Rion arrived at his residence, the repurposed auto shop he now called home. The exterior still bore the marks of its previous life: faded signage and rusted metal, blending seamlessly with the other run-down buildings in the area. Abandoned cars lined the streets, their once shiny exteriors now dulled by layers of grime and rust.
Weeds sprouted through cracks in the asphalt driveway, fighting for survival amidst the occasional car that rumbled by. The old sign above the door, half hanging off, still read "Mac's Auto Repairs," though the letters were faded and chipped.
He'd chosen this location precisely because it was nondescript, a forgotten corner of the Northern District where people minded their own business. It wasn't the kind of place where strangers asked questions, and that was exactly what he needed. For Rion, anonymity was as valuable as any weapon.
But inside, it was a different story. He had transformed the space into a functional base, the once-grease-stained floors now clean and reinforced, covered in a matte black coating that resisted stains and reflected just enough light to keep the space from feeling too dark.
Rows of fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling, casting a sterile glow over the array of tools and machines essential for his work. He'd chosen them specifically for their brightness and energy efficiency, a far cry from the dim, flickering bulbs that had originally hung there.
As he entered through the reinforced side door, Rion was greeted by the faint scent of metal and oil. He secured the door behind him and set the rifle case down with a heavy thud. He paused for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. The shop was illuminated by a combination of natural light streaming in through the windows and the soft hum of solar-powered lights.
He had long since replaced the old, inefficient generators with a series of industrial generators. It was a reliable setup, and one of the many improvements he'd made since moving in.
Rion stretched a bit, feeling the tightness in his shoulders ease slightly. He headed to the small kitchen area he had set up in a corner of the shop. The kitchen was modest, just a mini-fridge, a portable stove, and a few shelves filled with basic supplies. It wasn't much, but it was enough for one person living alone.
The fridge hummed softly as he opened it, revealing a sparse collection of items: a few cans of gourmet soup, some bread, a carton of eggs, and bottles of water. As much as he craved food, he wasn't much of a cook, but he had at least learnt how to fend for himself.
He chuckled to himself, thinking about how the word "gourmet" might be a bit of an overstatement. Still, it was better than nothing, and based on experience, the soup had a comforting, unique taste that challenged his taste buds.
He grabbed a can of premium gourmet soup and a loaf of bread. As he quickly heated the soup on the stove, watching as the liquid began to bubble and steam, he allowed himself a moment of relaxation. The smell was enticing, and his stomach growled in anticipation. He then poured the soup into a bowl and sat down at a makeshift dining table.
The table was, in fact, a sturdy workbench repurposed for meals and planning sessions. It still bore the marks of countless projects—scorch marks from a welding torch, deep scratches from a saw, and the occasional gouge where a screwdriver had slipped.
As he ate, his eyes wandered around, taking in the familiar sights. The old auto shop had come a long way since he first moved in. This place had been a shell when he first leased it, a derelict space that barely functioned. He remembered the endless nights spent cleaning, setting up the equipment and tinkering with his creations. Now, it was a well-oiled machine, running smoothly under his meticulous care.
Every corner of the shop bore his mark, and it was equipped with the necessary tools and machines needed to fabricate and repair his gear. Various workbenches were meticulously organized, each dedicated to a specific aspect of his projects.
A soldering station and oscilloscope along with other machinery lay by one wall, while shelves filled with various components and materials he had painstakingly gathered lined another.
There was also a small forge in the back, where he could melt down scrap metal and cast new parts when necessary. The forge was an old, rusted thing that he had restored to working condition with some elbow grease and a lot of patience. It wasn't perfect, but it got the job done.
He even had a makeshift shooting range set up against one wall, complete with reinforced targets and soundproofing to keep the noise from drawing unwanted attention. The range wasn't anything fancy, just a couple of steel plates welded together, but it was enough for him to test his creations without having to leave the safety of his shop.
This place, with its constant smell of metal shavings, and other imperfections, had become his sanctuary.
Settling in the Northern District had been anything but easy, yet he thrived in this harsh environment, pushing himself to become stronger, and more resourceful. In the four months since he moved here, his life had been a delicate balance of taking on assignments and bounties while using the windfall from these missions to invest heavily in his development, both in terms of gear and personal abilities.
With his relentless drive and focus, not only was he significantly closer to the threshold of the Early-stage, but he had also managed to acquire three new origin techniques.
The first two were attribute boosting techniques. [Lesser Dexterity] increased his dexterity, allowing him to control his body with slightly greater precision and fluidity while active. The second, [Mental Defense], was a technique that increased his psychological resistance while active, allowing to better resist adepts with mind-affecting type abilities.
As for why he got it, it may or may not have had to do with that particularly embarrassing incident with the illusionist who had made him believe, for a full thirty minutes, that he was being chased by a swarm of bees.
It wasn't the running or the screaming that haunted him the most—it was the frantic strip-down to his underclothes in the middle of the market square, convinced that the "bees" had gotten inside his shirt.
