Above the Blood Moon

Chokley stood in front of the mirror, running his fingers along the edge of his collar to smooth out the last remaining wrinkles.

Because most of the mercury coating on the mirror had peeled off, the reflected image was blurry and distorted, but he could still see himself clearly.

He wore a black overcoat, dark trousers, and boots that were barely clean. His hair was longer than when he first arrived, hanging messily over his forehead, and he casually smoothed it back.

My gaze shifted to the wall next to the mirror, where twenty-one marks were etched.

Today is the twenty-first day. In three weeks, he has lived for twenty-one days in this world, in this hellish place called the Forgotten City.

Jockley stared at the marks for a long time, as if recalling some past events, until Big Yellow made a sound, at which point Jockley turned around.

Big Yellow was already waiting at the door.

Today, for some reason, the robot insisted on wearing Chokley's sunglasses. The lenses were so big that they almost covered half of its face, and it was also wearing a black coat that Chokley had bought for it.

"[￣ω￣]"

A smug emoji popped up on the panel.

"Are you really going out like this?"

Chokley looked Big Yellow up and down, and had to admit that Big Yellow looked much more real after dressing up like this than when it first arrived.

At least he won't be mistaken for a naked cyberbully, or even an exhibitionist, when he walks down the street.

"Is there a problem?" Big Yellow asked back. "Master, according to my aesthetic database, this look is far cooler than your usual style."

Jockley ignored it. He checked the holster on his waist, which contained an ordinary energy pistol with a short but sufficient range, and then touched the rifle on his back.

The Orion laser projectile has been in good condition recently, and he has already handed the blasphemous bone gun over to Big Yellow to place near its core. If it weren't for the fact that the bone gun is really useful, he wouldn't really want to go through that kind of pain again.

Finally, he glanced at the account balance in his nervous system: 55 Star Alliance Coins.

We're fucking poor.

"I'm gone."

As he spoke, Jockley pushed open the door.

Downstairs, the Gear Tavern had just opened, and the morning blood moonlight slanted in through the window, cutting out a dark red patch of light on the floor.

Art stood behind the bar, shaking a silver cocktail shaker. He wasn't wearing his white lab coat today; he was wearing a simple gray shirt instead.

Daikiri lay sprawled on the other side of the bar, looking like a lump of mud, her head buried in her arms, with only her bright blue hair sticking out, rising and falling slightly with her breath.

"Awake?" Ate asked without looking up.

"Hmm." Jockley walked to the bar.

Art stopped what he was doing, took a bottle of beer from the liquor cabinet behind him, and with a flick of his thumb, the bottle cap flew off with a "pop," arcing through the air before landing precisely in the trash can in the corner.

Then he pushed the bottle to Jockley.

"Your breakfast," Art said.

Jockley took it and gulped it down.

The beer was icy cold, with the bitterness and bubbly stinging sensation typical of cheap beer, and it slid down his throat, dispelling the last bit of his drowsiness.

Art picked up the communicator and rapidly tapped his fingers on the virtual keyboard. A few seconds later, Chokley's nervous system vibrated as he received two messages.

One item is a purchasing list, densely packed with dozens of items, including synthetic protein blocks, nutritional paste base ingredients, flavorings, cleaning agents, and the names and quantities of various alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages.

The other notification was a transfer: +20 Star Alliance Coins.

"Let's buy it in District 3 this time," Art said, starting the cocktail shaker again. "Those suppliers in District 11 went bankrupt last week. The boss is drowning in debt, and it's too late to pay it off with his ass. I heard he jumped into the waste disposal pool last night, and they haven't even pulled his body out yet."

Jockley took another sip of beer.

"Atlanta, why didn't you just place the order through the system?"

Att's movements did not stop.

Have you seen the news?

Jockley shook his head. For the past two weeks, he had done nothing but train and sleep. Apart from occasionally going out to buy supplies for the tavern, he had no time to care about what was happening outside.

Art sighed, put down the bartender, and took a tablet computer from under the bar, pushing it in front of Jockley.

The screen was filled with dense text, with the title in bold. Jockley silently complained to himself that the title wasn't in the SimSun GB2313 format, deducting points.

[Joint Notice Regarding Total Labor Demand for Modified Humans]

Issuing Unit: Headquarters of the Six Major Companies of Olympus Ring

Scope of effect: All areas of the modified human faction.

Effective date: 87th day of the 3001st year of the Kafdia Star Standard Calendar

Jockley glanced at it quickly.

He knew about the Olympus Ring. This artificially constructed city located in the orbit of the planet Kavdia was the true jewel of the cyborg human faction and the headquarters of the six major corporations, essentially making it the capital of the cyborg human faction.

The employment notice was very official, but its core message was quite harsh. It stated that starting immediately, six major companies would begin large-scale layoffs, which were not even optimizations, but rather a complete and sweeping reduction of staff.

The notice listed dozens of job categories, from senior engineers to entry-level cleaners, all of which were on the list.

What's even more terrifying is the last paragraph.

"To ensure the overall production efficiency of the alliance, all subsidiaries, partner companies, and related supply chain units must simultaneously implement employment adjustments..."

This means that all businesses associated with the six major companies will have to be laid off.

In the camp of modified humans, there is not a single company that is not associated with the six major corporations.

"This information came from the Olympus Ring a week ago. The Forgotten City has been in chaos these past few days. Yesterday, more than 300 people in the Mirror Lake District were evicted from their company dormitories and had nowhere to go, so they were all crammed onto the streets."

As for the ruins town, it's even worse. There were already few legitimate jobs there, and now even the illegal mines are laying off workers.

"I'll take a sip of my drink," Art added.

"The delivery service for orders placed through the system was suspended last week. The delivery company laid off 80% of its employees, and the remaining staff simply couldn't keep up with the demand, so I have to buy the goods myself."

