[Eden City - Highway Checkpoint 71-B]

The sky darkened quickly.

It started raining when entering the city.

By now, the rain had already become heavy.

The rain in Eden City was no different from four months ago, falling from the skyscrapers, illuminated by neon lights, and then leaking down through the steel gaps layer by layer, pounding on the pedestrians' raincoats and the hood of the Silver Rider 577...

Making a pattering sound.

The bullet holes and dents in the car window glass were not repaired.

The damp cold air filled with the smell of rust flooded into his nostrils, with a few raindrops splashing onto his skin, cool, seeping through the artificial leather into the body.

The asphalt road was soaked by rainwater.

A line of vehicles queued up at the highway checkpoint.

The emergency flashers of the car in front reflected in John's pupils.

His gaze was distracted, expressionless, propping one hand on the window, blowing in the wind, lost in thought.

Eden City had subtle discrepancies from his memory.

It seemed like nothing had changed.

Yet it felt painfully unfamiliar.

[Detected scan, no hack signals.]

The CCTV camera cast a cone-shaped data grid, sweeping over the Silver Rider 577, and the lens slowly turned, blurring into a colorful light in the rain.

Beep—

The car behind honked.

John withdrew his arm and moved towards the checkpoint.

It wasn't strict, just a formality.

The duty officer stood in the curtain of rain.

The uniform bore the ECPD insignia, the eye implant was a generic Argos model, a municipal procurement style, the overall configuration unchanged from four months ago.

The officers' benefits hadn't improved during John's disappearance.

The officer put away the signal light, confirmed the scan results, and checked John's biometric data.

Then he froze on the spot.

The person in the car had no public information.

Not a single piece.

The police were very familiar with stowaways and knew well — how outrageously expensive it was to erase all criminal records and biometric data.

He furrowed his brows, quickening his movements.

Any officer who scans out a John Doe during duty would inwardly curse their luck.

The person in the car wasn't a nobody.

The officer didn't make a fuss, just took another couple of glances at John.

"Why is anyone still trying to squeeze into the city?"

He pretended to find a topic, but feared John would actually respond, murmuring to himself as he returned beside the turret, staring silently at the luxury car in front of him.

This expression was easy to understand:

He felt familiar with this car but couldn't place it, like a file in his mind, flipping through but the pages were missing.

The Silver Rider 577 ran through John's mercenary career.

Many people were familiar with this car.

Many also forgot about it.

Four months was enough time for new faces to replace old ones on the streets, and those remaining either were buried or became forgetful during that time.

The officer didn't bother to check the vehicle's file.

Someone who entered the city as a John Doe, with a gun in the passenger seat, it wasn't worth the trouble.

He waved his hand, moving on to the next car.

The Silver Rider 577 returned to Eden City, gradually picking up speed on the wet, dark asphalt road.

John had no destination.

The time he spent as a mercenary in the city totaled less than four months, but back then he had an apartment, had people he could call.

Since waking from the Source Formula, he felt somewhat out of place in this body until the neon slid over the hood, and John realized he had gotten used to Kenichi Sora speaking inside his head.

Sometimes it was annoying, sometimes useful.

John circled the city.

The street changes were not significant, just the details didn't match.

Four months were somewhat long for this city.

Storefronts had changed brands, building advertisements replaced products and companies, and a once accessible alley was now fenced with barbed wire.

Gang symbols were visible on the walls everywhere.

Maybe it was the rainy night, maybe something else.

Few ordinary citizens were visible on the streets, and nightlife had shifted from cheap rock music to a cacophony of sirens and gunshots.

This city was as dangerous as ever.

Even worse.

The rain was dense, and the wind whipped it into moving mist on the streets.

The traffic lights were washed clean, shining darkly.

John drove the Silver Rider 577, turning at an intersection towards Chavez Restaurant.

The closer he got, the fewer the lights.

