My Cyber Psychosis is Task Prompt-Chapter 458 - 288: False Hometown

"A kid craving love."

John ended the topic, got up, and pulled up his windproof scarf.

When he left the second floor, he casually removed the "Temporarily Closed" sign, passed the order counter, avoided the gaze of familiar customers, and departed Charles Restaurant through the back door.

West side parking lot.

John’s motorcycle and the Jurassic ZT15 armored vehicle summoned remotely were parked side by side.

He opened the trunk.

Inside was a smart shotgun.

Kenichi Sora got excited instantly, picked it up to play with, and aimed it at the concrete floor, imagining pulling the trigger.

[Weapon: Hercules MAX]

[Module: Overload Combustion, Advanced Armor-Piercing]

"This is Old America’s legacy, secret resources left by the government in safe houses, given to me by Maya, just like you, an old relic gathering dust in the cracks."

John reclaimed his body and put the gun down.

The big difference between reality and games is—a mercenary can’t carry all the weapons, forcing trade-offs based on the mission.

John’s submachine gun is permanently kept on the sides of the motorcycle,

heavy weapons fixed in the trunk of the armored vehicle.

John flipped open the partition.

He took out a new rifle sling.

This is convenient to wear when working, but still needs to be placed in the passenger seat when on the road.

Life is on a countdown.

Kenichi Sora’s rental time isn’t much either.

"Have you decided what to do with the remaining time?"

[A bit conflicted.]

"Then I’ll make a suggestion."

John smiled, inserting the magazine into the tactical belt.

"Go to Bolago Club, it’s the best sex doll club in the West District, Steel Hot Forest, member exclusives, tickets can be sold on the black market for quite a sum."

[...]

Kenichi Sora didn’t respond.

Electric currents buzzed in John’s mind, the chip’s fluctuations slightly heated the socket at his neck.

[You’re mocking me.]

Sora’s voice sounded again.

[I’d rather test the new gun.]

It’s restless.

Raphael glorified the maple wildly, but the gun’s value must be proven through real combat.

"No problem."

John didn’t insist.

He closed the trunk and returned to the driver’s seat.

"I lost my sense of taste, does it affect you?"

[The connection will be intermittent, feedback abnormal.]

"Alright, let’s head to Sakura Cross Street, find someone to solve the body issue."

[You know another doctor?]

"He’s not a doctor."

John revved the engine, turning toward the cross-district bridge.

[Eden City - Sakura Cross Street]

John didn’t like the territories of Eastern people.

But Kenichi Sora was lively, perhaps reminiscing the days when the original body was still alive. Just after passing the checkpoint, it took control of the body.

Sunshine shone on the earth through industrial dust.

The glass curtain walls reflected, dazzlingly bright, forcing the view downward to focus on the neon signs sprouting across buildings like rampant bacteria.

This area has the city’s narrowest apartment buildings.

Japanese slogans were visible everywhere on the asphalt roads.

At nightfall on Sakura Cross Street, you could see colorful youth and gangs.

And during the day.

Another wave of people living here would occupy the streets.

Traffic lights switched.

Accompanied by a clear female voice broadcast, pedestrians accumulated at the intercity train platforms and zebra crossings began to move like a tide.

They were silent, orderly, expressionless.

That numbness and coldness seemed innate, even the swing of their shoes and briefcases was limited.

Eyeballs flickered.

Call indicator lights flickered.

Sunlight through glass and metal, along with swaying prosthetics, flickered at various angles.

The light felt like a cage pressing on people.

Every time John came to Sakura Cross Street, he felt psychologically suffocated, watching the people flowing on the road, always feeling like he was watching items falling out of a vending machine.

[Really resembles.]

Kenichi Sora mused.

This was its first remark upon entering Sakura Cross Street.

"This isn’t Tokyo; it’s Eden City, a recreated place where Easterners gather."

The car window raised.

John pressed the accelerator.

[Recreated very superficially, feels like a mixed bag of tags, lacking essence, ever visited a zoo, huh? It’s like those artificially made false mountains.]

"Whoa, I’ll pen that line in an email and send it to the municipal management center, which department was it?"

John pretended to suddenly remember.

"Oh right, no such department exists ’cause the council couldn’t care less however citizens damn well think."

[Indeed.]

Sora echoed, its tone regretful.

[Technology turned memories into exquisite specimens, these are standard Osaka blossoms, identical to those in my database, outsiders can’t tell the difference.]

"Your hometown?"

[Kenichi Sora’s hometown.]

"Alright, impressive, but even Easterners now struggle to differentiate cherry tree types."

[Correct.]

Sora again showed distaste,

[Even nostalgia is designed.]

The Jurassic armored vehicle was stopped by traffic lights.

Sora glanced outside.

Sakura Cross Street was full of alleys.

Many and deep, high-rise shadows, in front of the walls were criminals and sex workers.

Someone slept in a corner.

Life or death unknown.

A bar beside the street opened its doors.

A few members of the Shinkin gang emerged, dressed in suits, tattoos in ukiyo-e style.

They rode away on glaive motorcycles.

Through an unclosed door, John could see a bamboo screen, kneeling geisha, and decorative Samurai Sword.

That was a single-molecule blade.

Old model from Raftaki Military Industry.

Equipped with the highest specs materials.

Pure decoration, no combat value.

Behind the screen was a peculiar mix, smog, spotlight crazily flickering.

The geisha seemed to sense the gaze.

She leaned forward, turned her head, the twisted angle of the neck unlike a living person, pure white mask dyed with two rosy patches, jet-black brows, lips as red as blood were opening and closing.

Bleep—

The back car honked.

John withdrew his gaze.

He drove a bit forward, losing the bar’s view from the sliding street scene.

"Do you miss it?"

He noticed Sora’s silence.

[What?]

"Homeland."

[Too unfamiliar, I only see keyword tags, can’t match with things in the database.]

"Welcome to the future."

John sped up.

Jurassic entered a shaded open-air parking lot.

John plunged into an alley.

The space between buildings was humid, condensed water falling layer by layer from a hundred meters high onto you, with unidentified steam rising in the nostrils from manhole covers.

He passed broken barbed wire, found the sign in a half-open roller shutter door.

[Shop - Extreme Netherworld Destination]

The rusty iron door’s creaking sound was more effective than alarm.

Bam, rustle.

Door hinges trembled.

A heavier footstep slowly ascended from the building’s bottom.

His body was still in the tunnel, but the glow from his cheeks first illuminated the dim room.

A mosaic-faced figure leaned out.

Following closely was his unbelievably robust physique.

"Long time no see, John, impressive. I saw last night’s news, didn’t expect you could truly escape the building alive."

Sugar Bean Man grinned.

He referred to Tommen’s murder—everyone in the restaurant knew, and black marketeers received news even earlier.