Jockley stared silently at the tablet, the words on the screen cold and distant. But he suddenly remembered the street scene he had seen through the pub window when he went downstairs earlier: more people crowded the streets than usual, more empty eyes, and more figures holding up signs asking for jobs.

So that's why.

"Damn it..." came Daikiri's voice from the side, muffled and hoarse from just waking up.

"No wonder you haven't assigned me any tasks this week, Art. Are you out of work?"

Art glanced at him.

"It's good that you know."

Daikiri looked up, rubbed his messy hair, and his face still bore red marks from the pressure. He looked at Chokri and grinned.

"Hey, the purchasing specialist's out again? Can I come along this time? I'm going crazy from being cooped up in the bar."

Art raised his hand expressionlessly and slapped him on the back of the head with practiced ease.

"I can let Jockley take you, but if you spend half the budget on prostitutes like last time, I'll take both your legs off, put you in a wheelchair, and make you scrub floors in bars for the rest of your life."

Daikiri shrank back; he knew At was not joking, he really was capable of such a thing.

"No, no..."

"Also, don't drive. Gas prices have gone up a lot lately. Starting yesterday, the price has increased by 1 Star Alliance Coin per liter."

Daikiri's eyes widened.

"One Star Alliance Coin?! Holy crap! This is robbery?!"

"If you think it's too expensive, just walk over there."

Art turned around, took a small metal can from the liquor cabinet, and tossed it to Rhubarb.

"Iron Pilot, yours."

Big Yellow caught the can. The can was printed with the words "Substance No. 9" and a line of smaller print below it. It paused for a moment, and then turned its optical sensor toward At.

"[・_・?]"

"Didn't you say last time you wanted to try what it feels like to be drunk again?" Art smiled. "Try this. Don't use too much at once, just a fingernail-sized amount is enough. Too much will burn out the chip."

Big Yellow looked down at the jar, then looked up at At, and after a few seconds it said "thank you" very seriously.

Art will not forget the needs of anyone he cares about; this is the rule it has mastered these days.

Stepping out of the tavern, the outside world filled Jockley with an overwhelming sense of noise and chaos. When he first walked down this street three weeks ago, it was also dirty and dilapidated, but at least it was orderly.

Scavengers have their routes, vendors have their spots, and even prostitutes standing in corners soliciting business follow certain unwritten rules.

Everything is in chaos now.

The streets were packed with people, like a refugee crisis. Many people carried luggage, and some even had their belongings tied to their bodies, like a moving garbage dump.

Gunshots were no longer just occasional sounds from afar; they came in continuous bursts from nearby, accompanied by curses and screams.

No one went to watch the commotion; people on the street simply instinctively moved to the sides to make room for any potential rioters.

And those people standing on the street...

Jockley stopped in his tracks and saw a familiar face.

A man in his thirties, still wearing a crooked tie, stood in the corner, holding a piece of cardboard with something written on it in charcoal.

"Clerical staff, able to work 30 hours straight without breaks, price negotiable."

Jockley stared at him for a few seconds, then finally remembered who he was.

Three weeks ago, he had just woken up and was still dreaming of finding a proper job to support himself. He went to a company that was looking for clerical jobs, and this man was one of them.

Now he stood there, holding a sign with a blank stare. Jockley looked away. It wasn't just him; there were people standing at almost every corner of the street.

Men and women, young and old.

They were holding up various signs.

"Chef, ten years of experience", "Mechanical repair, guaranteed repair", "Nanny, can take care of children", and some even wrote "I'll do any job, just give me some food".

Even more jarring were the people holding signs that read "Prostitute/Male Escort Services." There were at least twice as many of them as there were three weeks ago, and many of them were new faces, wearing old clothes that weren't company uniforms, with the stiffness and shame that I used to feel as a respectable person still lingering on their faces.

Jockley clicked his tongue and continued walking forward.

The public power rail platform was packed like sardine cans. Yes, even in this godforsaken city, there are still public power rails, but they are operated by a private company.

After much difficulty, the three of them squeezed onto the platform and stood in the narrow space where they were waiting to board. Two men were chatting next to them.

"So I told him the purity of his goods wasn't good enough, and I'd only give him 30% of the price. Guess what he said? He said take it or leave it, there are plenty of people waiting in line behind him, damn it."

"Yeah, by the way, have you played the latest game from the Osprey Ring? Holy crap, the quality is amazing."

Another man sighed, "I haven't been playing. I'm not in the mood to play lately. I already have to work eighteen hours a day, and I was recently fired."

"We're all just employees. If a company says they don't want you, they just throw you away like trash."

The two were silent for a while, then the announcement for the arrival of the railcar came on.

"We have arrived at Black Medicine Street in District 11. Passengers, please disembark..."

The man suddenly said, "I'm done chatting, bro, my car's here."

The other man paused for a moment, then laughed: "What a coincidence? My car arrived too."

The two looked at each other, nodded, and then simultaneously turned around, climbed over the platform railing, and jumped onto the tracks.

Jockley's pupils contracted sharply. He wanted to call out to them, but the words caught in his throat. Through the crowded throng, he couldn't pull them up in time.

"boom--"

The railcar rolled over the object without a scream. There was a dull thud, followed by the crunching sound of the wheels crushing something. The carriage shook slightly before continuing forward.

The platform fell silent for a moment, then everything went back to normal. Someone muttered under their breath, "Here we go again." Most people were expressionless, as if they had become numb.

Chokri followed the crowd into the carriage, gripping the handrail tightly. Daikiri leaned closer and patted him on the shoulder.

"Stop looking, this is the fifth case this week."

Jockley turned his head and looked at Daikiri, whose face was expressionless.

"Get in the car, we still need to buy some things."