My cyberpsychosis is a task prompt

Chapter 246: The Bet

The race queen licked her lips and left.

"How come you like this kind of thing too?"

John chuckled.

"What is that magnetic card?"

"The magnetic cards for gambling betting—do you think those idiots who lift their hoods are just showing off? Or are they trying to get people to place bets on them and make money off gambling odds, driver commissions…"

The organizers risked being liquidated by the ECPD to put on this event; it certainly wasn't out of passion.

"Try harder, John."

"Oros said with a smile."

“I don’t want to do a losing business. You have to earn back every penny you spend today. If you lose money, I’ll sell you to the SAT and the Japanese.”

"You're too cruel."

"Since we're going to die anyway, let's not waste time, darling."

"Oros laughed sarcastically."

Palmer's dock area was flooded with graffiti and neon lights, a stark contrast to the perilous harbor under the blazing sun during the day.

An abandoned warehouse has been transformed into a temporary repair area, with personalized graffiti gleaming on the latest sheet metal.

bang bang bang...

A powerful surge of electricity coursed through the roadbed.

Lights illuminated both sides of the dead-end road, outlining a bright and dazzling starting area.

Immediately afterwards, an even larger holographic projection rose up.

It was a skull that stretched across the entire dock, slowly rotating with black letters on it, its empty eye sockets emitting a yellow light, and its teeth making a mechanical, synthesized sound as they opened and closed.

The holographic projection enveloped more than forty sports cars below.

All the vehicles participating in the motorcycle race were set up in the waiting area, awaiting the betting in the second half of the night. Now it was time for the car race to begin.

Fans of this art form gathered at the docks in Eden City.

John slowly drove onto the track. Ethan Berg, adorned with a crystal-encased car wrap, looked unique, but few knew that he was the mercenary who had made a name for himself in the West End.

He took off his coat and stood in front of the car wearing only a vest.

John was reminded of his life at Tiebang Logistics and inexplicably felt the urge to do a serious pre-match adjustment.

It feels like I've rediscovered the joy of it all.

The sweet, burnt aroma of nitrated fuel and alcohol 2 filled my nostrils.

The hot, scalding air, mixed with the smells of sweat and perfume, and the pungent odor of heated engine oil and metal, rose repeatedly amidst the smoky atmosphere and the clamor of the crowd.

This is an illegal competition.

boom.

The magnetic door slowly closed.

Through the water-rippled car window glass, you can see the projected data of the entire vehicle, as well as the racing girls retreating from the side of each vehicle.

The host's voice announced the start of the competition through the mouth of a "skull" projection.

"I have a question for you."

Olos suddenly spoke.

She had been watching John inspect the race car in complete silence.

Why did you come looking for me before you died?

"..."

[Mission target update]

[Answer honestly. (Optional)]

Lying. (Optional)

"I want to apologize."

John completely ignored the mission prompts.

"Since I got to know you, I've definitely benefited from it. I feel uncomfortable having to owe you things, especially since I'm about to pass away. I feel like I should say goodbye to you."

[The Palmer Sprint Race begins now, everyone fucking race!]

OH——

The cheers of the crowd were comparable to a tsunami.

The sports cars with their unique designs roared to life, and the sounds of tire burning and billowing smoke obscured the view.

John immediately started the process, but was met with interference from the visitor.

[Vehicle system access/Pending confirmation]

Black light can be forcibly broken through.

Normally, no one can touch John Ishamberg. Unless…

John turned his head and saw Olos's prosthetic eye gleaming in the passenger seat.

"What? You don't want the bet anymore?"

He doesn't care.

Orlos shook her head, watching her rival disappear into the distance.

The onlookers gradually noticed the cars that were lagging behind.

Some vehicles actually malfunctioned due to overloading caused by components that were installed beyond their capacity, leading to engine failure.

Others were ambushed and their systems were remotely compromised by hackers.

Cheers, mockery, doubt, and angry outbursts.

The flying and splashing liquor, along with the smoke that changed color with the lights, became topics for discussion.

Some people have also taken notice of this Isenberg.

The host said that "John" was a newcomer to the race and had experienced the dangers of the Palmer Sprint, which caused more laughter. By noon tomorrow, someone would discover John's identity and connect it with the incident of buying a toilet for a lot of money during the day, making it a classic joke in the bar recently.

These sounds were all blocked out by the light blue glass.

Oros, in the passenger seat, sighed.

"Wow, John, honestly, you're disgusting me. Let me catch my breath... John, why are you still full of naive ideas even though everyone's about to die?"

"..."

John gripped the steering wheel, his gaze sweeping across the black water to the sharply defined skyscrapers.

“You’re smart, and most people in this city are smart, but there always have to be a few fools to let them know that some people are different.”

"..."

Now it was Euryth's turn to remain silent.

Every piece of data from the Messiah's artificial eye proves that John was speaking from the heart.

Finally, with a look of utter despair, she fastened her seatbelt with a click.

[Vehicle system unlocked, road signs loaded, currently adapting to race parameters...]

"If you can come in first, we'll settle the score, and you can close your eyes in peace!"

Olos gripped the armrest, ready.

"I will not attend your funeral, so this is my final message to you."

However, to her surprise:

John didn't start the car immediately. Instead, he released the steering wheel, stepped over the dashboard, and almost landed on top of her.

In that instant, Orlos thought of many things.

The middleman navigates between destruction and prosperity with precise calculations—driving a violent cycle in a city and becoming the only "order" that mercenaries can rely on in the chaos.
There will always be people who act outside of the "calculated" logic, becoming one of the factors that "get out of control".

This loss of control is fatal for the middleman.

John did nothing, nor did he care about the wild thoughts swirling in Olos's mind. Instead, he pulled over the other side of her seatbelt and fastened it into an "X".

The Isenberg Silver Rider is a retro supercar.

It has a professional racing mode, and at that speed, more advanced protective measures are needed.

"We've wasted too much time."

John sat back in the driver's seat.

He pressed the launch start button with one hand and simultaneously stepped on the dynamic counterweight balance pedal.

The rear wheel of the Silver Knight 577 spun freely, emitting a burst of rubber smoke.

Before Orlos could react, she felt a powerful force surge into her spine.

Her head was slammed into the roll cage seat.

At the same time, the passenger seat shrank inward, welding Orlos completely to the seat.

The carbon fiber connectors all made a creaking sound.

When the peak torque was fully released, the Silver Rider supercar was "bouncing" off the starting line, and the smoke that had been lingering in front of the audience was blown away by a hurricane.

Immediately following was a deafening roar of cheers that echoed across the dock!

Palmer's dead end is a straight road, which is also used to give each race car the throttle to the limit and create a layered effect.

The Silver Rider supercar's engine roared alone on the cleared road.

The taillights, like a soft stream of light, curved out amidst the gazes of nearly a thousand people, entering the first bend at an angle of almost forty degrees. The entire car lowered to one side, bracing against the enormous torque as it made its way through the first curve.

The speed is just too fast.

Those competitors who surged ahead, even without checking electronic leaderboards, noticed the unusual engine sound:
It was carried by the howling night wind, like a deadly bullet with high armor penetration, aimed at the back of everyone's head.

(End of this chapter)