"Oh, my God, you actually pulled me straight out of the car? My throat, cough, my Adam's apple seems a bit displaced..."
Piotr ignored John.
He continued to mutter, "That car lost control, you saved me... although your method was a bit rough."
Thud.
John interrupted him with a stomp, pinning him to the road.
"Fack, you!" Piotr finally took a proper look at John, then fell into a sort of stupor, asking, "What do you want? Oh no, what do you want?"
He had no idea who this mercenary was.
John smirked, snapped his fingers, and pointed to the Silver Rider 577 parked nearby.
"Familiar?"
"Huh?"
Piotr turned his head to look, blinked his eyes, his knitted brows relaxed slightly, and he widened his eyes to take a closer look.
John recognized this idiot.
He was the son of an Eisenberg Company executive, a genuinely rich young man, yet he fancied street culture. Using his father's position, he acquired a key that could access Eisenberg Vehicle Company's backdoor.
Piotr once stole cars on West District streets.
Back then, John had just started out, having recently moved to a cheap apartment in West District. His Silver Rider 577, not yet overwritten with Black Light, was stolen by Piotr.
That was when [Tie Clip] hadn't died yet.
He received a commission from Piotr's father, tracking down John—not to reconcile, but to hand John a smart rifle, so the mercenary could teach that brainless rich kid a lesson.
A dad paying someone to shoot his own son.
John had a deep impression of it, believing the other party did too.
Piotr's attention was entirely on Silver Rider 577 now, not even struggling against being pinned on the street.
"Bullshit, that car... impossible, where did you get... wait, you, you're..."
Piotr remembered everything.
Judging by his tone, it seemed like he had investigated John, continuing to follow the news about this mercenary after the incident. Otherwise, he wouldn't have reacted as if he'd seen a ghost.
"John."
John stated his name, pulled his foot away, and lifted him from the roadside, not to reconcile, but because their conversation stance was drawing attention. "We never introduced ourselves before, did we?"
The West District is not peaceful, don't attract gang members.
John wasn't angry, feeling somewhat pleased about recovering his vehicle.
Piotr was so foolish he didn't warrant physical aggression, and his background made him less suitable for a public shooting.
John simply asked him with a smile.
"Why do you keep targeting my car?"
"I didn't steal it!"
Piotr reacted fiercely.
John's smile became more pronounced. "I might cut off your legs at the knees and escape before the emergency team arrives."
"Oh, please, mister!"
Piotr raised his hands, hesitating to run while frantically explaining, "I've got all your racing videos, really. The Palmer race's dream edit version, I've watched it dozens of times!"
"You're joking, right?"
"Really!"
Piotr's muscles twitched as if he had fleas on him, and he quickly touched the area near his ear, likely disabling some sort of SOS program.
That car theft had landed him in the hospital for several days.
As a wealthy second-generation kid, he indeed contemplated revenge on John, but upon discovering his father was the employer, he abandoned the idea, wallowing in sadness for an extended period.
"Wow, you found out?"
John leaned against the hood, enjoying the amusement.
Piotr showed embarrassment.
He had an intermediary procure John's data, and some racing clips caught his interest.
Bullets firing.
High-speed racing.
These elements thrilled this wealthy second-generation enthusiast of street adventures.
He was the son of an Eisenberg Vehicle Company executive, easily accessing relevant resources.
Four months ago.
The news of John being killed circulated.
Piotr paid someone to acquire the Alloy RCH motorcycle John had ridden.
He carefully preserved this 'equipage of the deceased legend,' not modifying or disassembling its components, so Black Light had been lurking in the smart system for four months.
Until today.
"Uh, thanks for preserving it, but you... understand, right?"
"Yeah, of course, you're back, take your vehicle!"
"Good, you're sensible, we don't have to fight now."
John waved his hand to activate the Alloy RCH's parking system.
The motorcycle restarted, autonomously heading to a parking spot.
John himself got back into the Silver Rider 577, barely seated properly when a contact notification popped up.
"Hey, hey! John, wait!" Piotr chased to the car window, "Let's exchange numbers."
"I don't want to be friends with a company dog."
John started the vehicle.
But this idiot ran in front of the car, inertia throwing him onto the road sidewalk.
"Are you mad?"
"Ow, ugh, I'm one of the sponsors for the city's illegal racing series, I hire racers and join races myself. Interested?"
Piotr said while moaning,
What truly stopped John was the mission prompt.
[Series Mission: Fast and Furious: Agent]
[Reward: Illegal Race Qualification]
"...Are you serious."
John had just completed a series mission and now encountered a new one.
He leaned against the car window. "What do you mean?"
"Illegal races! Both Palmer and Sakura Cross Street events have your records, with your skills, competing in the remaining five races makes you the most prestigious City Grand Slam Champion!"
Piotr was excited. "I'll be your agent!"
"Hmm..."
John pretended to ponder for a few seconds. "Alright, contact later."
[Contact Created - Piotr Mercado]
He left his contact information.
Across the street, a bulletproof business car appeared, several company soldiers in suits staring solemnly.
"Your car's here, I'm busy recently, will call you when I'm in the mood to race."
"No problem, I also have friends in the city, if you need help with anything..."
Piotr hadn't learned his lesson.
John knew this feeling too well—the guy still loved street adventures, even curious about mercenary life.
[Mission Target Updated]
[Inquire about lost vehicle history. (Optional)]
"In fact, there is one thing."
John was frank, "I've lost more than one car, originally there was a Jurassic ZT15 in the Dan Street garage, with a gun in the trunk. Can you help find out whose hands it's in?"
"Wow, time's been long, you know, four months... but I'll try to ask around, intermediaries might not pay attention, but those dealing with vehicles probably know something!"
"I'll wait for your news."
John offered a courteous smile.
Piotr climbed into the business car brimming with excitement.
[Contact - Gerry [Unread Message]]
[BOSS, we're almost there.]
John said goodbye to Piotr, next meeting his employees at the parking area outside his apartment.
Gerry was driving a Calormen truck.
That [Potsdam-U70] for restaurant deliveries seemed truly missing.
Gerry, so meticulous, hadn't proactively briefed John, likely it was in the hands of Wanderer.
Gerry and Maya had minimal luggage.
Gaf carried just a faded travel bag.
Dan Street 013 belonged to upscale apartments, adjoining Bolago Club, living there required some reputation, wealth, and connections.
After signing the contract at Bone Shards office, John received the authorization link, having already registered residents' information in the system.
He led the team through the lobby without issue.
The front desk still had automated butlers, latest models from Jingke Heavy Industry.
Their expressions were almost lifelike, the carbon fiber hollow neck artistic. In those mechanic-oriented Sex Doll Clubs, only guests with top suites see such a model.
John and some employees stood in the new elevator, scanning the lobby before the lift closed—the part blown up by web patrol four months ago looked untouched, even more opulent than memory.
