Chapter 53
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 53
The climate of the Akresia Empire is bleak. It doesn't rain often.
I gazed out the window of Gilda's workshop. Murky rainwater drummed against the glass.
Swoooooosh.
Every now and then, the rain comes down like this. It isn't pleasant weather. Once the water dries, it leaves behind dark, mold-like stains. It's a toxic rain, thick with impurities.
"Every time it rains, my prosthetics ache for no damn reason."
Gabriel grumbled from the maintenance chair. It wasn't just his imagination. The rain in the capital, Akbaran, carried a lukewarm warmth to it—and it wreaked havoc on machinery and prosthetics.
Poorly waterproofed gear would break down if left exposed to the rain too long. In fact, the number of people visiting workshops noticeably spiked after a downpour.
"Gabriel, it's been a while since you got waterproofed, hasn't it?"
Gilda, dressed in overalls, spoke as she serviced Gabriel's prosthetics. His limbs were split wide open, their internal components exposed.
Gilda, whom I hadn't seen in a while, welcomed me warmly, like I was her own little brother. I'd almost forgotten what she looked like.
Right—let's recap who Gilda is. She's the woman I rescued from a gang's office. She'd been held captive by some nasty bastards for months, enduring a miserable ordeal. Thanks to her bright and resilient nature, she'd pulled through it all and was now running her own workshop.
"Waterproofing? My limbs are waterproof models. Why the hell should I pay extra to waterproof them again?"
At that, Gilda slapped Gabriel across the chest.
"Of course they have waterproofing. It's the rating that's the problem. And no matter how meticulously the manufacturer builds them, impurities work their way inside over time. Especially after taking a beating from Akbaran's rain. You should get them re-waterproofed at least once every six months. Unless you'd rather drown in debt over repair bills down the line."
"But it's expensive. Never had a problem going without."
"They don't break down overnight. But if you don't maintain them properly, their performance degrades bit by bit."
"It's only natural for performance to drop as they age."
"It's not 'natural,' it's a matter of maintenance! Take good care of them and they'll run like new even after ten years!"
Gilda smacked Gabriel's chest once more.
Listening to their back-and-forth, I pulled out a credit chip and tossed it onto the table.
"Use that to give Gabriel's prosthetics a complete overhaul. Throw in the waterproofing too."
"My, as expected—Luka is such a reasonable man."
Gilda smiled as she scooped up the credit chip. She never once failed to charge me, even though I was her savior. But rather than finding it cheeky, I actually liked her spunky attitude.
"Luka, you just got scammed by this woman! I'd rather put that money toward an upgrade—"
"Shut it, idiot. If you don't know anything, leave it to the expert."
It wasn't that I didn't get where Gabriel was coming from.
In the Lower District, blindly trusting a mechanic is a fast track to bankruptcy. Look like an easy mark, and they'll pile on unnecessary maintenance and options to jack up the price.
But Gilda would never rip off Gabriel or me. If she did, I'd break her limbs myself.
Crunch.
I took a bite of the cookie Gilda had set out.
"Good, right? I baked them myself. Used an industrial oven, but they won't kill you."
Gilda watched me with a warm, doting expression, like she was looking at a child. But the cookie was innocent and delicious. It'd be a waste to skip it just because it made me feel like a kid.
"Gimme a cookie too."
Gabriel said, opening his mouth. Both his arms were currently mid-service.
"Gaby's a grown man."
Gilda used a nickname for Gabriel. Calling that fierce-looking slab of meat "Gaby" took some serious nerve.
"Grown man or not, I still know how to eat a cookie."
I flicked a cookie with my finger, sending it sailing into Gabriel's mouth. He caught it in that wide maw and chewed vigorously.
Beep.
I drank some milk and wiped my mouth. A message had arrived on my terminal.
Tap.
I tapped the terminal, projecting the hologram. It was the information Aleph had sent. He must have done a thorough job—I had to swipe the hologram sideways four times just to read it all.
Former Arena manager, Tora.
It was the intel on Tora I'd been after.
The black market Arena was a business where enormous interests changed hands. To become an Arena manager, you had to stay on good terms with the other gangs. Mediocre skill didn't cut it.
When Aleph took over the Arena, Tora's close associates were wiped out.
