I navigated the cluttered alleys, hooking left, then right, occasionally climbing up and down crumbling staircases as I made my way forward.
Under normal circumstances, I would’ve preferred to take my car, but the location was a mess today. Driving would have forced me into a pointlessly long detour. Left with no choice, I was stuck trudging there on foot.
“...Well, I guess a little exercise isn’t the worst thing. They say it’s good for your health. Not that I’d know,” I muttered with a wry smile.
In the first place, I wondered just how many people in this city actually gave a damn about their "health." Most of the lowlifes around here were only interested in immediate gratification. Alcohol, drugs, and cheap hookers—those were the holy trinity of this town.
Of course, there were a few people with sound minds left. But they usually ended up dead before you knew it, or you’d find them hopelessly hooked on gear.
“Scary, scary,” I whispered, shrugging my shoulders.
The ones who managed to survive in spite of it all usually had something going for them. Incredible luck, a supernatural ability, or they were simply missing a few screws in the head. I knew a few people like that myself—though I decided to set that thought aside for now.
Lost in my reflections, I arrived at my destination before I even realized it.
Directly in front of me was a gaudy, psychedelic sign that read "PARTS SHOP" in massive letters. Some of the neon tubes didn't even flicker; they were just dark, dead to the world. A car illustration was displayed next to the text, but the light on that was also patchy, giving it a comical, broken look.
It was a sprawling factory attached to a three-story building. Several cars were moving in and out through the massive shutters. On the surface, it was a dealer specializing in the sale and modification of body parts. However, quite a few people knew that this place was actually the "fortress" of Buzz Cordeaux, an executive of Greed Claw.
Ignoring the entrance for "front-facing customers," I circled around the side path toward the back entrance.
In the back alley, a few young punks were loitering. They had flashy hair and faces riddled with piercings, and they were dangling what looked like cigarettes from their mouths... but in reality, they were cylinder-style drugs. The strange, colored smoke exhaled from their lungs hit my nostrils, leaving a sharp, psychedelic sting in the back of my nose. I couldn't help but furrow my brow.
One of them noticed me and hurriedly spat the cylinder out, throwing it to the ground. He ground it into the dirt with his foot and shouted at the others.
“G-good to see you, Master!”
The tough guy with the ridiculous hair and the metal-studded face bowed his head with startling politeness. I almost laughed, but I held it back out of pity. I had a feeling my face looked a bit strained instead.
As expected, a speech bubble was floating above his head.
《Crap, crap, crap! Why does he have to show up when I’m on duty! Dammit! You guys, bow your heads, fast! He’ll kill us!》
I’m not going to kill you...
I retorted silently.
Granted, it was a fact that I’d just shot a man in a different alley a few minutes ago. But that was self-defense. Yeah. Let’s go with that. I offered myself a small mental justification.
While I was occupied with those thoughts, the rest of the crew scrambled to their feet, frantically bowing as they cleared a path for me.
“S-sorry, sir! Please, go right in...!”
I gave a light wave and a wry smile to the young gangsters standing stiffly at attention. “Don’t mind me, don’t mind me.”
As I walked toward the door, several surveillance cameras mounted on the building tracked my movement with a faint, mechanical whir. Ignoring them, I reached for the door.
With the pashun of an airlock venting pressure, I stepped inside.
Inside, a single woman stood behind a counter.
She had refined features and a perfectly calibrated smile. I didn't recognize her. Either she was a new hire... or she was someone who had swapped their old face for a new one.
When our eyes met, she beamed at me and offered a greeting in a clear, polished voice.
“Master Haijima, it is a pleasure to see you again. Master Cordeaux is waiting for you on the upper floor. Please, use this elevator.”
I see. I could tell just by the tone of her voice. She wasn't human. She was a Vira Corp reception android.
He’s making some expensive purchases, I grumbled to myself.
Depending on the model, one of those units would easily cost more than a year’s salary for someone in the Upper District. And he used it for greeting guests at a back entrance? That was taking vanity to the extreme. Personally, I didn't see the appeal of that "too-perfect smile" at all.
I stepped into the direct elevator hidden behind a partition next to the android, out of public view. It ascended with a slight vibration until a crisp ding echoed through the car.
The doors opened to a spacious waiting room. Several of Cordeaux’s direct subordinates were standing by in silence. They shot sharp glazes my way, but as soon as they confirmed my identity, they relaxed their posture and bowed slightly.
“Good work, sir. He’s waiting inside. Please.”
The two men standing like gatekeepers pushed open the heavy, reinforced wooden doors with both hands. The moment I stepped inside, I felt like whistling at the sheer luxury of it.
It was a chic—or perhaps "antique" was the better word—office.
The room featured an executive desk made of natural wood, a rarity in this age; heavy cabinets decorated with intricate carvings; and oil paintings hanging on the walls. None of it was synthetic. Everything was the real deal. This room alone was worth a small fortune.
It was a world away from the rot and stench of the slums outside.
A massive, powerful man sitting on a sofa at the back raised a hand casually when he saw me.
“Yo. It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”
His presence was as overwhelming as ever. I was fairly tall myself, but he still stood a full head above me. He was nearly two meters tall, a mountain of muscle that looked like it was about to burst through the seams of his jacket. His bald head was polished to a shine, and there wasn't a single wrinkle on his face. He had a sharp, disciplined expression that exuded a strange sense of vitality.
He was overbearing, but strangely enough, I didn't dislike him. Maybe it was because we shared a similar taste in decor.
On the table sat a bottle of amber liquid and two glasses. One was already filled to the brim, and Cordeaux drained it in a single, massive gulp.
If I remembered correctly, that stuff was seventy percent alcohol. He was pouring something that could punch a hole in a man's stomach down his throat like it was tap water. What a freak.
He motioned for me to join him. I let out a sigh and sat heavily on the sofa.
Cordeaux grinned, poured the liquor into the empty glass, and slid it toward me. He refilled his own, then held it up.
...Well, I didn't really have a choice.
I picked up the glass and lightly clinked it against his. Because the glasses were so overfilled, the clink was a dull, heavy thud.