The Black Table

Messages slid up across the terminal one after another. Kang Do-seok stopped walking.

The rain went on falling. Down at the mouth of the alley, a neon sign smeared into the rainwater, swaying hazily. Do-seok stared down at the screen for a moment, then opened his mouth.

"Did you touch my terminal?"

A short silence passed, then a reply floated up at once.

Do-seok nearly clicked his tongue. He stopped himself, though, and looked down at the terminal before speaking briefly.

"You dug into Kim Han-rim."

"Answer the question you were asked."

Do-seok gave no answer and looked into the terminal's lens. At once, another message floated up.

Right after the message, a call tone rang out.

Before Do-seok could even accept it, Amy's voice came through.

"Kim Han-rim. Unaffiliated player. Primary weapon, an anti-materiel sniper rifle; secondary armament, explosives. You got to confirm that firsthand just now, I'd say."

"Just the conclusion."

"Cheongmyeong Guild put up the money."

Do-seok's steps slowed.

"Not to Kim Han-rim directly. It passed through a shell company first. Then it crossed the account of a shut-down medical foundation, split into several streams, and drained into all sorts of nominee accounts. Once the laundering was complete, it was deposited into the ammunition dealer's account Kim Han-rim had been using. On paper, payment for weapons purchases. In reality, the Relics paid out to Kim Han-rim."

Amy went on.

"I confirmed beyond doubt that the money belongs to Cheongmyeong. Even nominee accounts leave management traces behind. The identity used to open them, the security-key renewal logs, the access locations, the approval logs attached every time money drained out. All of it was handled by the same side."

The data was more thorough than he had expected. It was organized cleanly enough that anyone could tell at a glance who inside the Cheongmyeong Guild had given the order, who had approved it, and along which channels the Relics had flowed to Kim Han-rim.

"Was it Cheongmyeong that handed my location to Kim Han-rim, too?"

"That's right."

"That's where it started when Kim Han-rim pinpointed your penthouse. Breached the surveillance net, cracked the exterior cameras, mapped your entire movement pattern? I attached the files for that as well, so take a look."

The messages kept coming. Amy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠continued.

"So the conclusion is this: Cheongmyeong bought Kim Han-rim."

"They handed him your location."

"And they tried to have you killed before the contamination storm arrived. That's the whole of it."

Do-seok read slowly down the screen. There was plenty of data. But the core was simple. Cheongmyeong Guild had laid hands on him.

"Now, then—"

Amy's voice brightened again.

"If you want, I can strip them to the bone. From the shell-company servers they run, all the way into Cheongmyeong's internal network. Security holes, account flows, access logs, commission ledgers, surveillance-net credentials, internal comms logs — I can scrape the entire lot."

"So how do you want it done? Open their door right away? Or strangle the accounts first? I can blow the shell company's servers and dam up their money line, or brick every terminal the Cheongmyeong bastards use. If you like, I can even flood their internal chat rooms with porn ads. What'll it be?"

Do-seok regarded the terminal for a moment.

"In other words, you're a very capable Net-Runner."

"That's the idea."

"Good. Show me what you can do."

"Just leave it to me♡"

"Find me a window repair contractor."

His terminal went quiet for a moment. On the far side of the machine, Amy seemed to have stopped breathing.

"...What?"

"Kim Han-rim's shooting broke a window in my home. The contamination storm arrives within a few hours, and I dislike my house getting dirty."

"...That's it? That's all?"

"Yes."

"Are you kidding me? I already cracked the entire Cheongmyeong Guild, and I can crack them even deeper! Their security nets are open to me, I can drain their accounts and pull their internal files. No — you're supposed to be watching my abilities with your own eyes right now!"

"A window repairman is more than enough. One who can come before the contamination storm. He has to be able to repair high-rise blast-proof windows, and the price has to be reasonable. Handle the vendor selection and price comparison yourself, and send them out to my place on a house call. You can work out the front door passcode on your own, can't you?"

"Hey. Are you actually insane?"

"I'm hanging up."

Do-seok moved to pocket the terminal.

The messages went berserk, streaming down the screen.

Do-seok tucked the terminal away into his coat all the same. Then he set the information he had just seen in order inside his head.

Cheongmyeong Guild. A shell company. A defunct medical foundation. Nominee accounts. Relics funneled to Kim Han-rim. And the surveillance-net access logs that had pulled up the location of his penthouse.

There was plenty of data, but only one conclusion. They had put up the money, passed his location along, and issued a concrete contract to have him dead before the contamination storm arrived.

If that was so, only one thing remained to be done. Paying it back.

In the players' world, being taken lightly was poison. If you struck someone once and got no reaction, what reason would there be for them not to strike a second time, a third, again and again?

But moving right this moment was amateur work. Storming the Cheongmyeong Guild headquarters with a single sword in hand — of course Do-seok could do that.

He could kill fifty players, give or take. With luck, more. He could paint the corridors, the offices, and the conference rooms red, and make them pay, handsomely, for having touched him.

But that would be venting, not revenge. Cheongmyeong was not a simple gathering of players — it was a guild. A first-generation guild at that, which meant it had already melted completely into the city called Netron City.

It had connections to the city government, and subsidiary businesses beneath it.

Shell companies to churn money, subcontractors to supply equipment, gangs to handle the aftermath. Its hands would already be reaching into the surveillance nets, accounts, and logistics webs of the city.

It was not an organization that ended just because a few players got cut down. The same went for painting a single headquarters building red.

Barge into the place unprovoked, and something very like a kill order on Kang Do-seok would come down in Netron City.

He was no fool. If he moved now, the Cheongmyeong Guild would play the victim. With that outcome so easy to foresee, there was no reason to move now.

