The night enveloped everything, with brilliant lights piercing through.
The metro rumbled loudly.
Every pane of glass was monopolized by corporate advertisements, with product pushes on a 24-hour loop. Gigantic ads propped up by neon tubes, rolling subtitles even projected on the beams.
The outer ring was a slum, where law and order and resident quality were generally poor.
Passengers in the carriage weren't friendly:
A variety of junkies, street kids dazed from hangovers, and sex workers who wore trench coats to their jobs.
Every time getting off the train, there was relief from not encountering riots or shootings.
John looked out the window calmly.
He arrived at the platform, switching to a hovercar, which meant entering the main city area.
The passengers on the car became much more presentable.
Most of them had proper jobs, yet their faces showed the same numbness and suppressed desires.
The hovercar skimmed across the city skyline.
Neon lights and holographic projections replaced the tranquility of Eden City's night, with gang graffiti covering the cultural walls.
High-tech, low-life.
Welcome to the (crossed out) damn Cyber Era.
John smiled at the graffiti, as crisscrossing tracks and skyscrapers blocked the view, reflecting his expression on the glass.
It was the first time he'd crossed Eden City's outer ring since he killed the unscrupulous prosthetic body doctor.
Drones scanned his face, and no bounty notices appeared.
His anxious heart slightly relaxed, and he was thankful for having erased the consultation records and surveillance information after hacking into the clinic system.
"I was just too nervous."
Revenge killings, accidents, robberies...
Who would care?
People died every day in Eden City, and any unvisited corner could house a fresh corpse.
Medical institutions and insurance companies wouldn't seek justice for their customers, at best, they notified the local police, who subsisted on meager salaries, bribes, and exploitation without a shred of justice...
John repeatedly comforted himself.
[Proceed to Pignan No. 8. (Not accomplished)]
The mission released specific coordinates.
It rained when John emerged from the metro exit.
The thick coat was made of water-repellent fabric, raindrops hitting him sounded like plastic rustling. This white noise filtered out the urban clamor, giving him an unexpected sense of peace.
Following the system prompt, John arrived at a bar but was politely turned away by a strong muscular man before entering.
"Sorry, membership expired."
The security was built like an action movie protagonist.
Both arms were prosthetic limbs, a shotgun slung at his waist, with a communication channel linked to the monitoring room, while the door's camera included a scanner capable of summoning a dozen armed men if detecting any threat.
[Enter Nocturne Bar through Watchdog. [Optional]]
John stepped back, glanced at the sign, and left.
He could barely make ends meet, so he wouldn't spend money on membership fees just for a mission at a sketchy venue.
As for taking down the other party?
Don't kid around.
John's only asset was a silencer with armor-piercing rounds, limited in scope.
[Mission objective updated]
[Head to the parking lot, find a way to enter Nocturne Bar. [Optional]]
John bypassed a couple making out in the alley, climbed over two piles of junk, and saw a row of cars.
A few flashy punks smoking and boasting nearby.
Judging by their style, they seemed to be gang members active nearby.
John had no intention of provoking them; since the mission suggested it, there was evidently a better solution.
He examined the building's exterior, leaped over the dumpster in two steps, and found an old ventilation facility, moving through precarious pipes, avoiding live detectors haphazardly stuffed inside…
"Ha, just got in."
John walked past the security from behind, gesturing politely. "What an easy paycheck, big guy."
The Nocturne boss wasn't strict on guest comings and goings.
Not every VIP consented to identity checks; open for business, as long as you had the skills to enter, you were considered a guest.
Enjoying the amenities required membership status; sneaking in wouldn't allow the availing of signature services.
Drinks and consumption were permissible, but the girls were off-limits.
John wasn't there to satisfy desires.
Orders could be made on the electronic screen, projection touchscreens coupled with neural transmission, and if you'd decided on what to drink, a hot waitress would deliver it.
During his Tiebang Logistics days, John had earned well enough to visit places like these, primarily for weekend gatherings with his mates.
These whimsically named drinks mostly contained drugs.
Each had its distinct effect.
For instance, brain stimulation increased hacking speed, muscular paralysis reduced pain transmission, enhanced focus, and courage boost...
Numerous types, rich in functionality.
To improve skills in any aspect, frankly speaking, those items were even in vending machines on the street, selling them in a specialty bar felt somewhat low-end.
Of course, they offered better, more expensive options.
Companies wouldn't distribute performance aids or emergency drugs to their lower-level employees; in non-combat departments, benefits and equipment were atrocious, making it standard procedure to spend out of pocket on refreshments before heading out for assignments.
John ordered a cocktail and tipped generously.
He knew how to extract information from the swaying waitresses, but there was no girl named Maya Weitz in this bar.
The situation got a bit complicated.
[Proceed to the modification center, access the system. [Optional]]
[Proceed to the surveillance room, access the system. [Optional]]
John cross-referenced the mission prompt with the information provided by the server.
The modification center was the prosthetic body clinic.
Nocturne Bar offered installation and maintenance services to customers, allowing upgrades to their gear at a cost.
The surveillance room on the second floor was the security department hub.
The mission left him with two choices.
Not wanting to die at the hands of bare-armed thugs, John headed towards the modification center.
He posed as a customer, browsing the product list at the self-service machine:
For a membership-based venue, items needed to stand out.
Nocturne's prosthetic limbs and chips were decent, seemingly reputable brands within Eden City, carrying at least some assurance of safety.
John thoroughly browsed, finding something that piqued his interest.
[Prosthetic: Atlanta Virtual Network]
[Part: Operating System]
[Function: Remote Device Control.]
The access bay could be a hacker's launchpad.
If this system could operate devices remotely, it'd allow checking the status of Black Spider from any corner in Eden City instead of relying on hefty mobile devices awaiting transfer.
Equivalent to a mobile server.
John glanced at the cost, combining Black Spider's bounty with the last bit of his reserves...
He could just afford it.
Renovations required a queue, doctors working by order.
Shortly after sitting down, John successfully made his way inside.
The modification center was what the mission called it, the bar dubiously named it the arsenal, even installing an exceedingly flamboyant security door outside.
Only after entering did John understand why it was called an arsenal.
Because the entire wall was…
"Genitalia, quite a shock, right? Everyone reacts this way their first time."
"The designer's mind is really unique."
"The boss designed it, he's a jerk and a Shark Coin."
The doctor chuckled drearily, eyes hollow, as he took a sip from his glass, motioning for John to sit on the chair in front of him.
He connected the device and checked the order number.
"Atlanta Virtual Network, hmm, tasteful, I haven't received a non-genital-related order in ages."
The doctor was bald, middle-aged, with a voice steeped in pessimism, as if life had beaten him down yet death wouldn't come.
"Just a moment." He said.
The pipes in the arsenal roared, and then a black box labeled slid onto the surgical table.
Opening the sealed box, the prosthetic was inside.