Surviving a catastrophe indeed requires a bit of alcohol.
John once talked to Oulos about Black Light, but back then, they had just begun to trust each other, each still holding back. Now they filled in every detail.
Oulos listened intently, eyes glowing, gaze fixed on his face.
"Where did you get the Black Light?"
"I don't know."
John shook his head.
All the life experiences in his mind belonged to 'John Chavez.'
"It wasn't until the transport accident at Tiebang Logistics that my consciousness was shoved into this body... What's crazier is, it wasn't until you laid the photos and evidence in front of me that I realized I had a different face."
John frowned as he looked at his own hands.
His prosthetic arms were an 'Igdrasir' and a 'Glider,' with a silver-gray patch in his palm, a ballistic calibrator.
What he's doing now completely diverges from the trajectory of the first half of his life stored in his memories.
His hands were already stained with blood.