If he struck, he had to strike properly. The moment Cheongmyeong could not dodge. The moment they had no choice but to lean out of cover. That was when the head had to come off.

And conveniently, Shabelle's Storm was about to break.

Once the storm passed, the players' board would reopen over the matter anyway. Research labs of a now-vanished corporation, buried beneath the sand, would come to light.

Nearly every player in Netron City would begin to move. Cheongmyeong would be no exception.

That would be the opportunity.

And so — walking through the rain, Do-seok arranged his thoughts.

First, repair the window. Second, wait for the storm to pass. Third, the moment the board reopened in Shabelle's Storm's wake — strike Cheongmyeong.

When the time came, all he had to do was drive the point into the spot that hurt Cheongmyeong most. That was the conclusion Do-seok had reached.

"This buys me some time."

While the window was being repaired, there was no need for him to stay inside the house. No reason to stand and watch the workers file in, haul up their equipment, clear away the shattered glass, and fit a new blast-proof pane.

He could simply take a hotel room somewhere until the contamination storm passed.

It was at just that moment.

The terminal in his coat rang again.

It was not Amy. The caller was Celnar.

Do-seok looked down at the screen for a moment, then took the call.

"Kang Do-seok."

The voice had changed.

It was no longer the machine sound strained through a speaker, as before. It was low and thick. Breath sounded between the words. A real human voice, resonating from somewhere inside a throat.

Do-seok asked.

"Your voice has changed."

"Because I have a body now."

At the same time, Celnar's image came up on Do-seok's screen. A hulking figure sat there on the display.

Broad shoulders. A thick neck. A chin heavy with layered flesh. A colossal build, as if it had walked out of a sumo tournament somewhere. Do-seok studied the screen for a moment, then snorted.

"So you're done being a brain in a vat?"

"Yeah. This was an expensive body. I have a body now, and I've killed that eyesore of a mother as well — so it's time to start pushing the plans I'd meant to carry out, one by one, step by step. I owe a great deal of that to you, Kang Do-seok."

"I got paid, so save the gratitude. State your business. Why did you call?"

"Straight to business? Fine."

Celnar went right to the point.

"While I was without a body, several of my gambling dens slipped over to my subordinates."

"Common enough."

"Right. When the boss wavers, the men beneath him scheming for independence is a very common thing. Losing your body and getting boxed into a tank is not, though... Either way, having my businesses stolen right out from under my open eyes is a thoroughly fucked-up affair."

Celnar's voice lowered.

"They were men who worked under me. The moment I was shelved in the vat, they changed masters on the spot. Walked the ledgers out, wooed the staff, and swapped the signs on the gambling dens that bore my name. I let it be known that I had recovered my body, but they seem to think I'll never rise again?"

"So."

"I'll send you the location. Kill every last employee in that den. The name is Black Table. Everyone inside is a traitor."

"Kill all of them?"

"All of them. As brutally as you can manage. Kill them so that even the others hear it loud and clear that I sent you. Leave not a single one — the manager, the dealers, the guards, right down to the ones fiddling the ledgers. Cut every last throat. Every person working in there ate my money and wiped their mouths clean."

Do-seok looked down at the terminal screen. The location arrived at once.

F-Sector 12th Street.

"I can have it handled before the storm, then. Is it open for business now?"

At the question, Celnar on the screen gave a dry laugh.

"Men who run gambling dens don't give a damn about storms."

Celnar said, sneering.

"Black Table is underground anyway. It has blast doors, and the air ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠scrubbers run on their own emergency power. Whatever madness breaks out outside, inside you can drink, wager, and play with women. Days like this are better for business, even — the men who came in before the storm can't leave."

"I see. Nowhere to run, either. Convenient for the cleanup."

"A blade of your caliber should manage to finish before the storm arrives, no? I'll send an advance payment."

With Celnar's words, the terminal vibrated, and a notification of the deposit floated up.

Do-seok checked the transfer. The sum was sizable. Generous, for the price of settling one gambling den.

"I didn't send merely the price of killing a few people. I included the cost of putting it about that I'm back in this business. That much should satisfy you, Kang Do-seok."

"It's sufficient. Advance confirmed."

"The rest goes in the moment the job is done."

"Good. I'll begin now."

Do-seok pocketed the terminal and walked to the sedan.

Rainwater ran in long sheets down the black body. A low engine note dragged along the floor of the alley.

Soon the sedan slid out into the rain, awash in smeared neon.

F-Sector 12th Street.

A black building stood in the middle of the rain-drowned street. Its outer walls were sheathed in gleaming reinforced glass, and above the entrance a massive sign blazed.

Gold characters glittered against the black.

Do-seok pulled up in front of it.

The black sedan's door opened, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Do-seok stepped out in his soaked coat.

A guard in front of the entrance saw him and came over. He was big. Prosthetic coupling ports showed bare at his neck, and inside his suit the grip of a pistol was visible.

"You a customer?"

Do-seok glanced up once at the sign above the building. Then he looked the guard in the face.

"Celnar sent me."

The guard's expression hardened. Then a sneer climbed onto it at once.

"Celnar? That has-been piece of shit?"

The guard beside him laughed.

"That bastard was still alive?"

"Alive. Got his body back, too."

Do-seok answered, his hand drifting to his hip. Shring. At the sight of the blade half-drawn, the guard's eyes went wide.

"...Fuck. Who the hell are you? Some raving lunatic from who-knows-where jerking a sword around. What'd you come here for!"

"Came to score big off your den. Why else would anyone come?"

"Crazy bastard... score what, exactly?"

At the guard's question, Do-seok drew the sword the rest of the way out.

"Your head."

Shraak—!