Chapter 413 - 245: Palmer Racing Tournament

[Mission Objective Update][Waiting for ghoul news. (Not Achieved)]

Once the employer placed the order, all that was left was to wait.

Oulos was also trying other channels to find the Red Falcon, but couldn’t make a big splash, otherwise it would attract attention from others.

Time slipped away with the sound of the waves.

Palmer’s shadow swung half a circle, then was cast in different directions by suddenly lit neon lights.

Rock music rose and fell.

Even Palmer, crowded with smugglers and criminals, had its own nightlife.

The daytime warehouse explosion didn’t cause much disturbance.

Such accidents happened every day in Old Chris’s blind shooting games.

After all, the original owners of the warehouses were all edge-dwellers.

Oulos’s time bomb was mistaken by the ignorant as part of the original owner’s insurance measures.

They had even seen toxic gases being released inside the warehouses.

Daytime work was replaced by the buzz of bars, followed by a wave of even more splendid lights, tripling the number of pedestrians and luxury cars gathering gradually on the dead-end street.

"What are they doing?"

John leaned against the driver’s seat, like a cop waiting for a lead.

Oulos glanced at the dock growing lively.

"Illegal racing, wait, you’ve never played?"

She was a bit surprised.

"You drive pretty well, I thought you were a veteran of illegal racing, hmm... by the way, John, where did you learn your driving skills?"

Oulos’s words plunged John into memories.

His life before the age of seventeen was like a segment of a soon-to-be-forgotten super-sensing chip movie, only becoming clear the moment he stepped off the platform at Eden City carrying his luggage.

Two uneventful years of street life.

A job opportunity with Tiebang Logistics turned him into a corporate drone.

John gradually recalled many things.

Some stories so deep that he thought he’d never forget them.

Like the competitors at the job interview, the one-in-a-million recruitment mechanism.

They had undergone systematic learning, nearly sixteen hours of driving chip research every day.

Daily assessments, monthly evaluations, practical tests.

John inserted more than a hundred driving chips, spending his probation period submerged in a nutrient tank using deep diving equipment for simulation, then came physical training and real vehicle driving.

Tiebang Logistics had a comprehensive training center.

Only those who passed all the vehicle assessments inside, obtained the company’s internal professional driving license, and were bound to insurance, entered into an official employee number and bound archive information, could officially become a transportation squad driver.

Oulos listened with great interest.

"Why so strict?"

"Hmm... internal city transportation is all replaced by drones, the batch of drivers we recruited mainly worked on intercity business, which required leaving the Border Wall for long-haul routes, and it was quite dangerous."

John smiled.

"We were just drivers, the company soldiers accompanying the orders were even more strictly vetted, with combat stimulants and pain blockers administered, making them like monsters, and advanced prosthetic bodies were also mandatory..."

"And then?"

"Five years of driving experience, starting from low-priced cargo, gradually touching high-end business, some weren’t lucky and died, new recruits would pass the assessments to supplement in, those were the little problems of the transport squad..."

More stuff surfaced in John’s mind.

The methods of making extra money through vehicle maintenance, the comical yet selfish administrators, the squad colleagues he shared a lease with, the timid Ajie, the lecherous Samba, Ma Qi who added pepper to coffee...

John sank into the vortex of memories.

Countless faces and fragments pressed at his heart, like a decompressed folder constantly spewing new things.

The Tiebang Logistics incident was like a memory point.

A short and entirely new life began with John’s body waking up from the hospital bed one day.

He never forgot the little bits of the past, yet he never reminisced about those deeply memorable people.

Now it was impossible to find them for nostalgia.

John had Kuang Xin check the internal info—after the Tiebang Logistics transport incident, John’s entire transport squad disappeared, all files marked deceased, some members packaged to Gaia Cells for experimentation.

Clap!

A crisp finger snap interrupted all the memories.

Oulos, sitting in the front passenger seat, showed a teasing expression.

The light outside the car window flowed over her high-end synthetic leather, her slightly curled lips shone with just the right sheen under the neon.

John felt no other thoughts.

The danger level of Oulos in his heart was enough to make him overlook the porcelain doll’s exquisite appearance, words like temptation only seemed fatal before the identity of an intermediary.

"I’ve registered you."

A fine golden stream of data flashed in Oulos’s cybernetic eye.

John found her serious, shook his head, unable to understand what this woman was thinking.

Racing?

Weren’t they looking for someone?

Oulos seemed completely unconcerned, not worried about alerting the East Asians.

John’s Silver Rider supercar eventually merged into the traffic, slowly stopping in that electronic fog.

A large crowd gathered on Palmer’s dead-end road.

Some were setting up the race track, spectators and vehicle mechanics completely blocked both sides of the dock, while some people climbed atop iron staircases and red brick buildings.

Poomph—

Patches of fluorescent graffiti lit up.

As external currents surged in, dozens of holograms fell on the open space of the dead-end road, followed by warming music, clearing impediments and abandoned vehicles from the main route.

John was at the end of the dead-end road.

He was separated from the starting point by dozens of cars.

From Detroit International to Thunder Miles, brands of vehicles known by name all appeared, even the new models from Fazi’s Glaive series.

In a hub of crime, luxury cars were normal.

The vehicles with their hoods lifted, like half-undressed girls, attracted countless lingering eyes.

Pre-race showmanship was one aspect.

Modders needed to build reputation, suppliers, and intermediaries needed to maintain sources and customers.

The social aspect was maxed out.

Illegal trades were inevitable as well.

John scanned over at least half of the drivers and noticed they were on drugs.

Tap-tap-tap.

The sound of high heels was amplified in the din, a heavily made-up girl approached John’s car.

She was tall, her pants narrower than John’s palm, a glossy jacket draped over her shoulders, revealing her neck and white shoulders.

John noticed her inner attire.

It was a black t-shirt with the [Palmer Speed Race] logo and number.

Turned out she was from the event organizers.

She tapped the glass lightly, handing a chip and a mini terminal to Oulos, then slowly rested against the passenger window, her extreme curves radiating an ambiguous signal.

That gaze skipped over Oulos and the center console, directly meeting John’s at the driver’s seat.

"You’re John? Eisenberg Company uses your wanted image as a black market promo. We’ve all heard about you, but it’s the first time seeing you on Palmer’s track."

She chewed on something, her tongue grazed her lips.

"All set, the route’s in the chip, nothing messy, just floor the gas pedal."

Snap.

Another finger snap.

Oulos was right in the passenger seat, wrapping an arm around the girl’s neck like a snake gliding over the skin, then pressing the back of her head gently kissing her lips.

With a dance of her other hand, she flipped the processed magnet card, sliding it down the valley of her chest.