It seemed this galaxy was intent on waging an all-out war against my stomach.
But I wasn’t the type to just back down. I appreciated the old man’s warning, but I’d rather die than turn off my brain and gnaw on that heap of synthetic clay they called a Tasty Cube.
"If it’s poisonous, I just have to remove the toxins."
It was simple logic.
Even blowfish are a delicacy once you cut out the ovaries. I didn't know the first thing about Swamp Crawlers, but as long as they were biological organisms, there had to be an edible part somewhere.
The point was, I just had to hunt it myself and butcher it perfectly.
Since my registration had unlocked my access to the local network, I searched the Mercenary Guild’s public job board on my terminal.
Pest extermination in the Sewers and Waste Sector. Open recruitment. Rewards paid per kill.
"This is the one."
It was the quintessential "first quest," accessible even to a newly registered Rank F Mercenary. I’d get my hands on some ingredients and get paid for the privilege—killing two birds with one stone. Incidentally, there was a large rodent called a "Gutter Rat" listed as a designated pest, which sounded a lot more like real meat. This was my only option.
To put it bluntly: I was an idiot.
The setting was the Colony Bottom Layer, specifically the Waste Sector.
Wastewater soaked my boots up to the ankles, and a stench of rot so foul it made my nose curl filled the air. Standing before me was a massive rodent—a Gutter Rat—nearly a meter long, its red eyes glowing as it hissed at me.
"You’re the main course...!"
I drew my favorite sidearm, the Astro Breaker, from its holster. It was a large-caliber revolver that boasted the highest single-shot firepower in the handgun category. Thanks to the max-level perks I’d taken back in the game, I could handle its impossible weight with ease.
I aimed for a single point on its head. I couldn't afford to damage the meat on the body.
The aiming skills I’d cultivated over three thousand hours of gameplay kicked in, the sights snapping onto the target as if magnetized.
"Time to eat!"
I pulled the trigger.
With a thunderous roar, the Gutter Rat’s upper body disintegrated.
...No, calling it "disintegrated" didn't do it justice.
"Huh?"
Blood and meat were pulverized into a fine mist that hung in the air; all that remained of the creature was the very tip of its tail. Furthermore, a massive crater had been gouged into the wall behind it—the colony’s main bulkhead.
"...Ah."
I had forgotten. In the game, the mechanics dictated that when an enemy’s HP hit zero, a corpse remained for looting. But reality was different. If you fired a high-caliber round capable of punching through solid rock into a creature of flesh and blood—even a large rat—this was the inevitable result.
"It’s blown to smithereens...!"
I clutched my head. I was lucky the colony walls were reinforced, or I might have caused a hull breach.
"Fine. Then how about this!"
I holstered the gun and focused my mind.
Psionic Ability. It was one of the protagonist's privileges from the game. I’d used several buffing skills before, but because the active slots were so limited, the offensive powers had been gathering dust at the bottom of my skill list.
With this, however, I should be able to perform a "smart" hunt—something like stopping the heart from the inside without damaging the skin.
My target was a second Gutter Rat that had just scurried out of the dark. I fixed the image in my mind, keeping the output low, like the force of a light finger flick—
"Ha!"
BOOM!
"Why?!"
The Gutter Rat exploded like a balloon, its remains scattering into the sea of sewage. No, wait. Hear me out. In the game, Psionic Abilities were supposed to be finicky and weak; they weren't supposed to cause this kind of overkill. All I wanted to do was catch a damn rat.
What followed was a descent into hell.
I sealed away both my guns and my Psionics. Armed only with a single survival knife from my inventory, I spent the next several hours covered in filth, chasing rats through the muck.
I hunted them using raw physical stats, dodging their snapping jaws by a hair's breadth before driving the blade into their necks. It was a far cry from a sleek sci-fi lifestyle; it was just a primitive, bloody struggle for survival.
Finally, after nearly a whole day of effort, I managed to secure a piece of "meat that still looked like meat."
"...Finally."
I found a relatively dry corner near a drainage pipe and sat down to face my prize.
Now for the butchery.
In my previous life, I had helped slaughter a chicken at my family’s home. You remove the head, drain the blood, and skin it carefully to avoid puncturing the organs. The basic structure of living things is generally the same. If I carefully removed the discolored veins that looked like poison glands, the rest would be meat. It had to be meat.
I set up a portable stove and skewered the chunks of flesh. As they grilled, fat dripped onto the heating element with a rhythmic sizzle. Strangely, every time the fat hit the flame, a pale blue light flared up.
The end result looked... well, it looked like a wild kebab. The smell was gamy, with a faint, pungent chemical odor—like burning plastic—that tickled my nose. In my starvation, I ignored it.
"I can do this... I can do this."
With trembling hands, I raised the freshly grilled skewer to my lips. I had been moving all day; my hunger had long since passed the point of reason. At this stage, anything should have tasted like a five-star meal.
I took a bite.
Juice flooded my mouth. The texture was rubbery and resilient. And then...
"——!?"
My reflexes took over, and I spat the meat out instantly.
It was vile.
No, it wasn't a matter of seasoning. My tongue went numb, and a sharp, violent chemical flavor pierced the back of my throat. It tasted like someone had taken a filthy rag, soaked it in a mixture of detergent, raw sewage, and gasoline, and then served it to me.
"Cough... ack...!"
I had removed the poison glands. I was sure of it.
But then the realization hit me. These things lived in the sewers of the Waste Sector. They lived in a soup of industrial runoff, heavy metals, and contaminated water. The bodies of these creatures—every single cell—were literally constructed from pollutants.
"It wasn't... a matter of how I cooked it..."
I collapsed to the ground in total despair. The fantasy that "natural ingredients equal delicious" didn't exist in this decaying colony. The "life" here wasn't the vibrant, nourishing life I knew; it was part of a foul, mechanical cycle of waste.
As I sat there, fighting the urge to throw up my own stomach acid, I heard footsteps approaching from behind.
"...I told you so, didn't I?"
I didn't even have to look back to know who it was. It was that veteran mercenary from the food stall.