My cyberpsychosis is a task prompt

Chapter 244: Anesthetic

John had roughly figured out Orlos's logic.

The blind photography of the warehouse was a way to track down the kestrels.

Negotiating with the smugglers is about finding concrete clues to confirm that she hasn't escaped Eden.

The kestrels have been roaming the streets for some time now.

But to Eden City, she was just a newcomer, with only a handful of people she could trust, as evidenced by her experience of fleeing back to Palmer.

They tried to sell the stolen goods to a ghoul, but almost got double-crossed.

To secretly leave the city, the only contact information available was that of his former employer, Yura. He had no connections at the border checkpoints, and the routes used by exiles and vagrants were also blocked…

Not doing well.

John gave his judgment.

[Mission target update]

[Go to the coordinates. (Not achieved)]

"Where are people?"

John asked the question only after he had walked some distance from the warehouse.

Orlos shook her head.

Yura didn't know where the falcon was either; she had only provided a new clue.

That's normal. As a mercenary, if he's survived this long, he'll definitely have a few hiding places.

John and Orlos followed the coordinates and eventually found a ghoul's workshop outside Palmer's red brick house.

A group of shirtless, heavily modified lunatics came and went.

The damp alley was illuminated by neon lights.

A strong smell of disinfectant mixed with the stench of blood wafted from afar.

"What does Yura mean? Was the Red Falcon dismantled?"

John looked away from the window of the Silver Rider 577.

"You'd better pray she's still alive, or you'll be in trouble. Your job now is to get into that room, find the boss inside, and place a precise order."

Oros waved from the passenger seat, shooing John out of the car.

[Mission objective updated.]

[Head to the Ghoul Workshop. (Not achieved)]

The sea breeze in Palmer carried a rotten, sour smell, surging along the coastline like a rising tide.

The setting sun cast the color of the old ceiling lights, unevenly spreading around the red brick house.

John, armed with the information and funds given to him by Orlos, walked into the workshop in front of a group of ghouls.

The term "studio" is too poetic.

To be precise, it should be called a slaughterhouse or a violent chip filming base.

John pushed aside the henchmen blocking his way, walked through the lingering smoke, and plunged headlong into the deafening music.

He frowned and looked around.

The industrial-style three-story factory building is open-plan, with all access via metal staircases.

The swaying plastic sheet was stained with blood.

The floor was wet, and haphazardly strung cables obscured its original color.

From the partitioned areas and rooms behind iron gates, the faint sounds of various tools scraping flesh could be heard, but even the loudest noises were drowned out by the tasteless rock music.

"Hey, who are you looking for?"

There's a crease-faced guy with his head dented inwards on the railing.

He belongs to another group of lunatics in the city, lunatics who have undergone severe rehabilitation, scum who have been knocked unconscious and had their kidneys harvested; it's normal that the two groups can get mixed up together.

"I'm talking to you!"

The Rift Party member, with his two electronic eyes flashing, casually turned off the speakers and shouted it again.

"I'm looking for 'anesthetic'!"

John spoke to the room full of scum.

"I want to buy something, 'live goods,' something high-end and high-spec. Call your boss out!"

"Okay, wait a minute."

The man with the sunken face pushed off the fence with both hands, sprang up, and turned to walk towards a certain room.

He had only taken two steps when he suddenly turned around and drew his gun.

Bang, bang, bang, bang!
John activated S.A.S.A. and vanished.

boom……

The man with the sunken face walked and fired his gun, shooting wildly from above, inside the second-floor railing.

"Do you think I didn't recognize you? You bastard, I was in the cave when you killed Raymond. You even smashed half of his nose. Damn it, don't you dare run away!"

Bang... Crack, crack!

The man with the concave face emptied the bullets from the Rongza revolver.

He frantically pulled the trigger, cursing as he changed magazines, though his steps appeared somewhat unsteady.

"Fuck! Are you fucking insane?!"

"I'm high on the bifurcation pipe!"

The other people in the room were also screaming and trying to get out of the way.

Chaos erupted in the drug den, and no one knew why a gunfight had suddenly broken out.

John, leaning against the metal pillar, was the most composed of them all.

Street reputation will definitely have a negative impact.

It's impossible to get along well with both sides.

John even had to rack his brains for a moment before he remembered that the Raymond the other person was referring to was "Old Du," the spiritual leader of the Rift Party.

That madman who embedded himself into the driver's seat in the cave.

slam-la-

The revolver magazine landed on the rusty stairs.

The man with the sunken face bent down to pick it up.

John suddenly turned and raised his rifle, two high-penetration bullets crushing half of the man's face.

He collapsed with a thud, and a few seconds later, blood pooled at the edge of the floor and dripped down.

"Damn it, someone broke in!"

I don't know which drunkard yelled that.

The situation became increasingly volatile, with some people firing shots and others banging on doors for backup.

John sighed.

He rolled to dodge bullets, raised his gun to fight back, and two beams of light of different colors moved up and down the floors.

The glass was broken.

The iron staircase clanged and rattled.

The rigid plastic shed leaked air.

One corpse after another was smashed to pieces in the corridor, and with John's precise kill, the gunshots that exploded in the stairwell were actually suppressed.

