[Eden City - West District Peripheral Storage Corridor]
The sound of Silver Rider 577 drew closer from a distance.
John followed the coordinates from his email to the accident scene, raising the car window halfway there.
It wasn't raining, but it was incredibly damp.
He didn't mind.
Old prosthetic bodies, worn down over time, could be affected, potentially triggering complications, which explained the unusually irritable homeless people on the street.
[Mission Objective Updated]
[Proceed to the accident scene. (Not Achieved)]
From afar, he could see the yellow caution tape.
Jingke Heavy Industry's security department had promptly sent someone to find the missing vehicle, located down the riverside slope ahead.
The police had been there.
They perfunctorily put up the caution tape without using any body bags; the company insisted on inspecting the site themselves.
Three transport vehicles were lying across the slope below.
The doors were open, shell casings and blood were scattered everywhere.
Several company soldiers, armed and wearing standard laser sunglasses, stood outside the caution tape.
They were dressed in bulletproof vests adorned with Jingke Heavy Industry's logo.
Beside them were two intact vehicles.
A black armored car.
A silver-gray 'Doug Louis' business bulletproof car.
Raphael had likely instructed them in advance.
The bodyguards did not stop him.
John crossed the caution tape and saw a woman standing inside.
She was tall, wearing a silver-gray nanofiber suit, her back easily drew attention to the old-fashioned studs on her ears.
"Gray" is Jingke Heavy Industry's corporate color.
[Name: Indig Weber]
[Affiliation: Jingke Heavy Industry]
As John approached, he caught a faint scent.
It wasn't fragrant and was hard to describe with words, as if all unpleasant odors were broken down upon approach, making the air considerably more "fresh".
Ms. Weber turned around, the ear studs were secure and didn't sway, still delicate up close—just like their owner.
"Mercenary sent by Raphael?"
"If it's not a mass message, then it's probably me."
"You don't seem like a professional," Ms. Weber's tone was calm, "more like the type who'd ruin a scene and then say, 'I'm on the job.'"
"Yeah, I say that too."
John spread his hands, waiting for her to refuse.
Weber, however, nodded, gesturing for him to get to work.
John smiled and asked back, "Not going to change personnel?"
"I can tell you don't value this job. A mercenary who isn't in dire straits implies a high enough income, commercial value, and I'm starting to anticipate your performance."
"What if I mess it up?"
John replied jokingly, surveying the perimeter within the caution tape, occasionally crouching down to inspect traces.
The Messiah's Eye initiated an environmental scan.
Dragged traces, black oil stains, ballistic marks, the angle of fire from corpses, and the route from where the accident scene was approached—all highlighted.
The prosthetic eye could scan what the company already knew.
Nothing to flaunt in front of professionals.
So John said nothing, standing up to leave.
Ms. Weber's tone remained calm.
"I also noticed that the payment from Raphael might not be enough to impress you, so I'm adding a personal bonus, no middlemen, don't disappoint me."
"Wow."
John raised an eyebrow, pursed his lips, and paused to look at her. "You're really concerned about this batch of goods."
"As gang warfare progresses, Eastern people have started assassinating corporate management..."
Weber's current position resulted from the previous Board Secretary's death by "unconventional" business means.
She knew what challenges came with this role.
"I don't want a repeat. You need to do it well, the batch allocated to Bone Shards from the Board can't just disappear, I need names, destinations, reasons for disappearance, and someone needs to pay for it."
John nodded.
He continued his inquiry at the right moment.
"Raphael mentioned you have some speculations, evidence that could save us time?"
Ms. Weber did not speak, nodding at someone nearby.
Jingke Heavy Industry's soldiers quickly brought out the evidence box.
Inside were some broken parts, alloy casings, and what appeared to be sophisticated mechanical tendons.
[Item: X9 Pump Tube]
[Description: Artificial Intelligence's exclusive buffer fluid tube, six-layered inside and out, extremely complex manufacturing process, rarely available in the civilian market.]
Ms. Weber offered no further explanation.
John had no questions.
He recognized this stuff, more precisely, he had come across it—the secret unit of Raqi Group, codenamed Chuan, used these parts, the metallic wire's weaving pattern was highly distinctive.
"Heh, Eastern people."
John said with a smile.
That was all Ms. Weber said.
Company lackeys generally didn't interact directly with those doing the grunt work.
John left with a mutual understanding—this was certainly not the work of the Eastern people, at least not Chuan.
That group of executioners were far too meticulous to leave such a crude scene.
Moreover, this vehicle deviated from its set route on its own and only then was suddenly attacked by this bridge, the crossfire seemed fake, many bullet holes were fabricated afterward.
The likelihood of an insider was high.
John drove a distance away, palm upturned, revealing a casing he picked up from the scene.
This was a traditional kinetic revolver bullet.
An old model gun, large caliber, not popular.
John found it in a pit covered with footprints and bloodstains, unsure if it was "purposely" left for him by company lackeys.
In any case, it was unique, unlike any other bullet at the scene.
Time to ask the Black Gold Gang's people.
[Mission Objective Updated]
[Inquire Bone Shards. (Optional)]
[Inquire Jilead. (Optional)]
Bone Shards busy with gang wars may not give him any face.
As for Vito Russell, even less approachable.
John didn't have Jilead's contact, but he knew where to find this gang leader.
[Dan Street - Habitable Rental Company]
The Habitable Rental Company had relocated.
The sign had become more flamboyant, making it easy to find.
In four months, the city was evolving, as were the business scope and revenue streams of the gangs.
John entered through the main door but was stopped by a scanner.
He complied with the check, not surrendering his weapon, surveying the hall as he waited for notification—glass walls, light-gray flooring, the place increasingly resembled a corporation.
Approval came quickly.
John paused as he passed the counter.
A robust black gentleman stood there.
He was neatly dressed, name badge centered, his muscular frame filling out the single-breasted blue short-sleeve uniform.
John recognized him.
The first time he came to the West District looking for a place to live, it was this muscle-bound man clocking in enthusiastically that guided him to view properties.
The guy nodded, neither surprised nor exchanged pleasantries, only inquiring when he noted John wasn't moving away.
"Is there anything I can help you with?"
His tone was serious, expressionless.
"Do you…remember me?"
John leaned against the bar, noticing a dumbbell and grip trainer at the man's feet, weighed heavily with interest.
The guy maintained his hobby.
He stared intently at John, then his optical eye lit up, checking the information in the system.
"Sorry, I didn't find your reservation."
"..."
John pursed his lips in silence, redirected his focus to the wall.
A dynamic rental heatmap hung behind the reception desk.
Red dots signified unpaid rents.
Yellow dots indicated disputes.
Green dots were prepaid users.
The map's multicolored composition illustrated the living niches of thousands in the West District streets.
