[Eden City - Dan Street Apartment No. 013]

John woke up in his bed, the blanket slipping off his bare chest, with a girl propping herself up beside him.

He had seen her in his last memory before consciousness blacked out.

The blazing sun hung high.

The weather was rarely clear.

The silhouette of a Hovercar was reflected on the glass curtain wall.

The industrial style apartment decor was bathed in sunlight, radiating a touch of understated luxury, electronic devices running smoothly, the coffee machine ready to go, and there was even a hint of fragrance in the air.

John looked at the cooling vents in his hand, turning them over, contemplating his situation.

A deep throb still emanated from the depths of his mind.

His body was collapsing, organs failing, and his tongue was numb once more.

So why could he wake up?

Didn't Kenichi Sora say he couldn't make it?

According to John's guess.

He was either never waking up again, or the surgery was over.

John woke up silent, ignoring the girl beside him.

She sat up, used the blanket to cover her chest, revealing only her pretty shoulders and a delicately beautiful face.

"You… hmm, you're not quite what I imagined."

She brushed her short hair aside, her eyes flickering, yet actively discussing last night.

"Well… you know, mercenaries, who also fight in boxing matches, I always thought you'd be colder, but you're quite… hmm, fresh? Like a rookie, oh, it doesn't matter at all, I… really like that kind of heartfelt feeling."

The girl chatted naturally.

Young, lively, with a hint of boldness, like the heroine from a single-player adventure headband game.

"The door is downstairs."

John left the bed, pulling on clothes.

The girl made a toothy expression, openly joking about herself. "Fine, I'll take back what I said, you're really cruel."

"Listen, that wasn't me."

John walked to the middle of the stairs without turning back.

He looked at the glaring sunlight outside the floor-to-ceiling window, his gaze wandering among the high-rises, pausing briefly before continuing down, still answering. "No matter who your boss is, you can go back and settle the account, there won't be a next contact between us."

The girl upstairs wasn't his handiwork.

A Behavior Chip was implanted in her neck.

No matter what the cloud server recorded last night, it was all part of Kenichi Sora's "client preferences" left in the Sex Doll program.

It had nothing to do with him.

Remove this chip, or switch to a different transaction.

Her personality, speaking tone, hairstyle, fashion sense, even the beautiful and intricate handle tattoo on her skin, would all be different.

The real her might not be willing to get involved with a mercenary.

Too many stories about shattered dreams, rushing into clubs to shoot sex dolls.

John arrived at the bathroom, observing his state in the mirror—inevitably weary, sparse stubble, blood streaks deep in the eye sockets, indicating the high load on the Prosthetic Body.

He stared at himself in the mirror.

"Now, damn it, what the hell is going on?"

No answer in his mind.

The voice of the girl came from the second-floor railing.

"So heartless, John, last night was clearly fun."

She had put on a shirt, sleeves not yet completed, legs crossed, leaning forward against the railing.

John knew:

Her chip was online, fine-tuning her style according to client responses.

John leaned out halfway, pointing towards the apartment door.

"Trust me, leaving now is best, you don't want to know what kind of trouble I'm involved in, this business isn't worth risking your life for."

The girl pouted, turning away from the railing.

[Special Inhibitor in the work pants pocket.]

The voice of Kenichi Sora came from his mind.

Its tone was calm, without emotion, and offered no explanation.

[The one on your neck has reached its limit, replace it.]

John reached into his pocket, feeling a total of eight chips, thick, from all the stock automatically produced by the assembly line during this period.

He activated the Atlanta Virtual Network, checking the equipment status.

[Captain] has been suspended from work.

All the physical evidence related to Black Light in the room had been cleaned up.

"You're now able to operate my apartment system?"

This thing was washed by Black Light.

[Deep binding, default authorization, I'm just doing the right thing, now go to the workshop, grab your stuff, we have to leave.]

"Where to?"

[Surgery, your illness isn't cured yet.]

"Yeah, I can feel it. The problem is... why did I regain control?"

[You didn't regain control. You're conscious because I'm helping you share the body's load... Pull the chip out and you'll understand immediately.]

John withdrew the overheating, coiled chip.

With the connection interrupted, his entire body clanged down onto the sink, as if all his bones had been removed, muscles spasming and twitching, unable to support himself.

Dizziness, nausea, and a piercing pain from the spine.

This was the "real" state of his body.

At best, he'd be lying in a hospital bed full of tubes.

John even started to have trouble breathing.

Sweat seeped from his skin at an eerie speed, dripping onto the metal countertop, and the splattered water formed murky patterns.

He forced himself to inject an inhibitor into his neck.

The usual comfort didn't come, only slight relief from the dizziness—the physical damage wasn't solved.

A flood of information appeared before his eyes.

Kenichi Sora reconnected, and strength returned to his body.

"Fuck!"

John slammed onto the countertop, bending the sink connections and cracking half a tile.

He stared at the glass, questioning.

"Is this my end? Completely handicapped, only able to survive by relying on you?"

[NO.]

Kenichi Sora's voice was eerily calm.

[I'm your wheelchair now, unable to take over your body. The surgery is scheduled, now move. You have to stay conscious during this process; that's why I woke you up.]

It didn't call him brother, nor did it sound cheerful.

There was a real coldness to facing an AI.

John could sense something was wrong with Sora, but it offered no further explanation.

He returned to the workshop, donned his work jacket, magnetic patches adhering to his spine—indicating Sianweistan was in semi-standby mode, and the prosthetic body wasn't activated. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

The majority of this body's access was controlled by the AI.

John tried not to think too much about it.

Suspicion and betrayal had long lost their meaning.

The Triangular Maple Rifle was cleaned, placed on the workbench, next to the Rapid Runner Submachine Gun ready to be holstered for easy carrying.

The magazines were neatly arranged.

Does this look like he's off for surgery?

Footsteps echoed outside the workshop.

John turned around to find the girl standing at the door.

She wore an oversized shirt, chewing bubblegum, smiling, with her left hand holding her jacket and her right a pair of shoes.

She walked barefoot up the steps, placing a hand on John's broad shoulder.

"Gotta say goodbye, it's called manners!"

She turned her head and kissed John's cheek—her lips sticky, covered in bright, shimmering lipstick.

Sianweistan activated.

John turned his head, Igdrasir burst with great force, gripping the girl's wrist.

Her eyes widened, smile distorted, while her captured hand struggled desperately, fingers convulsing and twisting, nearly reaching John's Special Inhibitor just moments ago.

"Such a rough method."

John twisted his hand, a cracking sound echoed in the air.

This relationship shouldn't end this way.

Rather than her backer being anxious, it was just plain stupid—how dare they rely on a sex doll to snatch a mercenary's stuff?

John pinned her against the wall, just about to pull out her Behavior Chip.

Zap—

An arc of electricity exploded from her neck.

The apartment system issued an error prompt, and seconds later, the entire user and elevator system of the Dan Street Apartment melted down—not locked down, melted down, overloaded and scrapped, even the Black Light couldn't re-operate it.

John caught a sense of familiarity.

His enemy wasn't the Black Gold Gang or some multinational corporation.

Buzz buzz buzz—

A hovercar hovered outside the building.

The floor-to-ceiling window was blasted by a shock grenade, shards of glass and a gale rushed in. Amid the dust and flashing chaos, John stood at the workshop door, work jacket blowing, countless blue holograms swept through the room...

He squinted, prosthetic eye narrowing, and saw the network surveillance symbol on the hovercar.