A complete purge. I searched for survivors among Tora's inner circle. The cleanup had been so thorough that most were either dead or missing.
...There was one survivor. The problem was, he was locked up in a psychiatric hospital.
It seemed Aleph had tortured him to learn the location of Tora's safe. Since it wouldn't have mattered if the man died anyway, Aleph likely showed no mercy.
Is he even in any state to hold a conversation?
I didn't expect much, but it was worth making contact.
"Gilda, can you finish within an hour?"
Without so much as looking up from her work, Gilda raised a thumb. A reliable woman.
* * *
Boom!
An explosion erupted, and the taxi flipped over. This was no time to watch like a bystander—because I was inside it. We were under attack.
To my eyes, the taxi spun in slow motion. Objects inside floated in midair, scattering every which way.
The driver in the front seat was bleeding from his head, eyes squeezed shut against the impact. I glanced to the side. Gabriel was scowling, his head slammed against the ceiling.
...Let me calmly piece together and organize the current situation.
Gabriel and I had been on our way to the psychiatric hospital where Tora's associate was admitted. No need to name the place.
Since it was a fair distance on foot and it was raining, I'd called a taxi. A four-seater aerial vehicle had come to pick us up. In the Lower District, a taxi is a considerably high-end luxury.
It happened right as the taxi was passing through an abandoned development zone. Construction there had been halted for over four years, leaving it a shelter for vagrants.
A grenade.
Just then, a grenade shot up from the ground. Even for me, there was no blocking that from inside an aerial vehicle. I lunged for the driver's controls, but I couldn't fully dodge the blast.
Either way, the taxi was now plummeting. The driver, coming to his senses, shouted back at us.
"P-Passengers! Don't worry! Our company has a contract with a security firm. A rescue team will be dispatched within three minutes!"
Even as we fell, the driver tried to reassure us. A rare display of professionalism in the Lower District. I liked him. I'd have to give him a five-star rating.
Crash!
The taxi slammed down. Airbags inflated in every direction inside, absorbing the impact.
"Argh, my gunshot wounds haven't even healed yet! You miserable bastards!"
Gabriel, pinned by the airbags, screamed.
"Gabriel. You aren't hiding anything from me, are you?"
I asked, scanning our surroundings. The airbags were deflating. I kicked the taxi door open. The metal panel flew off some twenty meters.
"Why the hell would I hide anything?!"
Gabriel said, climbing out after me.
"This attack seems to have been aimed at you."
"Not you?"
"The guy who fired the grenade was dressed like a gangster. Doesn't this have something to do with you getting shot the other day?"
"You caught all that in the middle of everything? But I honestly have no clue. Have I really lived shady enough to earn this kind of grudge?"
Gabriel genuinely seemed clueless. Then again, if he were lying, I'd have caught it long ago. He wasn't the type who could lie well.
Patter, patter.
The sound of raindrops striking my shoulders. I'd taken a taxi specifically to avoid this—only to end up soaked anyway.
"Gabriel, do you have a spare gun?"
"Huh? You've got a gun of your own."
"Mine isn't meant for taking prisoners alive."
"How much punch can a pistol even pack?"
Without a word, I kept beckoning with my fingers for him to hand it over. My pistol could blow Gabriel's head clean off without leaving a trace.
Grumbling, Gabriel handed over a pistol. I gripped it and checked the model.
A Kaze 48 automatic from Kaitana Corp. Light on firepower, but its accuracy was excellent. Highly reliable, rarely jammed—a popular choice for civilian self-defense.
"Hey! Gabriel! So you really did sell out to Aleph? After we warned you?"
Gangsters shouted from behind the steel pillars. Just as I'd figured—they were after Gabriel.
"I never sold out to Aleph!"
"We know you cut a deal at Aleph's office right after you got shot! You think we're idiots?"
"That was—fuck, seriously—"
Veins bulged across Gabriel's flushed face. Hard to explain yourself calmly in a situation like this.
The gangsters had it wrong. And it was partly my fault, since I was the one who'd dragged Gabriel along. From the outside, it looked like Gabriel—having been shot—had thrown in with Aleph to save his own skin.
"What the fuck does it matter to you whether I side with Aleph or not?!"
