My Cyber Psychosis is Task Prompt

"Will it be different?"

"Depends on how you see it. Honestly, I’m not sure. I doubt it’ll be free, you know, I checked your insurance account and I know you worked at a logistics company."

"Uh-huh."

John was already in the bathroom.

Sora took over his body and was enjoying the feeling of warm water washing over his skin.

"What’s it like working at a company?"

"It’s exhausting, dying for a break, living on coffee and stimulants. People are worse than machines; they use you until you’re about to be scrapped and then give you the boot."

John raised his hand and wiped his face against the stream of water.

"...Sounds terrible."

"Haha, I’m being polite. At least you don’t have to worry about colleague relationships. Some might trip you up behind your back, and that’s a real pain in the neck."

John ruthlessly shattered Sora’s fantasy.

For some reason...

Though just a digital soul, John couldn’t help but treat him like a kid full of fantasies.

Until the shower ended, Sora didn’t say another word.

John dried himself off and came into the living room, looking at rows of flashy new clothes and suddenly realized something.

"I’m not going out in these things."

"Why!"

Sora was silent for a long time, hoping to naturally move to the "changing" phase, shouting like a rebellious teenager defying his strict parents.

John pointed at those fabrics with sequins.

"Even the club’s sex dolls aren’t this flashy. I’m not going out with heart-shaped chest muscles exposed."

"That’s called style, professionals should have their own trademark, it’s common gaming knowledge! Besides, your brain is about to melt, why care about what others think!"

"If the plan succeeds, I’ll survive, but if I go out in these, I’ll never take a job in the West District again. Ghouls will turn surveillance footage into holographic ads just to ruin my reputation in large bars!"

John wrapped a towel around himself and sat down on the couch shaking his head.

The lines he revealed were excellent, thanks to the advanced muscle bundles and artificial leather, radiating an absolutely seductive texture.

"I don’t want to be on the street with people waving money, inviting me for a quickie nearby."

"Sounds not too bad."

"Are you serious? Fuck, kid, you’d better search the dark web for the average career length of male dolls, then you’d know how twisted those club-goers are!"

Bang!

Whoosh—

John picked up the unfinished canned drink and knocked over the row of shimmering clothes.

"OK, OK, we have other options~"

Sora was not annoyed.

He seemed to have a certain obsession with "character outfits."

"These clothes are all high-end custom, you can’t buy them without the right membership level. I used some tricks to create a fake identity and bypass the identification process. Trust me, go out in these, definitely..."

"You’ll die."

"Huh?"

Sora’s enthusiastic pitch was ruthlessly interrupted.

"These clothes are worn by company dogs, gotta be rich or noble, you understand? Look at the material of that suit jacket and the shirt with hidden patterns, you’d become a walking target!"

John shook his head, confirming again—Sora lacked common sense.

Mr. Vito had once warned John, to remember his class, but on the street, kitschism and entropicism were rampant, looking flashy but with a clear boundary.

If you dress yourself like an exquisite porcelain doll with some gilded prosthetics, you’re turning yourself into an alien.

Old friends would act awkwardly around you.

Vendors in the black market would size you up and you wouldn’t be able to do business.

Ghouls are the most enthusiastic though, they love whacking rich folks like you from behind.

"But you look handsome, dude, honestly, your work jacket has got some style, looks like a tasteful mercenary, with the sports car, this apartment, so rad!"

"That’s gear, not dress-up clothes."

"What’s the difference?"

"Flashy stuff isn’t worth a damn, those who make a name for themselves have tailor-made outfits, just like the ace of spades has a handy piece of equipment, it’s all the same logic."

"Where’d you buy it? I’ll pay!"

"You can’t buy it with money, custom-made, you can spell that word, can’t you?"

"Who made the clothes?"

"Dead, one got cyber psychosis and was mashed by SAT, another slipped into a company as a departmental supervisor, won’t live much longer."

John rested his hands on the sofa, telling Edward and scissors’ story.

Sora listened quietly.

But John could feel his eagerness, the life-and-death drudgery of mercenaries, to this clump of data, was just another virtual life.

Sure enough, the moment the story ended, it screamed.

"Cool, so cool, that’s exactly the kind of unique stuff I want! That’s it, next phase of the plan is getting some gear!"

"..."

John squinted his eyes.

"You rented my body just for these trivial things?"

"Price is agreed anyway, I’m the employer, but I allow you to make decisions, you’ve got clothes, comfortable pants, well-fitting boots, cool guns, take me for a ride!"

Sora said seriously.

"Task target update"

"Looking for customized gear. (Not achieved)"

"Oh, fuck, are you serious?"

The task prompt popped up, and John felt the whole world was messed up.

"Why react so big?"

Sora can glimpse the essence of Black Light but didn’t mention the "task prompt," showed no reaction when the text popped out.

John hesitated for a moment, but ultimately didn’t ask proactively.

"Alright, what’s your plan?"

"Nope, as you can see, my memory version is too old, it’d be embarrassing, Internet Surveillance is tight, I can’t just recklessly connect..."

Sora’s meaning was simple:

Everything was left for John to arrange, he just handled living inside and enjoying the entire process.

"Alright, I’ll find a middleman and ask around."

"YES!"

John’s communication footage flickered like it was infected with a virus.

"Who do you wanna call, I’ll help you make the call."

"I’ll do it myself, shut up."

"Call Yura. (Optional)"

"Call Old Chris. (Optional)"

"Call Oulos. (Optional)"

"Call Raphael. (Optional)"

...

John just realized, he knew quite a few from various fields, and many could handle this matter.

If not limited to middlemen, the range of options would be wider.

Company executives, gang leaders, police lieutenants... they all surely have ways.

But professional tasks should be done by professionals.

"Contact-Raphael [voice call]"

The call was hung up.

Sora made a sound of disappointment.

It kept questioning in his mind about the situation of this middleman—like the sphere of influence, main business, even appearance and demeanor, and whether there are any iconic equipment and weapons...

"Oh my... can you be quiet for a bit?"

John felt no emotional ripple within.

It’s normal for middlemen to be busy, if this one doesn’t work, there’s another.

He hadn’t decided whom to contact yet, suddenly received a reply.

Ding—

"Raphael [Unread message]"

"Chat alone, make sure you’re alone, call back."

John squinted his eyes.

The living room of the apartment was plunged into awkward silence until Sora’s voice sounded again.

"Ahem, alright, I admit, I can read your emails... So, you’re going to pull out the chip, right? Fine, fine, I understand, as long as the thing can be negotiated!"

"..."

John furrowed his brow.

"Come on, you’re not human!"

John directly dialed the phone.

"Contact-Raphael [voice call]"