Above the Blood Moon

The following day, as the blood moon slowly rose from the edge of the horizon, Jockley opened his eyes.

The edge of that eternal crimson sphere was still shrouded in a hazy mist, and its light was much softer than at noon.

Jockley lay on the bed without getting up immediately; he just lay there quietly, listening to his own breathing.

The Forgotten City possesses a peculiar tranquility at this moment.

He stretched, his bones making a slight cracking sound.

Several weeks of high-intensity training allowed Jockley's body to get used to the fatigue and to recover quickly from it.

Big Yellow was still charging in the corner, its optical sensors dim, and the power indicator on its chest flashing a pale blue light at an extremely slow frequency.

Jockley walked to the window, pulled back the curtains, and was slightly taken aback by the view outside.

It's raining.

Fine raindrops fell from the dark red sky, refracting a luster between purple and dark red under the light of the blood moon.

The rain wasn't heavy; it was more like a damp mist permeating the air, but it was definitely rain. This was the first time Chokri had seen rain in the twenty-two days since he came to this world.

He stared at the rain outside the window for a long time, a complex feeling welling up inside him.

Rain is a very common thing on Earth. Sometimes he hates rainy days, wet shoes and socks, and traffic jams.

But now, in this godforsaken place where even the air is filled with metallic dust and radioactive dust, seeing rain actually made him feel a sense of warmth.

Then he smelled something like diluted sulfuric acid, which caused a slight burning sensation when it entered his nasal cavity.

Jockley frowned, hesitated for a moment, and then reached out and opened the window.

A small patch of mist immediately drifted in and landed on the back of his hand.

"hiss--"

The intense stinging sensation made him abruptly pull his hand back.

He looked down and saw several tiny red dots on the back of his hand, as if he had been pricked by a very fine needle, and the skin was even starting to swell slightly.

This was not the rain he knew; it was probably some kind of acidic precipitation, likely a corrosive liquid formed by the condensation of suspended chemical pollutants in the atmosphere under specific conditions.

Jockley shook his head with a wry smile. Sure enough, even the rain in this world seemed to carry malice.

He closed the window and turned to look at the other side of the room.

Daikiri is still sleeping on the floor. After Chokri told him a story to lull him to sleep last night, the guy refused to leave and simply wrapped himself in a blanket and started snoring on the floor.

He was lying sprawled out, one hand on his stomach and the other clutching the picture book. His sleeping posture was quite awkward, but his expression was relaxed, even with a touch of childlike satisfaction.

Looking at his sleeping face, a complex mix of emotions welled up inside Jockley.

Last night, when Daikiri sneaked into the room, he almost shot the reckless guy, but when he actually raised his gun and saw Daikiri's aggrieved expression as he held the picture book, his anger inexplicably dissipated by more than half.

In the end, he still told a story, racking his brains to dig out an ancient legend about a certain hero that he had heard back on Earth.

He spoke in a very halting manner, and when he couldn't remember some details, he made them up. Daiki listened very attentively, sitting cross-legged on the ground with his eyes wide open.

In the end, the hero defeated the dragon and saved the kingdom. Daikiri remained silent for a long time, then asked in a low voice.

"And then what happened? What became of the hero?"

Jockley thought for a moment and then said.

"Later, the hero returned home. He won the princess's favor and the people's approval, and he returned to his hometown."

"Can you achieve this simply by becoming a hero?"

"I don't know either," Jockley said, "but sometimes a peaceful life is the best outcome."

Daikiri didn't say anything more. He sat against the wall, holding the picture book, and slowly closed his eyes.

A few minutes later, even snoring began.

As Jockley looked at his sleeping face, he suddenly realized something.

Dekiri was perhaps much lonelier than he appeared.

He didn't disturb Daikiri's sleep, but tiptoed to the corner and patted Big Yellow on the shoulder.

The rhubarb's optical sensor lit up instantly, its golden light standing out brightly in the dim room.

A "just woke up" emoji popped up on the panel.

"Let's go." Jockley brushed the dust off Big Yellow.

We have something to do today.

The lights were already on in the lobby of the Gear Tavern downstairs. Art sat behind the bar, an old-fashioned tablet computer spread out in front of him, its screen displaying dense text and images.

His eyes, behind his wire-rimmed glasses, were fixed intently on the screen, his fingers occasionally tapping on the virtual keyboard.

Margaret sat opposite him, holding a steaming cup of synthetic coffee.

She was in a better state today than last night; at least she had washed her face and combed her hair neatly, but her dark circles were still so heavy that it looked like she had been punched twice.

The priest sat by the window, as always, seemingly looking at the rain outside, or perhaps not at all, lost in his own thoughts.

As Jockley walked down the stairs, all three of them looked up at the same time.

"Hey, you're awake? Did you sleep well? I heard someone almost ripped the ceiling off last night."

Jockley coughed awkwardly.

"Unexpectedly, that kid Daikiri..."

"I know." Art waved his hand, interrupting him. "That kid has always been like this, doing whatever he wants without ever considering the consequences. He's lucky he wasn't shot by you last night."

He said this in a very calm tone, but Jockley could hear a hint of genuine lingering fear hidden in his voice.

