[Mission Objective Update:]
[Relocate Employees. (Not Completed)]
Everything in the apartment was brand new.
Because the room had been vacant for a long time, the aroma system and air circulation were turned off by default, so the whole place was filled with an industrial smell.
A 200-square-meter two-story loft.
As soon as you enter, you see a sunken sofa seating area.
A huge projection device hangs from the ceiling.
Two meters from the sofa is a large floor-to-ceiling window, facing the West District industrial area, with hovercars brushing past the buildings as they fly by.
Gerry felt for the first time:
In Eden City, living at different heights means hearing different sounds: neighbors' trashy rock in low-rent apartments and low buildings, street arguments, gunfire from gang wars, the rumble of industrial equipment...
Especially the red brick buildings where the intercity train tracks cut through the roof; the shuttle schedule is like a default alarm clock, practically lifting the roof off your house.
Gaf's thoughts were simpler.
You don't have to worry about leaks in Dan Street Apartment 013, and the most attractive feature for her was the pure water bar; the filtered water pipes could be drank from directly—if only she knew the fee standard, she would've tried it already.
The room was always at a suitable temperature, and emitted a faint fragrance.
Each unit occupied one floor.
You didn't have to knock on walls to communicate with neighbors; the industrial-style metal frame of the floor-to-ceiling windows wasn't purely decorative, it could be switched to silent mode, making even the hovercar vector engines barely audible.
"Damn, back when I first came to Eden City, living in a place like this was my goal,"
Gerry mused, stroking the stone-textured bar.
Maya didn't say much.
She appeared quiet and reserved before her family. As a former agent, she had immediately assessed the hallway situation and explored both floors, memorizing the location of every equipment switch and the mobile terminal.
John pointed to the rebuilt workspace.
"Put guns in there from now on, and leave a couple handy too."
He decided to place the employees here.
With an increased number of people, the single apartment layout needed to be modified—Gerry and his wife brought their child, Gaf was alone, and John occasionally needed to return for maintenance.
The matter wasn't complicated.
The Habitable Rental Company provided interior renovation services; you could simply submit a modification request in the apartment system, pay, and it would be settled.
200 square meters, upper and lower levels.
Rearranging the metal staircase and reducing the living room's scope left plenty of space for three rooms of varying sizes.
John selected a ready-made template from the room terminal, moved some money from the finance chip into the membership account, added a package, rented a garage, and paid the bill, after which staff would arrive for construction within two hours.
"The apartment is really nice, it's a waste to use it as an employee dormitory."
Gerry stood behind the bar, studying the embedded wine cabinet and direct drinking machine.
Before the restaurant reopened, they had to rely on the microwave to handle food, but luckily the variety in the vending system was abundant enough.
Maya also found the environment very comfortable, far more luxurious and livable than the restaurant's back kitchen and low-rent apartment.
Gaf, on the other hand, appeared somewhat awkward.
She was a stowaway, having lived terribly before coming to Eden City, so she had never stayed in any decent place.
The gasoline-smelling vehicle backseat.
The precarious tin shacks in the slums.
Strictly speaking, a tent in the Wanderer Camp or a simple camper had already been quite a rare safehouse.
Such a solid-walled, open-view high-rise building, in fact, gave her an indescribable unease.
Gaf moved with difficulty and didn't touch the furniture much.
She sat silently on the couch.
The soft cushion would naturally make the body lean back, but she sat stiff, turning her head around like a probe.
John put down the equipment terminal, having dealt with the apartment remodeling matters, and let Gerry and Maya keep an eye on things when the service personnel arrived later.
Now, with the money in hand, many things could advance.
The most urgent task was visiting the Wanderer at Radiant Dust Farm, discussing the restaurant's reconstruction business with Nando, and getting it scheduled quickly.
Before that, they could solve Gaf's issue.
"Put your stuff down, come with me."
John snapped his fingers to catch Gaf's attention.
The "faulty doll" on the couch immediately stood up, obediently leaving her backpack at the edge of the carpet, stumbling to follow.
[Mission Objective Update]
[Help arrange prosthetic surgery for Gaf. (Optional)]
John only trusted one clinic in Eden City.
Silver Rider 577 bolted ahead, with Gaf, limping, sitting in the back tightly gripping the car's ceiling handle, without a word to say.
She held a deep awe for this boss.
This sentiment even surpassed any snakehead or gang thug she'd seen in the stowaway gathering place. During her time working at Chavez Restaurant, Gaf had encountered all sorts of mercenaries—some looked dangerous, yet she mustered the courage to interact with them, place orders, but with John, her own boss, she needed even more courage to speak.
John drove so fast.
Before Gaf could muster the courage to utter her first word, inquiring about the details of further treatment, they had left the sports car, heading down the pedestrian path into the complex environment of the East District's underground market.
With the clattering of electric gates opening.
The smoke-filled underground world unfolded before them, with the neon lights of various shops providing limited lighting, and the strong mix of tobacco, engine oil, and sweat scents piercing the nostrils.
Even though the giant exhaust fans were at full blast, the industrial engine noise couldn't overpower the rock cacophony.
Gaf felt immense familiarity:
Weaving through the flamboyant figures of all stripes, reminiscent of her days delivering food at Chavez Restaurant.
They all exuded a similar dangerous aura.
She remained silent, following behind John, passing sporadic stalls offering various black market services, scrutinized by different prosthetic eyes under spotlights—those people mainly observing the boss, with more and more gazes attracted, and the overspill of curiosity landing on herself.
Gaf quickened her pace; staying close alone made her thighs ache intensely, with her prosthetic joints rubbing against her skin, stinging painfully when struck by sweat.
Fortunately, they were finally reaching the end of the road.
They stood before an underground clinic.
The sign displayed services like [Prosthetic Implants], [Surgery], [Repair], with several discarded prosthetic bodies hanging beside the glowing letters as decorations.
The entrance was a hallway.
The lights were bright.
Inside came the sound of a new ventilation system whirring.
The breeze blew across Gaf's damp hair.
She inhaled the smell of disinfectant and rust, unable to suppress the late-arriving tension any longer.
Gaf couldn't move her feet, thinking of even more terrifying things.
John, who had walked to the end, turned and frowned, tilting his head. "Come in."
Gaf's legs began to weaken, her mind flooding with scenes of the Ghouls she'd seen in the stowaway gathering place, anonymous bodies with ripped open stomachs in dark alleys, and rooms filled with cruel instruments...
"Huff, huff."
She pressed her quivering hand on her shaking leg and moved into the dark clinic with a blank mind.
Thankfully.
This place seemed rather professional.
No confinement tables circled with yellow plastic sheets, the lights not as bright as the corridor, yet just right, avoiding tension while allowing visibility of every instrument around.
The air was dry and not smelly.
Gaf couldn't help but take a few deep breaths until a middle-aged man who looked like a doctor stepped over from the sofa with a wine bottle in his hand.
