"…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.
I stayed on my knees, looking up at him with hollow eyes. I was covered from head to toe in filth, clutching a meat skewer that had been reduced to a literal stick of poison. No matter how you looked at it, I was the very definition of a loser.
"…What do you want? Come to laugh at me?" I spat.
the old man shrugged, looking more exasperated than amused. "Hardly. I was just curious. Usually, the people heading into the sewage treatment plant have 'dead' eyes. It’s almost always debt-ridden slaves or junkies high on their own supply."
He gave the sludge at his feet a light kick with his combat boot.
"But you? You had these sparkling eyes, like you were headed to an amusement park. Honestly… it was creepy."
"…Sorry for having a sense of wonder."
"I’ll bet. So, how’d it go? What are the results of your first job?"
Without a word, I tossed the skewer into the murky water. There was a dull plop as the toxic meat sank out of sight.
"Exactly what it looks like. It all tasted like poison."
"I figured. This ecosystem is finished. Finding decent protein around here is like finding an endangered species."
The old man gave a short snort and began rummaging through a pouch at his waist. Suddenly, something flew toward me in a high arc.
"Catch."
I scrambled to grab it. A heavy weight settled in my palm—a cylindrical metal can that gave off a dull, brassy glint.
"…Canned food?"
"Military surplus. The expiration date passed a long time ago, but canned food doesn’t rot that easily. It wasn't cheap, mind you."
He spoke gruffly, but I caught a faint hint of concern in his voice. Was this guy actually worried about me? He kept saying things like "it’s better to have more meat shields," but I was starting to suspect that wasn't his true motive.
Still, the can was strange. On the bottom, there was a circular dent—like it had been struck by a firing pin—and an engraved serial number.
"…Is this, by any chance…?"
"Caught that, did you? It’s a spent shell casing. Not from a rifle like I use, mind you—this is ship-cannon class."
The old man grinned.
"They wash out the large-caliber casings recovered from battlefields, pack them with rations, and seal them up. They call it ‘effective use of resources.’"
"Why not just melt them down and make more ammo?"
"My thoughts exactly. But the military brass moves in mysterious ways. Apparently, packing them with food counts as ‘humanitarian aid’ for their PR department."
It sounded like it would taste like bitter politics. But to me, right now, it looked like a jewelry box.
There was no such kindness as a pull-tab. I pressed the tip of my survival knife against the lid and tried to pry it open by brute force. My numb, frozen hands refused to cooperate. The blade slipped clumsily, and a bit of brown broth seeped through the gap, wetting my fingers.
Pshhh.
As the air hissed out, a specific scent wafted toward me.
"…Meat."
The unmistakable aroma of stewed meat.
The contents were a thick, brown slurry, but there were definitely solid chunks mixed in. I didn't have a spoon, so I pierced a lump of meat with the tip of my knife and shoved it into my mouth.
"————"
It was salty. It was so packed with preservatives and sodium that my tongue went numb. The "meat," according to the old man, was likely synthetic protein. It had a squishy texture that felt even more artificial than cheap diced steak, and the aftertaste held a faint hint of gunpowder and metal.
But.
"…It’s delicious."
It wasn't clay. It wasn't poison.
The moment it hit my stomach, I felt the sensation of heat spreading through my body. This was calories. This was a meal.
"…God, it’s so good…"
Before I knew it, I was pressing the rim of the can to my lips, slurping up every last drop of the broth. I felt like I was going to cry. In over 3,000 hours of gameplay, I had never encountered an item that tasted this good.
"…You’ve got a hell of an appetite."
I thought I saw the old man’s eyes soften as he gave a small smile.
"What's your name?"
"…Akito. What’s yours?"
"Gans. Remember it, rookie."
I tried to hand the empty can back to him, but he pushed it away.
"Keep it. Even junk like that is worth money down here."
He turned to leave, tossing one last piece of advice over his shoulder.
"Don't expect to find a ‘decent meal’ in the lower levels of this colony. This place is a dump. If you want real food, you have to go up."
"Up?"
"Yeah. The High Sector. That’s where the nobles and corporate types live. Word is they have real vegetables and non-synthetic meat up there. Though they say a single plate costs as much as a cheap Corvette."
The High Sector. In the game, that area had been nothing more than a place to pick up quests. But to me now, it sounded like the promised land. It was also a place I currently had no way of entering.
"…I see. So as long as I have the money, I can go?"
"Money, credit, and connections. With a ‘Bronze’ rank like yours, they’d laugh you away from the gate."
Gans snorted and glanced toward the upper reaches of the colony.
"Reach Silver Rank, and you might stand a chance. Do your best, kid."
Gans stood up and tapped at the terminal on his wrist. Immediately after, the device in my pocket vibrated.
"That’s my ID. Contact me if you feel like it. A meat shield is no good to me if he’s on the verge of starvation."
With that, he disappeared into the crowd.
I checked my terminal. A string of inorganic characters displayed his ID.
I sat there, ruminating on the lingering taste of iron and salt in my mouth. It was a nasty meal. Objectively speaking, it was the worst thing I’d ever eaten.
But I knew I would never forget this flavor as long as I lived.
"…Just you wait, High Sector."
I stood up and brushed the sludge off my clothes. I smelled terrible. First, I needed to get back to the ship, wash off this filth in the shower, and then sleep like a log.
My inventory still held the poison-soaked rat fangs and claws. Depending on how I cleaned them, they might still sell as materials.
I didn't care what I had to do anymore. My path to a real bowl of Katsu-don started right here, with the taste of this shell casing.