Chapter 209
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 209
I wandered through Border City, following the addresses on the list of prosthetic technicians.
Turning down an alley, I found a cybernetic clinic. A sign on the closed door read Closed. They must have been making decent money if they could afford to take days off.
Crack.
I pressed my fingers into the door lock, crushing it. The moment the door swung open, I strode inside.
"W-What the fuck?! Who the hell are you?!"
The clinic owner jolted in surprise and aimed a gun at me. His right arm was his only visible cybernetic prosthetic.
"Hmm. I doubt you have the equipment for a full-body procedure. This gear looks decades old; you'd be lucky to manage basic maintenance with it."
I walked in nonchalantly, scanning the interior. Even with a gun pointed at me, I felt no tension. Frankly, there was nothing to be tense about.
The clinic owner narrowed his eyes, keeping his gun trained on me. Having survived in the underbelly, he was quick on the uptake and seemed to realize that if he crossed me, he would be the one to die.
"Toss me a fat credit chip, and I'll tell you what I know."
I like quick-witted people. It saves me the trouble of explaining things.
Slide.
I pulled out a credit chip and slid it across the table. The clinic owner lowered his gun and stuck a cigarette in his mouth.
"I don't smoke. I hate the smell."
As I spoke, I snatched the cigarette from his lips. The clinic owner muttered something under his breath.
"To be honest, I've never actually done a full-body prosthetic procedure. As you can see, I don't have the setup for it."
"I heard a rumor you did one here."
According to Japa's information, this place was capable of it. The clinic owner chuckled at my question.
"Of course I have to brag that I can do full-body jobs. It's how you get people to think you're skilled. Besides, anyone who actually needs a real full-body prosthetic wouldn't come to a place like this anyway."
"Quite the businessman. But you wasted my time. Now I'm starting to regret giving you that credit chip..."
I reached for my terminal to check the next location on the list.
"W-Wait! If you're looking for a real full-body prosthetic technician, I can weed out the frauds for you. Filtering out guys like me will save you a lot of time. So..."
The clinic owner glanced repeatedly at the credit chip and rubbed his fingers together.
...Well, it wasn't my money anyway.
I pulled out another credit chip of the same value and held it out.
Beep.
I tapped my terminal, activating its built-in hologram lens.
Whirrrr.
The list Japa had compiled projected into the air as a hologram, complete with a virtual interface.
Swipe, swipe.
The clinic owner rotated the hologram, crossing out names with his finger.
"This bastard claims he can do full-body prosthetics? He should at least make his lies believable. Tsk, this guy is a hack who can't even attach a prosthetic arm properly, let alone a full body. He's so hopped up on drugs his hands shake..."
The clinic owner efficiently cleaned up the list.
I crossed my arms and waited for him to finish. The clinic was shabby, but it had the feel of a genuine workshop. It was clear he did some real work here.
"Is the prosthetic business good in Border City?"
"It's decent enough to make a living. Demand is low, but so is supply. New clients are rare. High-grade prosthetics are hard to come by, so a lot of people doubt their reliability. It'd be better if Akresia fully opened its market. Their prosthetic technology is easily the best, after all."
Hearing that, I felt a strange sense of pride. One's origins weren't so easily discarded.
"I can understand the distrust. Once you get a prosthetic, you have to get it regularly serviced and replaced. Even just changing technicians can alter how it feels. And low-grade or secondhand ones always cause trouble."
"I heard the Empire's latest models can go for years without any maintenance or calibration, as long as there's no physical damage."
That wasn't just a recent development; it had been true in the past as well. High-end prosthetics used by nobles rarely had issues, even without external maintenance. Only combat prosthetics, which required intense yet precise operations, needed regular servicing.
"Then why don't you go live in the Empire? As a prosthetic technician, wouldn't you want to go there?"
"Ha, what a joke. That's no place for humans to live. It's a place for machines."
He wasn't wrong. I chuckled along with him.
The clinic owner finished checking the list. With a wide sweep of his hand, he dismissed the hologram. The light from my terminal's lens faded.
I stepped out of the clinic. Looking up at the sky, I saw the sun was slowly setting. As darkness descended, the lights of Border City grew brighter.
I walked beneath glittering signs and streetlamps. It was a bustling district, and holographic advertisements flickered dizzyingly all around.
Crash! Thud!
The sounds of a fight echoed nearby. I peered down a side alley.
"Grrr!"
Crawlers. Two of them were trading blows. Judging by the bar right next to them, they must have gotten into an argument there.
Even the Crawlers who adapted to the city lived as thugs or gang members. They were a people far removed from honest labor.
Boyan...
Seeing the Crawlers reminded me of Boyan.
...He did seem to be doing a bit better lately.
Even without looking for him, I would occasionally run into Boyan at the headquarters. His expression had seemed brighter recently. It would be a relief if he had resolved his issues or found some kind of breakthrough on his own.
Realistically, Boyan's problems aren't something I can solve for him anyway.
As I walked down the street, my stomach rumbled. I sat down at a food stall that smelled delicious.
"First time here, customer? We only serve Zapa Burgers," said a man flipping meat patties, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
"Zapa, not Japa?"
"It's twice as delicious as that snake-head's burger. Give it a try."
I shrugged and ordered one. Business seemed good, with a fair number of people coming and going.
The owner handed me a wrapped burger. I took it and slowly peeled back the paper. It looked no different from a Japa Burger. The smell was incredibly similar, too.
And it's less than half the price.
If this really tasted better, Japa Burger would have a real competitor on its hands.
