Chapter 98: Chapter 77: Even Henchmen Are Actors (Part 2)
John’s arm is an alloy skeleton, capable of withstanding the recoil of common market weapons, and in his hand is a high-end sensor with advanced ballistic assistance, making it feel fiery in use.
The biggest hero tonight is the gun.
This Plato’s Banquet is a lab product that hasn’t been mass-marketed yet; its parameters are maxed out, and both its stability and built-in chip are top-notch designs.
Its design concept is precisely to handle chaotic street battles like tonight’s.
It maximizes the advantages of firearms.
Besides John and the mercenaries, the surrounding intelligent machines are also exerting their power.
The gun barrel of the turret is already red-hot.
The isolation posts around the road have risen, drone surveillance is constantly hovering overhead, and all around, cement pillars with steel spikes and buffers have blocked the vehicles.
The mercenaries press up before leaving cover.
John, however, pulls back and withdraws from the voice channel. Upon entering the building, he sees Angelica with her arms crossed, chatting and laughing.
"Didn’t you go on the chase?"
"No need. Too much killing today. I just can’t muster the interest. The farm owner pays by the head, and the smart ones were off harvesting right away. If I go now, I’d just be picking up scraps, and I wouldn’t want to move."
John said as much.
He took out some parts from his weapon bag and began inspecting the firearms.
Angelica nodded in agreement.
All around her were well-dressed men and women, not wearing combat gear. Just by their expressions, you could tell they were no ordinary folks.
They were likely rogue traders here for business, each with their own venues in Eden City.
Angelica concluded her small talk and signaled for John to leave.
He followed the prompt to the back door where the vehicles were parked and saw the motorcycle he had driven there.
[New Contact Created - Farm Owner]
[Video Call (Requesting)]
John answered the call and was once again face-to-face with the energetic boss behind the scenes.
The farm owner had already taken off his coat, seemingly ready to enjoy a delicate dinner.
"Wow, you’re in a good mood. Is it the soundproof glass that kept you from hearing the noise outside?"
[Don’t get grumpy, John, I know you’ve done well. I’m the one paying, so it’s normal to check the goods. You’re the one who wants to do business by the book, right?]
The farm owner’s tone was calm.
John curled his lip and mounted the motorcycle.
"What’s the plan now?"
[Good steel should be used on the blade, and you’ve proven you’re made of the right stuff. I trust you. Help me visit a client, and while you’re at it, extract some information. I’ve sent you the detailed info.]
The farm owner’s expression flickered.
John immediately received a sum of money.
"Paid so swiftly? What is this, an advance fee or hush money..."
[What are you thinking, kid? This is the payment for clearing the farm earlier. I’m not like corporate dogs and middlemen; the sooner you get paid, the better. It’ll always be like this. As long as anyone eyes my farm, I’ll pay for each one you take down, guaranteed to reach you before the corpse gets cold.]
The farm owner skewered a beautifully glazed rib and emitted an extremely primal chewing sound before continuing.
[Review the messages well, and get the job done right. You have to show a professional attitude.]
The call ended.
This old man’s personality is actually a bit nasty, whether in handling matters or people; he is very tough and ruthless. Going against him takes courage.
John shook his head with a wry smile.
Do the job for the money, and do it well.
His cybernetic eye continually flickered, parsing the document, displaying photo after photo.
Urban farms have been expanding their scale lately.
They’ve been promoting some of their vegetables and meats to the lower-middle consumer class, receiving a rush of popularity and praise.
Citizens tired of protein paste have turned into fresh food loyalists.
However, things took a turn.
Recently, several reports came in about customers experiencing varying degrees of weakness and even digestive disorders after consuming natural meats.
Outbreaks and other factors have been ruled out.
The farm owner thoroughly checked the production line, recalled products, and conducted very detailed tests. All indicators met safety standards.
Proving the meat itself is not the problem.
At first, it was thought to be an isolated case.
But as the market expanded, more customers who had consumed natural meats showed symptoms of discomfort.
The farm owner made a careful comparison and found a detail.
