Chapter 46: Chapter 46: After the Job Is Done
Sparks splattered in the room.
The densely packed pipes above John’s head were punched with holes one after another.
He seemed oblivious, calmly unloaded the magazine, replaced, cocked, and fired, new metallic shells clattered onto the ground.
The enemies were reduced to pools of blood.
They were almost all shot above the shoulders, depending on the strength of their subdermal armor and implants, taking different numbers of bullets, but without exception, dying in the gunfight.
John, armed with a high-grade prosthetic body, loaded with a new military chip, paired with a top-modified kinetic energy rifle, was formidable in small-scale terrain battles.
But he still had to remain cautious:
He had no subdermal armor, any scratch or bullet hit needed potion for emergency, and surgery afterwards to remove the bullet.
The exiles grit their teeth until they’re about to shatter.
John maneuvered around, picking off enemies one by one inside the buildings.
As their numbers dwindled, the last few addicts were utterly enraged, deciding to play a no-holds-barred game with him.
Those armed above held down the trigger.
Bullets blocked every opening of John’s buildings, followed by grenades paving the way, the exile squad poured all their throwable items into the factory.
Blasting it into a chaotic mess.
They rushed into John’s location the moment the explosions died down.
"Ah—"
Then came a scream.
The exiles overestimated their street fighting chip, and underestimated the sharpness of the Raqi Industry single-molecule samurai sword.
The terrifying sound of cutting echoed in the narrow space.
Metal plating left a faint trail under the weak natural light, a chaotic fight mixed with countless screams and curses.
Those chaotic sounds, from hysteria to utter terror.
John gritted his teeth and remained silent.
When the scene slightly quieted down, several bodies already lay around, with exiles groaning in blood pools, clutching their wounds.
John gasped, the light shining through revealing him dirtied and disheveled by the explosion.
Dust-covered face shedding fresh blood.
Some his own, more of others.
"F*ck, you like using grenades, huh? Alright, then try this..."
John blocked the only entrance.
He clutched a unfortunate soul coughing blood from the mouth, then yanked a shrapnel grenade from his waist and tossed it at his own feet.
Now it was a deathmatch!
Anyone wanting to escape had to be prepared to be blown to pieces.
The countdown beeped.
John kicked the hostage forward, blocking their rush, also blocking the short intense gunfire.
Clutching the samurai sword, he charged up, killing like a demon entering the room!
The grenade rolled, hitting the door.
The exiles writhing around, clutching wounds shivered, all crawling outward with hands and feet, their prosthetic eyes having combat scan functions, watching the bomb’s numbers decrease.
"Oh, no, no, no, sh*t..."
Bang—
The violent explosion drowned out the chaos.
Gunshots and screams were covered up, disappearing in the bloodier duel, and when the dust dispersed, only John staggered out.
[Medicine: Super Healing Potion]
John pulled out the pump injector, jabbed it into his neck.
"Ugh, whew, whew..."
He leaned against the doorpost, panting heavily.
[Dealt with exiles at transaction site 15/15. (Completed)]
John struggled to stand up, opened the trunk of the Calormen transport vehicle, then thoroughly searched the exile’s gathering place.
This seemed to be their temporary hideout, no signs of long-term residence, the stockpiled supplies and money were pathetically meager.
The most valuable things for exiles were on themselves.
John lacked the technique and time to carve open this group of trash, only grabbing the funds card and weaponry they carried.
The small leader swallowed whole already revealed John’s info to Ironfoot Kelp.
The exile leader’s convoy would soon be arriving, to avoid continuous fierce battles, John decided to quit while ahead...
Various street weapons and scattered spoils he packed into the compartment, stuffing the gaps around the fish tank tightly.
The ocean white-tip shark moved, stirring a subtle sound of water.
Bang!
The trunk lid closed.
John sat in the driver’s seat, driving along the highway outskirts, constantly alert to the surroundings, as if an exile would scream out the next second.
The vehicle he currently drove wasn’t a Silver Rider, just a small transport truck.
The Calormen Company’s design on this small truck, although simplistic, was functional, yet the engine power was unimpressive, unable to outrun common armored vehicles and dirt bikes.
However, their sales strategy was ingenious, adding an explosion-proof tire design, thoughtfully installing metal plates on the four wheels.
This superficial design provided psychological comfort for passengers, keeping this model at the top of sales in the mid-to-low-end transport field for five years.
John dialed the tie-clip.
"Your darling’s in my trunk."
[I knew you had no problem, John, did you upset anyone?]
"Afraid nobody can answer you now, but you’d better cover it up, if Ironfoot Kelp comes after me, I’ll have to say it was you who ordered."
[Hahaha, no problem.]
John smirked, truly can’t trick this old fox. "Now there’s a formal problem, the police have set up checkpoints in town, my vehicle’s about to get shredded, doesn’t seem able to pass through scanners."
[Ah, don’t worry about that, as an intermediary, some ability is expected.]
"Why am I so skeptical?"
[Then try trusting it, when you deliver the goods to the transaction site, I’ve got news for you.]
The tie-clip ended the call.
John drove the bullet-riddled goods truck towards the heavily guarded checkpoint.
Three police cars blocked the road, in the distance an armored vehicle, its pitch-black moving gun barrel aimed at the vehicles passing by.
The nearby waiting drivers all impatiently grumbled, the radio discussing the recent tense situation in the city, reportedly similar inspections had sparked complaints from certain enterprises, affecting public travel to some degree, even causing demonstrations in some areas.
John rested his hand on the window.
He unexpectedly spotted reconnaissance drones with company logos behind the barricade, several old police officers leaning on engine hoods chatting, through a speech translator some information could be heard.
This time, Plato and Gaia Cells reacted excessively, catching many companies’ attention, and their political oppression on grassroots police and urban patrol left institutional fatigue.
Reportedly, police high-ups and several Plato Company-favoring councilors were on the brink, political arrows already targeting them.
John was stealthily gathering information.
The policemen checking the road seemed to receive some secret message, then the resting bunch suddenly got up, leaving the inspection post heading towards the vehicles behind.
Pretending, they circled John’s goods truck with scanners.
An officer wearing sunglasses, with dark skin, waved confirmation to his colleague.
The emergency lane’s isolation stakes were removed.
John watched as a new escape path appeared beside him, he hit the gas, easily passing the electronic dog and aerial scanner with police assistance.
No one spoke to him throughout.
[Eden City - West District Old Bridge Cave]
A group was already waiting in the site, the same Mexican-backed burly men from last time, seemingly specialized in receiving goods for the tie-clip.
The truck drove into the sands, crushing over mounds.
The burly men lifted the trunk lid, immediately reacting with various strange sounds.
"What’s with this thick soup?"
"Their little treasure is inside."
John left the car door, lit a traditional cigarette.
"You can’t expect a bunch of exiles to know how to care for rare species... but at least, their actions proved this little guy’s in good shape."
The shark swam in the bathtub.
A metal jaw drifted slowly along the water flow at the bottom of the fish tank.