Chapter 292 166: Palmer Slums

"F*ck..."John's expression collapsed, and he immediately turned around, leaving the corridor and continued wandering around the building shown by the coordinates.

The mission was unexpectedly stuck at the target search.

The official investigation by Barry was restricted, and the existing information was all he could manage to gather, pinpointing the specific building complex, but he didn't expect the internal venue to be so complicated.

This was a problem for mercenaries to solve; nothing to complain about.

John also realized:

His means of acquiring information were weak, with too little experience in street-wise dealings and handling tricky tasks.

The weather was getting increasingly hot.

John adjusted the power of his cooling patch, and in a daze, he looked up to see many unmanned delivery drones sweeping across the sky.

They were shuttling between the buildings, their lights flashing while emitting beeping sounds.

The district near Palmer had a plethora of highly cost-effective restaurants.

Due to its proximity to the expressway and port, there were many illegal immigrants, bringing together flavors from all regions, rivaled only by the Asian-populated Sakura Cross Street.

John had two approaches in mind at the moment,

either inquire around the restaurants about the local big shots, or go back to the Red Light District to find some local girls...

Either option could alarm the robbers.

John stared up at the building in thought and saw a body half protruding from a window without glass.

[Name: Pu Knight]

[Faction: Rift Party]

He was shirtless, with matte black prosthetics, and muscles that were more exaggerated than a billboard model; from chest to ribs were red stitching and skull tattoos...

A drone hovered in front of Knight.

It was a high-load version with four rotors, slightly larger than the surrounding delivery devices, with packaging featuring yellow-black reflective strips—indicating it contained tools, parts, or unopened original components, rather than food.

Knight reached out to take the drone delivery, spat out a phlegm, then turned to reveal a terrifying face.

He had no eyes or nose bridge, replaced by a sunken alien-like soft alloy, red lights in the lens focused and changed, connecting to visual lines that could even simulate an insect's compound eye perspective.

The Rift Party hadn't disappeared with Du Remon's death.

He was merely the initiator of the tide, not the core of the storm.

Rift Party members were still entrenched throughout Eden City.

They had no unified leader, spreading like cockroaches, forming several leaders in different settlements, continuing to unleash pain and violence on the city.

These guys operated without limits, fully executing the prosthetic modifications advocated by old Du.

Dark wind tattoos, replacing organs with implants, had now become the Rift Party's symbol.

The Rift Party member named Knight was about to leave but suddenly paused at the window, the red sphere rapidly contracting, likely having a detection counter-plugin installed, realizing someone was scanning him.

Knight leaned out again.

His jaw lined with black metal, looking cold and eerie.

Knight quickly noticed the young mercenary standing on the roadside with pockets inserted, wondering if the spit could float that far. Then he flashed a horrifying smile and made an insulting gesture towards the other.

The silhouette at the window disappeared.

John wasn't angry, even chuckled, shaking his head.

Because [Pu Knight] was indeed a member of the stolen vehicle gang; unexpectedly, such a casual glance up had really turned out to encounter him.

"F*CKING LUCK~"

John hummed a tune, pulling his hand out of his jacket pocket, and casually pushed open the metal door to walk in.

The building's interior was exposed cement and steel structures.

Two rows of shabby sofas piled up under the window, graffiti and neon tubes everywhere, with cables of unknown function winding underfoot, and the ventilation ducts rumbling, unable to dispel the odor of drugs and stench in the air.

The number of residents inside was more than he imagined, with a complex composition of members.

John cautiously didn't draw his gun, swiftly moving past drug-users and wandering immigrants to the corresponding floor.

He silently moved through the corridor, picking up a silenced handgun.

During the scan earlier, he'd already read Knight's prosthetic body; smart submachine gun rounds had too little threat, in a small space firefight, considering portability and penetration, [Silence] was the best choice.

John held the gun in both hands, angling forward, using the scenery outside the window to determine the specific room.

The building height was ample.

It should have been an old factory or warehouse, where many old machines had been hollowed out to mere shells, with mattresses and blankets around, heavy metal rock echoing in the air.

John moved through the various piled-up debris.

Based on observation results, this floor seems to have been rented by the car theft gang as a long-term hideout.

He followed the closest footsteps, silently circling into a room inlaid with ceramics.

Here, there were metal countertops and a surgical chair.

Blood stains adorned the walls, paired with cleaning equipment equipped with drains.

John clung to the cover, observing:

A burly man was urinating in the room, his voice coarse, seemingly on the phone with someone.

[... Solve the problem, scum. Is the cop colonel our problem? You damn well saved money without greasing palms or giving notice; the cop's death is on you! (Russian)]

[Pay the balance, the stuff's in the car. (Russian)]

[The agreed price—ha—before the job, you didn't tell me it'd be this risky. When you're not holding down that cop, what if he comes after us? (Russian)]

[... We're both shit, don't think wearing the company's dog skin makes you superior. The money in your pocket is filthier than the paper I wipe my cock with. Threaten me again? (Russian)]

...

This guy is burly but not overly modified.

John confirmed with a scan.

He's one of the accomplices, a Ghoul, working long-term with the Rift Party, kidnapping and dismantling prosthetic bodies when there's no business.

Barry's fury put certain pressure on the car thief team and auction house brass; the robbers seem to be raising prices on the spot, conflicting with the boss behind the scenes.

[What a damn nuisance. (Russian)]

The burly man grumbled as he ended the call, just about to pull up his pants when blood splattered across his face, his whole body twitched, stiffened, and slumped forward...

John appeared behind him, seemingly having waited a long time.

He grabbed the corpse with one hand, letting it slowly fall by the urinal.

The wall turned crimson red, sticky with fragments, liquid trickling down, mingling with the blood and flowing into the low spot.

John turned to search the room and indeed found implants cleaned and packed.

From prosthetic limbs to vacuum-sealed frozen industrial organs, scattered parts to complete sections...

All neatly categorized.

He ensured safety and nobody approaching, then pulled out a data cable, plugging into the awakened computer on the desk.

Black Light nullified the presence of firewalls and passwords.

Inside contained a large number of transaction records and a myriad of illicitly edited films.

The Ghoul seemed to enjoy side gigs of shooting Super Sensing Chips, focusing on sexual and gore fetish genres.

"F*ck, these kidney-slashing bastards probably all think they're modern artists, huh?"

John pulled out the Separation Chip, starting to extract the data.

He bought the item two days ago while shopping.

John had been a mercenary for some time now.

He realized that apart from components, weapons, drugs, and raw materials, data and information should also be looted onsite; might be useful later.

"Ah, almost forgot again."

John finished copying the data, activated his prosthetic eyes, and took several photos of the Ghoul in the restroom—this face also appeared in the robber information Barry provided, would be submitted uniformly later on.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor.

John immediately backed against the wall, seeing outside just right through the reflective metal surface.

High heels, female.

A few breaths later.

A sex worker in hot pants briskly passed by, seemingly just out from the innermost room.

She hugged her arms, lips bruised, muttering curses under her breath.

High heels clattered down the stairs, followed by a startled shout, a rolling bottle, and a pained grunt, until footsteps resumed, ultimately drowned by rock music.

John quietly "drifted" into the corridor.

He naturally pushed the door open, then emptied his magazine at two Rift Party members pulling on pants.

The speed was astounding.

Bodies lay back on the cushions, shock still written across their faces.

John looked around, confirming this was a cluttered dump used for satisfying beastly cravings.

No point in looting.

His pupils contracted and flickered, storing photos before tightly lifting the door silently shut.