This batch was also sold to several upscale restaurants and transported to those luxurious skyscrapers for the corporate dogs to enjoy, yet no anomalies were reported.
He felt this was the food enterprises plotting.
Upon investigating:
A middleman responsible for handling goods to the upper crust in the supply chain was very suspicious. The meats sent to wealthy areas that had no incident reports passed through his hands.
[It’s either the meat has issues, but this guy has some technology to eliminate the risks, or something else. John, go pay him a visit and extract some information.]
[Of course, don’t link it back to me, fabricate any reason you want. I only care about the result. If you truly can’t handle it, after the interrogation, you know what to do.]
John finished reading the brief and saw a coordinate.
[Mission Objective Updated]
[Locate the middleman, extract the intelligence. (Not Achieved)]
[Leave no trace. (Optional)]
John looked around.
He took off his work jacket and hid it, then pulled a jacket with an evil ghost pattern from the corpse of a Street Racing Gang member and pulled up his desert scarf.
The motorcycle roared.
John, now disguised, sped away.
He didn’t bring his sniper rifle; instead, he found a kinetic submachine gun from the body.
[Eden City - Edge of West District Industrial Park]
A low-key business sedan was waiting at the traffic light.
This was precisely the time for the factory’s night shift and early morning shift change.
The streets were lined with half-alive ordinary citizens.
The red light numbers were jumping.
Amade’s fingers were covered with rings, and an expensive mechanical gold watch adorned his wrist.
He rested his head on the steering wheel, nodding along to the rock music on the radio, with several low-intensity hallucinogens scattered beside the passenger seat.
The roar approached from a distance.
"Motherf*ck... Street-racing Shark Coins."
Amade grumbled, staring into the rearview mirror, thinking that a motorcycle with its front wheel lifted racing down the street was a Street Racing Gang making noise.
"You better crash and die... Shit! What the hell..."
The motorcycle was heading straight for him.
Bam!
The motorcycle barreled onto the curb, launched into the air, and crashed heavily onto the trunk lid before running over the roof and windshield.
Amade screamed, trying to steer.
The red light intersection turned chaotic, the vehicles blocking the intersection.
John drifted and turned.
He pulled out the submachine gun, spraying wildly over the hood, emptying the magazine.
"Tsk."
The firepower of the kinetic submachine wasn’t impressive.
The burst barely added some bullet holes, not even a wisp of smoke.
John tossed the gun away and pulled out a revolver.
Bam, bam!
The front tire burst.
Amade knew he was being targeted and scrambled out of the car, using the congested traffic to flee.
Eden City’s good citizens were too familiar with such conflicts!
They all avoided Amade, instantly changing direction as he approached.
Face your debts head-on.
John revved the engine, once again charging into the narrow road, weaving left and right.
Bam!
He fired his gun, hitting the opponent’s arm.
Amade fell in pain.
John issued a warning. "If you run again, it’s going to end very badly for you!"
The opponent stopped struggling after hearing this.
The street chase ended just like that.
John drove forward, forcing him into a vacant lot next to a collapsed wall.
In the weeds and dirt piles, there were a few homeless shelters.
Empty inside.
"Hey, wait, you didn’t kill me right away, so you must need something, we can talk, brother, I beg you, everything has a price, right?"
Amade tried to cover his arm.
He was high delivering goods today, the bullet wound didn’t really hurt, but his heart trembled fiercely.
John got out of the car, raised his gun.
He cursed with the emotions he prepared on the way, kicking the man to the ground:
"You bunch of liars!"
"What? Make yourself clear, buddy, I’m in the goods business, not running a casino."
"F*ck you!"
John slapped him. "My brother took the junk you sold, and now he’s six feet under, yet those company bastards in their mansions are just fine!"
Amade hesitated to speak.
John noticed this detail.
He was sure this guy knew something, so he pressed the gun barrel against his forehead, continuing to use his fictitious brother as an emotional break.
"Think carefully before you speak."
The gun barrel was a bit warm.
Amade shivered all over.