"Damn it, which bastard sent you?!"

Someone yelled while reloading.

"Fuck you, I'm here to talk business!"

"Do you have to kill someone to do business?"

"You fired first!"

Click, thump, gurgle—

John keenly noticed a strange rolling motion. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a cylinder fall from the second floor onto the floor in the center of the factory.

[Item: Concussion Grenade Silence MX]

Manufacturer: Wasaki Military Industry

The prosthetic eye captured a number that was rapidly decreasing to zero.

"Fake!"

John started the S.A.S ...

boom--

Chirp—

A flash of white light appeared briefly in the factory.

When they came to their senses, the Rift Party members and ghouls who had fired the shots in the room were all lying on the ground, clutching their heads.

John climbed out of the pool, only to find a dozen new gun barrels pointed at him.

[Fire in retaliation. (Optional)]

[Accept negotiation. (Optional)]

John can activate Sianwistan.

No one can stop him.

But then the mission would be over, and when he got back to the Silver Knight sports car, he would definitely be mocked by Oroth.

The fact that the other side didn't fire immediately suggests they still wanted to negotiate.

puff.

The cigar smoke mingled with the dust it stirred up.

The entrance to the largest workroom upstairs.

A stocky ghoul wearing a dirty white coat leaned against the railing, smoking.

Several henchmen holding machine guns surrounded him.

[Name: Anesthetic]

[Faction: Ghouls]

[Scan: accessory heart, combat stimulants, pain-blocking devices, bio-veins, etc.]

Dark purple tattoos were etched into his anesthetized skin, and his hair and eyebrows had been completely shaved off.

He leaned against the railing, his wet gloves dangling, and picked up a cigar in his other hand, as if taking a moment to relax after a busy day at work.

The two thick lips, pierced with rings, closed and sucked.

"Anesthetic," he squinted, staring at the mercenary in the pool, and asked.

"John, am I right? What are you doing on my turf?"

"Business."

"Interesting. What do you want?"

The anesthetic spoke very slowly, sounded very tired, and her eyes seemed half-closed.

He waved his hand, signaling the people around him to put down their weapons.

This was the first time John had ever approached an intermediary as an "employer" to issue a task, especially since the intermediary was a ghoul, one of the most heartless people in Eden.

[Mission objective updated.]

[Place an order with the ghoul. (Not fulfilled)]

He opened the information on Orlos again, thought for a moment, and then spoke.

“I want to replace this thing on my back. I heard you can get the rarest models, so I came to ask.”

"No problem at all, please state your requirements first."

The anesthetic spoke in a flat, condescending tone, his movements languid, as if he were watching a mediocre episode of a super-sensory chip.

Honestly, talking nonsense in front of this purebred pervert is a very stressful thing.

John shrugged and said.

"I want a Sinwiss 72 Sunset model from Isaac Military, made in the USA. I don't want the original European version or a replica; I just want the original slot."

"It doesn't make sense..."

The anesthetic shook its head.

John thought he was going to mess things up.

The anesthetic licked his teeth, exhaled a puff of smoke, and asked.

"Why do you insist on this particular model? There are so many details. Is it a special preference, or some other reason?"

Lying. (Optional)

[Silence. (Optional)]

John gave the prepared answer.

"The thing I'm carrying is a test product. There are only a limited number of models that can be replaced without damage, so it has to be the one I mentioned!"

"That……"

"Damn it, can you even handle this? If you can't, I'll find another way. Don't waste my time."

John pressed him for answers.

He didn't even blink because of the anesthesia, and he kept muttering in that weak, listless voice.

"Sure, I can find one, but it'll be five times the black market price. If you agree, I'll place the order."

"Why!"

“You have a bad reputation, John. Quite a few of my peers have died at your hands. Although I don’t mind, and even appreciate you for eliminating your competitors, I still feel a lot of pressure doing business with a mercenary like you.”

He sucked on his cigar under the influence of anesthetic, speaking in the calmest voice, his words brimming with threats.

If John doesn't agree, he'll have to fight his way out.

Fortunately, that's not what he came here for.

[Account Fund Changes...]

John waved and handed over a sum of cash.

It wasn't a full payment, but it was still a number that showed sincerity.

The anesthetic nodded, dismissing all the ghouls standing guard around them—John had gone from intruder to financier, and the deaths of a few addicts had little impact on the team.

"It was quite satisfying."

The anesthetic was clearly satisfactory.

John, however, added, like a true employer.

"I can pay the balance, but I want the live animal."

Where do ghouls get their supplies? Even a fool could figure that out.

John's requirement for a live specimen meant that he had to be present when the victim was on the autopsy table.

"This... is a different price."

The anesthetic seemed a bit of a dilemma.

"Don't push your luck. I didn't haggle, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid. The goods must be fresh. I have to inspect them myself, otherwise how will I know what tricks you've played!"

"Smack, smack."

He silently sucked on the anesthetic, the metal ring on his lips gleaming.

John added one last thing.

"We need to hurry. If the blocker's effect wears off and you still haven't contacted me before my cyberbullying episode, then we'll have to get serious!"

"Haha, OK."

The anesthetic revealed its only smile of the day.

It looks terrible.

(End of this chapter)