Gabriel bellowed in a fit of rage.
"You picked the wrong side, Gabriel! Big Sis sends her regards."
"Big Sis? No way—"
Only then did Gabriel seem to catch on, his eyes narrowing in thought. But now wasn't the time for thinking.
A gangster stepped out from behind the steel frame and leveled a grenade launcher. Dodging wouldn't be hard—but if I did, the taxi would go up in flames. And then the driver would die.
I liked that driver's professionalism. The Lower District needed people like him.
Bang, bang, bang!
I fired the pistol in rapid succession to check the grouping. The rounds pulled slightly to the upper left.
"Heh, your aim is garbage!"
The gangster with the launcher mocked me. Laugh while you can. In a moment, I'll rip that mouth open.
Having adjusted my aim, I steadied my breathing. Dialed in my focus. My shoulders and elbows, locked into a firing stance, went rigid as a mounted turret.
Thump!
The grenade launcher spat fire.
Moving only my upper body, I shifted my point of aim. Marksmanship wasn't my specialty. But next to these gangsters, I might as well have been a world-class sniper.
Boom!
The instant I pulled the trigger, the incoming grenade detonated in midair. Neither Gabriel nor the gangsters understood what had just happened.
"A dud?"
Dud, my ass. I pulled the trigger again.
"Argh! Ugh!"
With every shot, the crack of shattering bone rang out from the gangsters' knees and elbows. They dropped their weapons and crumpled like puppets with their strings cut.
Not so much as a tremor in my shoulders or elbows. The recoil of a pistol like this couldn't move me an inch. Precise shots cracked off one after another.
"A-Argh... Ugh..."
"W-Who the hell is that guy?!"
"Gabriel! Who the fuck are you running with?!"
Seven gangsters shrieked, limbs shattered, unable to move.
I tossed the pistol back to Gabriel and strode toward the taxi.
"It's already been more than three minutes. You might want to cancel your contract with that security company."
"T-Thank you, s-sir. Ah—if you'll just give it a moment, another driver will be here shortly."
While I spoke with the driver, Gabriel stormed over to the fallen gangsters.
"I told you, I never sold out to Aleph! Why won't you believe me?!"
Gabriel seized a gangster by the collar and hauled him up.
"Big Sis is absolutely furious. I-I didn't have a choice either."
"By 'Big Sis,' you mean Martina of La Vie en Rose? Just because I refused to join her gang? She's coming after me over that?"
The gangster's eyes went wide, his face twisting into a grimace.
"Just because you refused to join? Are you seriously this dense?"
"What'd you call me? You wanna die? Want me to punch a few ventilation holes in your gut?"
Gabriel jammed the muzzle against the gangster's navel.
"B-Big Sis likes you! That's why she asked you to live with her!"
"Uh, hold on. She didn't mean for me to be her personal bodyguard?"
"That's exactly what it meant! Some bastard who whines about hating to be tied down goes and holds hands with Aleph the second he gets shot—you think that'd make Big Sis happy or pissed?!"
Gabriel tilted his head slightly and gave a slack-jawed reply.
"She'd... she'd be pissed?"
"Exactly, you idiot! If Big Sis really wanted you dead, she'd have put a bullet in your head ages ago. She actually planned to rescue you, patch up your wounds—all on the condition that you join the gang. She likes you enough to play out this whole hurt-you-just-to-heal-you game, and you—Argh!"
Listening from behind, I walked up to the gangster. On closer look, I noticed rose tattoos on their shoulders and wrists. The mark of the La Vie en Rose gang, it seemed.
I stood over them. Having tasted my marksmanship firsthand, they could only swallow hard. I could feel their terror.
"Tell Martina that Gabriel will be paying her a visit soon."
"Hey, Luka. Who said you get to decide that?"
"It'll be a headache if we get jumped again. I wouldn't know from experience, but they say a woman's grudge runs deeper and lasts longer than a man's."
Something I'd once heard from Ilay.
One question surfaced from this whole mess. If some ordinary woman had come after Gabriel, it'd make sense if she were after his money or the like. But a female gang boss wouldn't be hurting for cash.
She fell for Gabriel?
It'd be a lie to say I wasn't curious just what kind of woman she was.