Righteous to the Point of Evil

Nothing happened in the corridor.
The new residents were very sensible and friendly.
John approached the rolling shutter, raised his hand, but caught a glimpse of the floor insert being unlocked. Looking over at the nearby security camera, he noticed it was merely shifting its focus slightly without initiating a scan.
Vigilantly slowing his movements, he put away the Alligator and drew his silenced pistol.
Swish—
The rolling shutter was lifted all the way up.
John lowered his center of gravity to ensure he could assess the interior situation at a glance.
The anticipated ambush failed to materialize.
The shop looked just as shitty as when he last left it: familiar metal racks and long tables, rows of second-hand shelves, bullet holes on the right-hand wall, the Noise Band poster damp and faded, and strings of lights and wires dangling halfway down.
Rock music blared continuously from the speakers.
The Cabinet kicked its feet up on the table.
He took off a sensory chip player, revealing an oil-slicked Mohawk hairstyle atop a metal mask.
The Cabinet looked suspiciously at the gun in John's hand. "Are you finally going to try robbing me?"
"Fuck off, the monitor didn't move, I thought you got iced." John gestured threateningly with the muzzle of his gun.
"My surveillance system has a mini-program that wakes me up whenever a customer arrives. And since you're a VIP client, it skips the scan and automatically unlocks the door... Uh-huh, you know how it is. Who doesn't have secrets? Some clients aren't convenient to frisk."
The Cabinet picked up a rag from the table to wipe his hands and cast a flirtatious wink at him. "Especially street stars like you, you've got to have some privacy."
John raised his arm, holstered his weapon, and furrowed his brow once more.
There was an indescribable, foul stench lingering in the room.
"Fuck, Cabinet, you've got some nerve... Were you sitting right here jerking off to a sensory chip?"
"Obviously."
"Damn it, some hothead really ought to rush in here and blow your brains out."
"Hey, why so harsh? As the best second-hand dealer on Oil Drum Street, I'm under a lot of pressure."
The Cabinet lit a cigarette and patted the metal table. "This is my livelihood, pal. I wouldn't feel too secure having takeout delivered here, and the first time you came to see me, you were selling bootleg chips."
Uninterested in engaging in verbal sparring with him, John tossed the mechanical key straight across the room.
"I just wrapped up a gig and have some miscellaneous loot that needs recycling. There's a Caralmon parked under the nearest overpass by the entrance. Dump it at the chop shop."
"Yes, sir!"
The Cabinet clicked two fingers against his forehead, his cybernetic eyes blinking a few times before he reached out and gently tapped the keyboard.
The surveillance feeds began to switch.
One of the screens zoomed in, capturing the Caralmon van along with vagrants and outlaws lingering in the vicinity.
Instead of leaving immediately, John turned back to ask him about the subdermal armor.
The Cabinet pursed his lips and shook his head. "Pal, you know my rules: odd days for selling, even days for buying. But since you're a VIP, I'll let you place an advance order. Tomorrow, I'll have something good delivered to your apartment on Danny Street."
"Bionic ware?"
"Nope, clothing mod blueprints."
Subdermal armor was a milestone technology of the cyber era, delivering an unimaginable shock to the traditional body armor market.
However, after the brief panic subsided, people gradually realized the two could be mutually compatible.
Material technology constantly evolved amidst corporate competition. Aside from traditional ceramic plates and polymer fibers, armor mods successively introduced interlayers like biological fat and novel silicon carbide.
Modifications and upgrades remained an eternal theme.
Nowadays, firearms, flesh, and even neural strength and cognitive capacity could be enhanced, so equipment vendors naturally reserved module slots on their armor.
The high-tech interlayer was precisely what the Cabinet was talking about.
He claimed it came from the Plato warehouse that had been blown up not long ago—as a professional dealer catching wind of the news, he naturally rushed to snap up the stolen goods. Thanks to his solid connections, he managed to secure a few decent items.
Without responding to that, John leaned against the table and watched the surveillance footage.
"Were there always this many people around here?"
The Cabinet dealt with the debris on his computer, replying casually.
"They've all poured in recently. Decent jobs on the surface are precious, and more people are just like you, trying to carve out their own path in this cesspool... Some join gangs, some take odd jobs, those with solid foundations become the new faces in clubs and alleyways, and the rest are just petty thieves and pickpockets."
"I just came from the Black Engine Restaurant. Has the situation in Europe been unstable lately?"
"You should be asking when it was ever stable. Corporate power struggles, same as every year."
The Cabinet's tone remained flat.
"If we're talking about the biggest impact, it's the Ghouls. Homeless people are just easy money walking around in their eyes... Lately, these animals have been stuffing their faces. Even some newcomers, feeling they couldn't survive otherwise, have joined in to do mugging and organ-harvesting gigs."
He pointed at the playback device on the desk.
"A few hardcore snuff film crews have popped up in the black market recently. A couple of my regular clients haven't shown up anymore; I suspect it's related to them."
"Are you investigating?"
"Ha, do I look like a saint? This is Eden City, John. When some people climb up and trample on the city, others get hollowed out in the gutters. Nothing to complain about."
John offered no comment.
He knew how harsh the world was, but continuously upgrading and modifying himself was precisely meant to keep his resolve clear and unobstructed.
Without pressing further, John said indifferently, "Fine. Call me when you need something."
"John, you know what? I said it long ago: someone as self-righteously pure as Gnaeus is bound to suffer because of a soft heart, and where you're smart is realizing the importance of armor and weapons."
The Cabinet propped his legs up again, adding just as John was about to head out the door.
"Nobody's going to say a word if you use Ghouls for target practice, but don't ever mistake yourself for a hero. The bullet of human nature is lethal, and no technology can stop it. At best, crush a few cockroaches when it's within your power. I'll write an anonymous letter to the police department so they can give you an award."
John raised his middle finger and turned to leave.
[Eden City - East District, Green Road Streets]
Neon signs grew sharper, and the muscular men and hot babes on the advertisements struck various alluring poses.
Hum-hum-hum—
The Isenberg Alloy RCH slowly decelerated before coming to a halt at a traffic light.
John was on his way back to his apartment.
With his legs stretched out and resting against a projected rolling sign of "No Entry," he sat upright, expressionlessly taking in the city's night view.
The motorcycle's navigation coordinates pointed vertically ahead.
[Temporary Mission - Seduction (57s↓)]
[Rewards: Unknown Illegal Chip, Contraband, Cash]
A temporary mission suddenly popped up before John's eyes.
A countdown timer flickered next to the title.
Squinting, he noticed the floating numbers overlapped with the traffic light timer, easily leading him to associate it with the surrounding vehicles waiting in line.
John glanced around.
He noticed the driver of the van right next to him seemed to have a rather vicious look in his eyes.
[Name: Osama Blanchard]
[Faction: Ghouls]
Just as John looked over, the guy happened to pull back his gaze. Another person sat in the passenger seat, both of them acting suspiciously.
He could faintly hear the sound of metal clinking.
Perhaps it was a submachine gun, a street shotgun, or some kind of metal blade embedded in an arm.
[Mission Objective Updated]
[Eliminate Ghouls 0/5. (Unfulfilled)]
John withdrew his gaze and swiped his fingers across the engine screen to adjust the cruise parameters.
The traffic light began to flash.
The cars behind him started shifting impatiently.
Assuming John wanted no trouble, the Ghoul driver also gripped the steering wheel tightly, preparing to take off.
The light turned green.
Bang—
The front windshield of the van turned completely red.