John drove past the last traffic light, the street was already pitch black, with only broken vending machines and a few strips of neon signs still glowing.

Chavez Restaurant had turned into a ruin.

John slowed the car, staring blankly through the glass, yet he didn't feel anger or surprise.

The unprotected restaurant is certainly beyond saving.

John had imagined on his way here—it had changed owners, perhaps not even a restaurant anymore, and the ruins before him weren't that far off.

Silver Rider 577 drove into the parking lot.

It was a complete mess here as well.

The wheels had to grind over construction debris to get in, and the entire parking lot was covered in a layer of oil slicks in all colors of the rainbow.

The boundary lines had vanished without a trace.

There were also a few vehicle wrecks.

John stepped out of the car.

Raindrops draped over his shoulders, quickly soaking his work jacket and starting to seep through the gaps around his neck, dampening the inner lining.

He crossed the restaurant's main entrance, steadying the frame, as the last piece of shattered glass fell, breaking at his feet.

The sign had already been charred.

The metallic outlines of the letters were completely bent.

Crunch, crunch.

John's boots crushed the broken glass, and he glanced around; his Messiah's Eye quickly dilating and contracting.

[Eye: Messiah - Medusa]

A large hole gaped in the ceiling.

The second floor had collapsed entirely, with rain pouring through the gap, accumulating dirty water in the restaurant ruins.

John swiveled his gaze, letting the data grid overlay the ruins as his eye automatically marked a portion of the traces.

[Bullet marks (new)]

[Vertical slash (old), blade analysis results, monomolecular line scrape...]

[Smart ammunition residue]

[Gun analysis, Kinetic Energy Rifle, caliber...]

[Burn marks (old)]

[Bloodstain No.1, Bloodstain No.2...]

Clues flickered line after line.

John strolled among the ruins, the light dim, with only a faint glow coming from his eye.

Occasionally, distant building billboard lights slanted through the gap, illuminating his expressionless face.

He stepped over the bar counter.

The kitchen walls had already collapsed, indicating a powerful explosion.

The inside was in shambles.

The walls were scorched black from fire, and bullets had randomly scratched through in several waves, leaving many intersecting silver traces from different times.

The eye captured something new.

John pushed the basin aside with one hand, revealing a severed prosthetic limb.

This model was completely unfamiliar.

It didn't belong to Maya, Gerry, or that temporary worker called Gaf.

Suddenly.

A beam of strong light cut through the curtain of rain.

Half of John's body was illuminated.

He didn't dodge, even intentionally looked toward the light source.

Messiah's Eye contracted in the strong light mode, seeing clearly the situation across the street.

It was headlights.

A modified truck.

Sprayed with red and black graffiti.

The modified engine produced a sound wave, arrogantly cutting through the intersection, disappearing from John's sight.

He didn't hear the engine's sound from further away.

This indicated the truck hadn't gone far, had stopped nearby, possibly making a U-turn.

A few seconds later.

A series of hurried footsteps appeared.

Rustle, rustle—

Amid the rain, there was the sound of guns being cocked.

Many guns.

Click.

Indeed, the truck hadn't left; it turned around, shining its high beams toward the restaurant's main entrance.

Illuminating the silhouettes of five or six burly men and John standing amidst the ruins.

They were sturdy, flamboyantly dressed, their exposed skin tattooed with Ukiyo-e style designs.

They carried plenty of weapons.

Two Raqi Group Samurai Swords.

Two "Rongju-Alligator" rifles.

The man at the front wasn't carrying any weapon, but had a lot of combat prosthetics installed, rolling up his shirt sleeves on purpose. From the position of the heat vents, it seemed he had Mantis Blades built into both arms,

John noticed many details.

Like the way they walked, and the raised back when they turned sideways...

There should be Sianweistan.

John's expression didn't change; he remained sideways, not even scanning their information.

Rain slid off his work jacket, dripping from his fingertips, splattering onto the rough metallic surface.

Drip, drip, drip...