Players Invade Cyberpunk-Chapter 749 - 241: Smuggling Routes_3

"Let's talk business. How about making money together?"

"Huff..."

The waitress forcefully yanked her arm free, surprising even the big shot with her strength.

"I'm the owner. If you have something to say, say it."

The big shot: "....."

The three others watched the big shot and giggled behind their hands as if watching a joke.

The big shot remained unfazed, not caring about their mockery. He was well used to it.

"I'll provide the goods, and you sell them here. How about a seventy-thirty profit split?"

"...."

The store owner squinted at the fearless Mercenary, wondering if he knew that all the drinking water and food in Dog Town were smuggled in through the Cleaner's channels?

Though the Cleaner didn't dabble in this business, they still took a cut.

Just these few people think they can cut into Dog Town's water supply?

Forget it, let these idiots go get themselves killed.

At least she wouldn't risk exposing herself.

"I get my water from Rorschach, and not just me. The entire Long Beach Waste Yard's bottled water supply is from him. If you're capable of taking him out, I'll do business with you."

————

Life's major events are nothing more than eating, drinking, whoring, and gambling.

Whoever controls others' stomachs naturally controls their lives.

That's what Rorschach always believed.

As the local boss of Long Beach Waste Yard, he and his men controlled nearly eighty percent of the food and beverage channels in this area, but the profits weren't as high as people imagined.

Firstly, the price to use the Cleaner's channels was exorbitant, and the damned merchants took all the profit.

Secondly, everyone at Long Beach Waste Yard was dirt poor, unable to afford normal water and food.

After all, Dog Town had no real jobs; cash flow depended entirely on the wealthy refugees and the blood of the Netherworld Dog Team. That money flowed through hotels, bars, and other upscale places, leaving only leftovers for them to scavenge.

But everything changed with the arrival of a new product.

Rorschach saw his chance to strike it rich, fiddling with a water bottle he'd just taken from an alley, eyeing the advertising slogan printed on it.

[Horizon Pure Water]

[Drink this bottle of water and become a super healthy citizen of Super Earth!]

In the bottom right corner, a small line read: 'Super citizens serve a lifetime of military duty, drafted at the discretion of the War Department.'

Ridiculous with a tinge of dark humor.

Just an inconsequential ad slogan. Nobody would take it seriously.

He opened the cap and took a swig. The uniquely pure and refreshing taste made Rorschach marvel.

"This good stuff only sells for 1.5 Orokin? What a joke."

Though it lacked the energy drinks that powered prosthetics, ordinary people didn't need such extras.

In Rorschach's view, those living in the gutter were lucky to drink such quality water at all.

As long as it didn't kill them.

A henchman approached with two water-filled bottles, excitedly saying,

"Boss, the production line is ready for operation."

Rorschach's eyes lit up at the news.

"Take me to see it."

Naturally, the so-called production line wasn't a legitimate factory but an underground setup installed in a building's basement.

In dim lighting, pipes fixed to the ceiling with nylon ropes shook from water pressure, filling plastic bottles under mechanical control. Workers with enhanced prosthetics rapidly fitted caps on the bottles.

The bottles looked identical to those of Horizon Corporation's water on the market, though the water appeared slightly yellowish, perhaps not entirely clean.

Watching the bottled water on the conveyor, Rorschach saw them as bottles of Gold, his hands trembling with excitement.

Just like this, just like this.

At a cost of 1.5 Orokin, even wholesaling could be as low as 1 Orokin. Smuggled to Dog Town, it sold for 10 Orokin, but Rorschach only pocketed two, with the Cleaner taking the lion's share.

But if he poured out half the water and refilled with tap, one bottle would sell as two, boosting profits tenfold.

Compared to such a windfall, smuggling prosthetics pales.

Maybe...

He could keep even less, a third, and still increase profits...

Meanwhile, his assistant brought forth an empty glass bottle as if bearing treasure.

"Boss, look at this."

Rorschach focused on the greenish bottle with the chicly engraved 'Rome' and a gold-foil crowned cap. Clearly valuable, a swig still swirled at the bottom.

"Why are you showing me a wine bottle?"

The assistant handed it over.

"It's not wine inside. Try it if you don't believe."

Rorschach begrudgingly took the bottle, suspicious of his antics.

Likely fished out from the Heavy Heart Bar's trash or found roadside—where scavengers loved to explore, fancifully termed 'treasure hunting.'

But the gang later monopolized the trade, rummaging bins before turning them over to scavengers.

Yet after one gulp, his eyes widened.

"Water?"

"Yeah, boss." The assistant's voice trembled slightly.

"I can't tell it apart from our pure water at all, but it's obviously worth a hundred times more. We could refill them with clean water and resell at a much higher price!"

Dozens-fold profit?

A hundredfold profit!

He felt like a genius!

But Rorschach hesitated...

"That company isn't easy to handle. I heard the Cleaner suffered a heavy blow from them..."

The assistant wasn't about to let his boss's reluctance squander this once-in-a-lifetime chance.

"That's outside. Here on the Taiping Continent, on our turf, a small company can't boss around. Could they even override Colonel Hansen? If things collapse, it'd be someone taller holding it up, and it'd never reach us."