beneath them.
The West District now relied entirely on Bone Shards.
Vito barely managed things.
The Black Gold Gang was at war!
Business, vehicles, manpower, equipnt, civic relations all needed soone to make the decisions.
Bone Shards had never screwed it up once.
"Eastern People are trying to assassinate him."
"Not surprising."
"Yeah, if they manage to take out the opposing gang's speaker, the war situation would flip; within a week, the death betting numbers in Eden City would halve, so...he's survived five attempts in just these past few days."
Jilead counted on his fingers.
"Drugging through the ventilation, remote sniping, vehicle explosions, hacking thods, and even assassins infiltrating the casino office, just narrowly avoided—it."
"Eastern People really value Bone Shards."
"You don't understand the change Bone Shards brings."
Jilead scoffed at John—not understanding the real nature of gang life.
Fairness is a luxury.
The bottom of the gang is no different from cannon fodder.
Rookies have to risk their lives working for years, not dying from stray bullets, not dying from drugs, and avoiding being skewered by a cyber psycho passing through the alleyways.
And after that?
Life remained the sa.
Vito Russell managed the West District for many years.
His managent principles reshaped the streets' order but also capped the gang's growth.
Without expanding territory and business, the survival environnt for the lower-level lackeys is hard to change.
Jilead spoke of his own experiences.
He was 14 when he got caught stealing a car, had his bones broken, and was nearly cented and thrown into the sea, right when the first gang war broke out; he was sent in as cannon fodder into the battlefield.
He clashed with the Eastern People three tis, each brutally bloody.
Jilead was lucky to survive and ended up soaking in the rain outside the low-rent apartnts as a job.
"You wouldn't want to know how many years I stood under that cent canopy, John; do you know why I cherish you and Gino? Because no one else gave a damn about ."
The bottom of the gang is pathetic.
They're no different from sex workers, amounting to nothing in the eyes of big shots in luxury cars.
Jilead couldn't help but wonder:
What's the difference between a legend and a nobody?
It's opportunity!
Yet, ironically, opportunities are everywhere in Eden City.
The stories of little people becoming legends are told to death; every once in a while, a nova becos the hot topic.
"But what about ?"
Jilead asked with his hands in his pockets.
They kept ascending in the elevator, the West District's street view growing distant.
"Most of the Black Gold Gang, they're treated like consumables, ground down bit by bit on the streets, with no damn future!"
The city is changing.
The enemy is expanding.
"Vito's way is obsolete, it'll get everyone killed, he can't win."
Bone Shards is right.
He brought about change.
No matter who you were associated with before, now it's all about work efficiency, gang interests, personal contribution!
War increased the death rate.
But vacancies were opening up; compensation was doubling, lives visibly changing.
The Black Gold Gang's businesses are rapidly expanding.
mbership numbers are at their highest in history.
The lowest level lackeys all have money to make, and their equipnt has been completely upgraded.
This is the opportunity Jilead had been awaiting.
He seized it well, and gave himself an answer.
Reviews
All reviews (0)