"Are you going to stop at home or…"
"No need. I won't be taking much." he said, without taking his eyes off the map.
"As you wish. My arsenal is always at your disposal."
The deserted area he was about to visit was surrounded by slight relief and had some distinctive features. While Mr. Nobody studied the map in detail and made a plan of action in his head, Marcel looked thoughtfully at his face.
Apparently, he was trying to understand his thought process and offer help.
In the end, the old man sighed and decided that it would look silly. After all, even though he worked in this field, he knew little about such matters.
"By the way, how's your hand? No complaints?" Marcel asked somewhat awkwardly.
"..." He looked up from the map and glanced at his right palm.
His eyes still held the image of how that hand resembled tomato paste mixed with bones. The memories of how Ryskar had bitten into it... were unforgettable.
"It's great, old man... Still looks damn cool," he replied with a smile, looking closely at his hand.
His right hand was made of silver-colored steel with black moving parts where his fingers bent. The style perfectly matched his hair... Although he wasn't sure if others saw the same shade as he did.
It wasn't just a replacement of a limb with a mechanical one. Only his fingers and half of his palm were mechanical.
Very few could perform a procedure of such quality.
"Heh, I'm glad, kid. Enjoy it."
Perhaps realizing that he was once again embarking on a suicidal mission, Marcel wanted to help or at least show a little concern...
But, given the character of the man opposite him, the old man was unlikely to be able to show such paternal concern to the fullest extent.
And yet Marcel was one of the few people to whom Mr. Nobody showed himself without a mask... Of course, they could hardly see his real face, but it was still a form of trust.
…
"Well..." he whispered in anticipation.
The initial inspection and planning were complete.
Anticipating the coming battle, he brought his metal fingers to his neck and touched his talisman.
A blood-red metal claw hung around his neck—a trophy he had taken from the first enemy he had encountered in this world. The scars from that very claw were still visible on his cheek and back.
"Marcel, pack my suit for the wastelands in my suitcase."
"Already done!"
"Excellent, then..." He smiled and walked over to a specific shelf. "Take it out."
"Are you serious...?"
"Yep. It's time for Martha."
"Martha..."
Martha was the name of Marcel's much younger wife and... a huge sniper rifle. At the time, the old man was so impressed by it that he spent an incredible amount of money on it and named it after his beloved wife.
"..." Opening the long case with the rifle on the table, they both froze for a moment.
Mr. Nobody was the first to shake off the strange feeling and reach for the weapon.
"Wow..."
"Stop!" Marcel shouted hastily, slapping his hand.
"What?"
"Promise me... Promise me you'll be gentle with Martha."
The old man's face showed sincere concern.
"I promise," he replied with a smile.
So as not to upset Marcel any further, he closed the case and decided to test the rifle out of his sight.
"By the way... Will you go see the padre? Schrodinger wanted to talk to you about something."
"Ha..." he sighed wearily, glancing toward the door from which the sound of merriment was coming.
That door led to the heart of Southville — the part of the district hidden underground. However, he didn't particularly like going there. He had his reasons.
"Maybe I'll stop by after I finish this job," he replied evasively.
"You've never visited the house you're entitled to for earning Black Gold… We could be neighbors, kid" Marcel teased him.
"..."
"You know, Martha makes amazing pasta in the evenings."
"Al dente?"
"Of course... Do you know how often my little son asks about you? Every time he comes home, he begs for a new story about the mysterious 'Mr. Nobody'. Because of him alone, most of the kids now call their neighborhood New Italy, and I only mentioned that strange name once! He's completely crazy about you — the terror of the streets in a mask and black cloak."
"Little son…? Damn, old man, how old are you?"
"58," Marcel replied without shame.
"Gods..." He couldn't hold back a smirk. "I'll come see you. Someday for sure."
"We'll be waiting," replied the old man, patting him cheerfully on the shoulder.
"..."
He felt somewhat awkward and uncomfortable... but smiled sincerely anyway.
...
He left the basement, putting his mask back on and picking up the suitcase with a change of clothes and the case with the rifle.
Knowing the features of his black bracelet, Marcel handed him the chip with the order details, and together they headed back to the bar.
"By the way, what exactly am I supposed to steal?"
"In general, after the order data is transferred, your Neodeck chip should react when you approach the item... In your case, I think your voice assistant will do that."
"I see… Do we at least know what this item looks like and what it is?"
"According to the description, it's a small polygon about the size of a palm... Its properties, capabilities, and purpose are not specified."
"..."
"But in small print, it said incidents are ruled out if the conditions for safe transportation are met," Marcel replied with an awkward smile.
Such secrecy was extremely rare, as confidentiality between the customer, broker, and mercenary was a given.
Why add even more mystery? It raised certain suspicions.
"I feel like something's wrong with this gig. Who's the client?"
"He preferred to remain anonymous..."
"I'm happy for him. What's his name?"
Marcel cleared his throat awkwardly again.
"Hey, I'm surprised myself, man, but this time I really couldn't find anything! I can't imagine the level of security he has in place."
"Ha..." He smiled dryly.
This surprised him even more... But in his two years of practice, there had already been one such case. That time, Paymax was able to figure out the name and location of the customer, so maybe he could do it again.
"I feel like something's wrong with this gig… But I can't figure out whether I like it or not," he whispered to himself.
"So young, and already gone mad... This city certainly spares no one," lamented the old man.
They went upstairs, and Marcel closed the door to the secret passage behind him.
During this time, the bar had been cleaned and tidied up. There were no corpses, no chunks of brain matter, no pools of blood left... Only on one of the tables now lay a note with the details for the transfer. A job perfectly done.
But that wasn't what worried him now.
"Haa..." He sighed heavily and swallowed hard.
He didn't know if he loved this moment or, on the contrary, hated it... But he understood for sure that it was special to him.
Perhaps it was natural, because he was its Champion... Or perhaps the reasons were not so simple.
But whatever the case, he knew that he would definitely go outside, definitely look at the sky, and definitely see... this.
It was a kind of destiny.
"Haah..." He took a deep breath, as if trying to gather his resolve.
Without a word, he stepped outside, already tilting his head back to look up.