"Let's not talk about him anymore."

Art turned off the tablet, pushed up his glasses, and looked at Jockley.

"Today we need to talk about you, or rather, about the role you're going to play."

Margaret put down her coffee cup and looked at Jockley with a scrutinizing gaze.

"Floyd isn't stupid. No one who can get to his position in this city is simple. If you want to get close to him, arouse his interest, or even make him believe that you have something he wants, you need a convincing identity."

Jockley walked to the bar, pulled out a high stool, and sat down.

"What is your identity?" he asked.

Margaret interjected, her voice tinged with weariness.

"We thought about it for a long time, and finally decided that an interstellar merchant who wants to settle down is a good choice."

For the past year, Floyd has been trying to sell his company for a large amount of Covenant Credits or Modification Points to buy property in the Olympus Ring and become a real capitalist, instead of staying in a place like Forgotten City. If you can convince him that you can offer him the price he wants…

"Then he'll take the bait."

Art replied, tapping his fingers lightly on the bar counter.

"But the problem is that this identity needs to be supported by sufficient evidence. Your speech, your knowledge, the equipment you display to the outside world, and even your fully modified followers, all these details must conform to the image of a real interstellar merchant."

Jockley frowned; this sounded complicated.

"This is what we're going to do today. Margaret will help you forge a complete identity file. I'll engrave some basic industry slang and behavioral habits into a chip, and you just need to insert it into your nervous system to memorize it."

Art then turned his gaze to Rhubarb.

"The design of the Pilot needs to be adjusted. It looks too cobbled together now, like a piece of junk bought from the black market."

"The cyborg followers of genuine interstellar merchant teams all have custom-made prosthetic bodies with strict requirements for both appearance and performance."

Big Yellow's optical sensor flickered, and an emoticon "[・_・?]" popped up on the panel.

"But that's a story for later. You have a more important task to do today."

He looked at Jockley, and the smile on his face suddenly became somewhat meaningful.

Jockley's alarm bells were ringing; whenever Ate made that face, it was never a good sign.

"What mission?" he asked cautiously.

"Go and get yourselves dressed up, use the money in your hands to buy yourselves a decent outfit."

Jockley breathed a sigh of relief; this sounded normal enough. But what Att said next made his heart jump again.

As if suddenly remembering something, Art took a small box from under the bar and pushed it to Jockley.

"Yes, here you go, consider it a quest item."

Chokli opened the box; inside was a pair of glasses with a metal frame and light brown lenses. They looked quite ordinary.

"This is?"

"It's part of your identity, and the glasses also have a built-in miniature camera and recording device. There are bone conduction communicators on the temples. When you wear them, we can see what you see and hear what you hear in real time, and they can even give you prompts when necessary."

Chokley picked up the glasses, weighed them in his hand, and noticed that the metal frame was very light and the workmanship was exquisite, so they didn't look cheap.

"How much?" he asked.

"Here, consider it a small token of preparation for the mission."

Art waved his hand with a smile, and Jokley shuddered when he saw Art's smile.

It never meant anything good when At smiled at him.

Jockley silently put on his glasses. The lenses were clear, and his vision was not distorted at all. He could feel a slight electric current coming from the temples against the skin behind his ears, which meant the device had been activated.

"Can you hear me?" Art asked.

Jockley nodded and prepared to leave the tavern.

He originally planned to go to Huang Shuangyan's place with Da Huang today.

"etc."

The priest, who had been silent all along, suddenly spoke up and called out to Jockley.

He stood up from his seat, walked over to Jockley, and took a slip of paper from the inside pocket of his black robe.

"Here, take this."

Jockley took the slip of paper and unfolded it; it contained an address.

The seventh district of the ruins town, the site of an old textile factory, two underground floors.

"This is a meeting place," the priest explained.

"The Forgotten City is a special place. As a city on a border planet, it has quite a few superhumans. Many superhumans, whether they are from the original human or modified faction, come here to find relics of the previous civilization."

This place is where people with supernatural abilities exchange information and trade items. You need an intermediary to get in. You can go and take a look this afternoon; just say I introduced you.

Jockley stared at the address on the note, then looked up at the priest.

"Why do you want me to go?" he asked.

The priest's grey eyes looked at him through the shadow of his hood, his gaze deep, as if he could see through all his doubts and anxieties.

"If you go, I believe you won't be disappointed."

He paused, then added.

"Of course, you can choose not to go. This is not an order, just a suggestion."

Jockley paused for a few seconds, then carefully folded the note and stuffed it into his pocket.

"I will go," he said.

He really needs to learn more about superpowers, the power system of this world, and how to find his way home.

The priest nodded, said nothing more, turned and returned to his seat by the window. Art clapped his hands, and the crisp applause broke the brief silence.

"Alright, the task is clear. Any questions?"

Jockley shook his head.

"Then let's go. I'll wait for you to come back."

As Art spoke, the gentle and harmless smile on his face returned.

"However, I heard that Miss Huang hasn't been in a good mood lately. You should remember her, right? She kept asking me about you a couple of days ago."

Choklee and Big Yellow exchanged a glance, and the same thought simultaneously crossed their minds:

Ruined.