Chew, chew.
I took a bite and focused on the taste.
I could feel the owner's gaze on me, eagerly anticipating my reaction.
...Surprising.
The taste was indeed similar. The sauce was shockingly close to Japa Burger's.
But the crucial difference lay in the texture of the patty. It was slightly rubbery and tough; if I didn't chew thoroughly, I felt like I'd get indigestion.
"It's not twice as good, but for half the price, it's worth eating."
"Hmm, I'll take that for now, customer. Honest feedback is necessary for improvement, after all."
The owner grinned. He probably knew himself that it fell short of a Japa Burger.
I sat there and finished the burger. I was thirsty, but seeing dead bugs and debris floating in the drink dispenser, I lost my appetite for a drink.
Hm?
I stared past the owner. A shadow strode toward the food stall's tarp. Judging by the build, it was an Equesian.
"Hey, duck," I said, licking sauce off my thumb.
"What?"
The owner didn't duck. A rough arm tore through the tarp and grabbed him by the head.
Rip!
An Equesian ripped through the stall's tarp and emerged. He lifted the owner off the ground, palming his head with a single massive hand.
The Equesian wore a familiar combat helmet.
[Luka, what are you doing here?]
He recognized me, too.
"Looks like you're all patched up, En," I said, remaining seated.
At the mention of the name En, the stall owner began to tremble violently.
"J-Japa's hound..."
[You know why I'm here, don't you?]
En threw the owner to the ground and dusted off his hands. An Equesian's physique was overwhelmingly larger than a human's, their muscle fibers as hard as cast iron yet incredibly springy. Like Crawlers, they were a race of natural-born warriors.
"I-I was just selling a little on the street..."
[Scale doesn't matter. You're an industrial spy. Who did you get the sauce recipe from? Well, you don't have to tell me right now. You won't be able to hold out anyway.]
The owner's face turned pale. He tried to reach for a pistol in his coat.
Stupid move.
En grabbed the owner's hand, crushing it with sheer grip strength.
Crunch!
When En let go, the owner's hand was completely mangled, as if it had been put through a hydraulic press.
"Argh... ugh... cough..."
The owner curled into a ball, clutching his broken hand. Tears and snot streamed down his face.
"Keeping busy the moment you recover," I remarked to En.
En had been hospitalized with severe wounds during the attack on Japa's headquarters.
[I heard you filled in for me quite well. Not bad, human.]
"Not just 'not bad'—I'm better than you. Look at you, handling trivial chores like this."
[Ha, ha, ha. I admire your confidence. But this isn't trivial. A leak of the sauce recipe is serious enough to warrant my personal involvement. Not that this idiot seemed to realize that.]
En was probably right. He was a mercenary Japa trusted. Japa wouldn't deploy him for something insignificant.
Just how strong is En?
I had always been curious. If he wasn't as strong as his confidence suggested, I'd be deeply disappointed.
I had high expectations for the Equesian race. I wanted to see the skills of En, who was reputed to be one of their strongest.
To be precise, I want to fight him.
Sensing my fighting spirit, En stared intently at me. His combat helmet, which completely covered his face, was menacing.
[If you're itching for a fight, don't look at me. Hang a credit chip around your neck and head deeper into the alleys. Women, gang members—they'll all come rushing at you.]
"Useful advice. Thanks. Now go back to your duties, Japa's hound."
I stood up. En slung the food stall owner over his shoulder and vanished.
I continued walking down the street. Border City was home to various species; I occasionally encountered races whose names I had never even heard. It was a starkly different sight from the Empire.
Equesians.
They were the species that intrigued me the most. Usually, races with exceptional combat capabilities were hard to trust due to their excessive hostility, the Crawlers being a prime example.
Equesians, however, possessed a cold, collectivist nature. For a warrior race, their crime rate was relatively low. That was likely why so many different species employed them as mercenaries.
Thump, thump, clap, thud.
The sound of music echoed from up ahead.
Turning my head, I saw a crowd of youths from various species dancing together in a plaza. It was some kind of street culture. A pungent smoke, which could have been tobacco or some kind of drug, drifted from their group.
Normally, I would have ignored them and walked past. But today, something caught my eye.
Boyan?
I spotted a Crawler boy with his hood pulled down low. Since it was hard to distinguish between members of other species, I thought I might be mistaken.
At first, I assumed I had misidentified him. But no matter how many times I looked, it was definitely Boyan. He was bobbing his head to the beat, hanging out with delinquents.
"Hmm..."
For once, I hesitated, lost in thought. Boyan needed an outlet for his stress, too. But I doubted that hanging around here was the right way to do it.
This wasn't stress relief; it was an escape.
Ultimately, it's Boyan's life. It's none of my business.
...Thinking that, I had left Boyan alone several times before. I had essentially run away, making excuses. But I had a feeling that I shouldn't walk away today.
Scratching my head, I walked toward the plaza.
"Hey, old man. This isn't a place for geezers. The red-light district is that way."
A boy on the outskirts of the group blocked my path, trying to act tough.
"Haha."
A chuckle escaped my lips.
This is why I love greenhorns. Those who have rolled around the back alleys for a long time are quick to sniff out the strong. But for these young punks, pride always came before survival instincts.
Crack!
I kicked his shin. The bone snapped with a satisfying crack.
It was a lesson. He needed to learn that picking a fight with someone stronger could get him killed. Maybe it would save his life in the future.
"Aaargh! Fuck! You fucking old bastard! You—you're dead!"
The boy with the broken shin pointed a finger at me, screaming for his friends.