045: New Grudge? Old Hatred!

"I heard you guys got surrounded in the city and suffered from a supply cutoff for a while. Don't go dropping dead on the roadside."

John tossed the funds card over to the other man.

The sub-leader raised his chin, his cybernetic eye flashing. After verifying that the funds were correct, he patted the car door. The surrounding exiles let out lewd whistles, apparently calculating where they would go to carouse tonight.

[Mission Objective Updated]
[Deliver the cargo to the Old Culvert in the West District. (Uncompleted)]

John pulled up the hypernet and switched the Silver Knight into autonomous return mode.

The roar of the Eisenberg sports car faded into the distance, drawing sidelong glances from the on-duty sentries, their eyes seeming to say he was a big shot.

Only the squad leader lingered, deep in thought.

Before John stood a Calomon freight van.

This model was the cheapest and newest variant on the company's assembly line. Many small transport companies that still employed living human drivers used it for deliveries.

John climbed onto the roof of the van from the side handrail, opened the waterproof sunroof, and saw the feeding port on top of the glass transport container.

Bang!

The moment it was opened, the thing inside thrashed towards him, its mouth even covering the feeding opening, slamming against the vehicle until it rocked violently.

John threw all the fresh meat packets from the bag straight into it.

The water inside instantly boiled. Heavy, solid chunks of meat were tossed about as if they had been put into a shredder, turning into residue in the blink of an eye and floating everywhere.

The fierce splashes of water even hit the roof of the vehicle.

John crouched and watched it feed, suddenly feeling the vehicle beneath his feet sway sideways.

Immediately after, a head embedded with metal plating emerged. The exile leader climbed onto the roof of the van and joined him in peering down into the water.

"Do you know what this thing is?"

John asked casually, adjusting his posture to expose the hilt of the gambler's blade.

"So you're just an errand runner too."

The leader snorted coldly and didn't take the bait.

"Would rich, stupid pigs personally come outside the city to trade? Even an idiot can figure that out. I'm just doing business for someone else. Even if there's bad blood, it shouldn't fall on me."

John practically laid the cards on the table.

Yet he noticed that the surrounding exiles hadn't dispersed, nor did they open fire directly; they seemed to be quietly waiting for something.

The exile leader's eyeball was flickering.

He seemed to be confirming certain matters while continuing to play along with John's words.

"This is an oceanic whitetip shark."

"You're bullshitting. The river water is full of toxic waste, let alone the ocean? These days, any animal that can bounce around in the wild is expensive enough to go to an auction."

John expressed his confusion.

The exile leader, however, laughed at his ignorance, his raspy voice issuing from a metal throat.

"This is a biological replica, Gaia cell technology. They specially copy extinct things for the privileged rich, and they're genetically optimized. Look..."

*Hwack—ptui*—

The leader spat a thick glob of phlegm into the water.

An shadow shifted beneath the surface of the water, seemingly displeased that someone had interrupted its enjoyment of the fresh meat.

"It's tough as nails, bouncing around with vitality even after starving for over half a month, and it's not picky about water quality. Rich fat cats can keep it alive no matter how they raise it... I heard it sells pretty well on the market, as long as you can cough up the cash."

His tone was sinister.

[Mission Objective Updated]
[Eliminate the exiles at the transaction site 0/15. (Uncompleted)]

John glanced around.

The exiles had already set up their guns and covertly blocked the entrance.

"Take the money and leave. Isn't that better? I have nothing to do with the tie clip."

"Heh, so there's that too..."

The exile leader let out a cold laugh, drew his submachine gun, and dropped all pretense, relying on his surrounding underlings. "You're John, right? Was it you who took out Sarazi in the Odor region?"

"Shit, I thought you were here to vent your anger over the tie clip business. Turns out you're after Sarazi?"

"Sarazi was Kumbu's brother."

"Are you fucking kidding me? Calling them fuckbuddies would be more believable than brothers. If they really cared about loyalty... why would they betray their respective families?"

Disgust showed on John's face.

He found that when he genuinely got into trouble, he actually grew calmer.

"You guys are just greedy. Let me guess... the money from the trade has to be paid as tribute to Ironfoot Kumbu, leaving you with barely crumbs in your hands, so you want to trade my head for a bounty?"

The leader's vulture-like eyes narrowed.

His alloy chin quivered, emitting an extremely grating laugh, as if he agreed with that assessment.

John pondered for a moment, meeting the leader's gaze.

"If I could take down Sarazi, what makes you think I can't take you down?"

"Telling bedtime stories? John, Damascus Camp is far away. Nando doesn't have a chance to save you. If you're counting on the War Mother Eilona, forget it, she won't shed a tear for her pretty boy..."

The surrounding exiles burst into unbridled laughter.

"Is that what the rumors have become?" John put away his smile, his gaze turning razor-sharp. "Times have changed, pal. You really should have just taken the money and left."

The instant the leader raised his gun, a faint stream of light swept past.

His arm was severed completely at the root. Before his scream could even escape, his head took a heavy impact from the side, and his entire body lost balance, plunging toward the feeding port.

"F-... Fuck, aaah—"

The vulture head was submerged in the fish tank. The turbid, foul-smelling cold water poured into his mouth and nose, and the cavernous maw lurking in the shadows mercilessly cut off his cries.

*Tatata.*

Bullets fired mercilessly toward the roof of the van.

The moment John finished cutting the man down, he slid to the back of the truck to dodge the first round of gunfire.

The van doors were pelted with a metallic clatter.

The screams inside the cargo hold lasted for only a split second before the corpse was dragged entirely through the feeding chute. The subsequent commotion was more violent than a pair of young lovers in a parked car.

The wastewater, already frighteningly green, turned crimson and black not long after.

The floating debris seemed to increase as well.

John kept his back against the truck, pulled his gun, turned and shot down a guard at close range, then stepped on the wooden boards over the puddles and ran into the building.

The factory grounds were filled with curses and gunfire.

John regulated his breathing, stepped lightly, and hid beneath the innermost stairwell.

The exiles on the balcony rushed down. The room was somewhat dim, and the rapid change in lighting caused their vision to blur for a fraction of a second.

John relaxed his mind, held his breath along with his subconscious, and drew his blade sideways.

The monomolecular edge sliced through the connection points of prosthetics and flesh. The surface coating refracted a stream of light in the dim space, taking down two in a flash. The guy walking at the very back managed to take only one step forward.

John severed his ankle.

Yet she didn't give chase.

There had to be gun barrels aiming from the balcony, and sticking one's head out rashly meant eating lead. Besides, there was no need for a coup de grace—the samurai blade Gambler carried a neurotoxin that would invade the enemy's blood vessels through the wound, and leaving it alone would take their life all the same.

Bang!

The window glass shattered.

Several grenades were thrown into the room. Footsteps echoed all over the ceiling, bullets flew haphazardly through the stairwell, and the clutter on the table was battered to pieces.

Sunlight streamed in wisps through the bullet holes in the metal plates, and vulnerable spots continued to sprout new openings.

John sprinted through the light pillars where dust floated.

He racked the bolt, slid to find cover, and immediately mounted his rifle to counterattack.

[Weapon: RUST-SAW ALLIGATOR K-1]
[Mod: Ballistic Correction, Intermediate Armor-Piercing]

The exiles fell one by one, and the heads behind the low wall snapped back simultaneously.

The remaining ammo count at the corner of John's eye was decreasing.

[△47/120]

His upgraded arm had tighter control over the kinetic rifle, and the military chip contained advanced shooting techniques, resulting in zero wasted motions when reloading and seeking cover.