I swear I'll put a bullet in your skull one day, Skibidi King!
The third technique, however, was a surprising find and his most prized acquisition till date: a mid-grade attribute enhancing technique called [Energy Strengthening-Magnetism]. This technique enhanced his control over magnetic fields each time it was practiced, boosting the power and efficiency of his Resonance ability. As for how that old geezer, Malik had managed to get his grubby hands on a mid-grade origin technique, he was not concerned in the least.
«Bzzz! Bzzz!»
Mid-thought, his device buzzed, snapping him back to the present. He glanced at the screen and saw Rosa's name flashing. Ever since that mission the both of them did together, they had kept in frequent contact, due to the fact that he had to complete a commission. He wiped his mouth, set the can aside, and answered the call.
"Yo Stretchy. What's up? You run out of bullets already?" Rion asked, his voice steady.
"Yo, Forger, you won't believe it," Rosa's voice excitedly crackled through the speaker, totally ignoring the nickname. "The gear you made for me, they're fantastic. The effects are way better than I expected."
Oh, I can believe it...
Rion allowed himself a small smile. "Glad to hear it. I put a lot of work into those."
"Well, it didn't go unnoticed. Some colleagues saw the guns in action and now they're interested. They want to purchase some for themselves. Think you can handle a few orders?"
Rion's interest was piqued. "Really? How many are we talking about?"
"At least five, maybe more," Rosa replied. "Can you make it happen?"
Rion leaned back in his chair, a smile forming on his lips. This was exactly the kind of opportunity he had been waiting for. More commissions meant more funds, which meant more resources for his projects and personal upgrades.
"Sure, I can handle it. Give me the specifics, what they need and how many. I'll get back to you with a timeline once I have that information."
"Great! I'll handle the negotiations and get back to you with the details. Bye." Rosa replied before ending the call.
Rion set his device down, a sense of satisfaction washing over him. Ever since his inexplicable transmigration, he noticed that any time there was profit to be made, he always felt all giddy on the inside, like he was a kid in a candy store.
Hehehee... The leek farm is expanding nicely...
As he rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the money rolling in, the expression on his face was a cross between a savvy businessman and a popular cartoon character, with dollar signs for eyes and a giant grin.
After finishing his meal, Rion cleared the table with methodical precision. He washed the few dishes he used and wiped down the counter, his mind already moving toward the next task.
Once everything was spotless, he leaned back in his chair, allowing himself a rare moment of relaxation. He rolled his shoulders to ease the tension that had accumulated during the meal. He had to admit, the food had been better than expected.
He then picked up his phone, its screen illuminating his face in the dimly lit room. The device was a popular one among mercenaries because it had several layers of encryption and security protocols. He logged into the Mercenary Legion page, his fingers moving quickly over the screen.
The interface sprang to life with a flurry of activity as he entered his unique id. Navigating to the Bounties' section, he saw the bounty on Blue Devil Simke now marked 'CLEARED'. His lips curled into a small, satisfied smile. Simke had been a notorious figure in the underworld, a mid-level enforcer for one of the larger crime syndicates. His death would ripple through the underworld, sending shockwaves among his associates and rivals.
The Mercenary Legion and by extension, the underground market was a place where news traveled fast, and a high-profile bounty like the Blue Devil's wasn't completed without gaining attention.
But it was also an opportunity. Him successfully claiming the bounty meant that he would be noticed, and his reputation would grow. And in this line of work, reputation was everything. It could open doors, create alliances, and most importantly, it could bring in more business.
He still had to stay vigilant, but he also relished the notoriety. It was a double-edged sword, dangerous yet necessary for his rise.
He continued scrolling through the bounties, eyes scanning the various names and faces, weighing his options for the next mission.
Each bounty came with its own set of challenges. Some were simple tracking jobs, tracking down a runaway debtor, locating a missing asset. Others were more complex, requiring the elimination of rogue cultivators, political rivals, or justor just someone you really, really didn't like.
Not that personal grudges were supposed to be a valid reason for a bounty but with the right connections and enough renumeration, even the pettiest grievances could turn into a high-priority contract.
Upon reaching a peculiar one, his hand hovered over the phone as he read through the details.
_____________________________________________________________
Bounty: Rion Hale (Alias: Mr. Nobody)
Status: ACTIVE
Reward: 9000 Kila (subject to increase based on new information)
Last Known Location: Western District, Pinecrest
Details:
Picture attachment
The individual known as 'Mr. Nobody' has been linked to recent technological advancements in weaponry. Suspected to have ties to various criminal activities, including arms dealing and collaboration with known felons. Subject is considered highly intelligent and resourceful.
Special Conditions:
—Capture alive for questioning(Important)
—Approach with caution due to subject's expertise in technology and potential unknown weaponry.
Issued By: Confidential
_____________________________________________________________
"Well, well," Rion muttered to himself, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Looks like the price went up a bit."