The Brain in the Tank
With the job finished, Kang Do-seok rode the elevator up to his penthouse. His home.
The doors slid open onto a gleaming marble floor. Through the reinforced glass that claimed an entire wall, neon light poured down in a noisy wash, and aerial vehicles whipped past through the glow.
Kang Do-seok peeled off his wet coat and tossed it onto the sofa.
Thump.
The smell of rain mingled faintly with the smell of blood. A familiar smell. Paying it no mind, he walked to the middle of the living room and set his terminal down on the table.
The wall screen switched itself on.
What was playing was some minor current-affairs documentary — the kind of program that ran on a channel too insignificant to attract proper advertisers, droning on every dawn about why the world was headed for ruin.
The anchor's flat, dry voice filled the living room.
The anchor's name hung at the bottom of the screen.
Next to him sat a middle-aged man in a rumpled suit. His introduction read:
Kang Do-seok laughed at the caption, more incredulous than amused.
"There's an expert for everything these days."
The screen showed a panoramic view of Netron City, overlaid with the distribution of its Player population. The ones cooperating with the city government. The ones who'd formed gangs only to end up under corporate heel, buried in the lower sectors until they disappeared. And even the mutants of the outer Contaminated Zone.
Kang Do-seok sat down on the sofa and watched the screen in silence. The anchor carried on.
Kang Do-seok watched the screen with a flat expression, then worked the terminal. Tap — with the sound of something cutting out, silence settled over the living room.
"Most of them died, huh."
That much was true.
Back when they'd first dropped into this world, most Players had been under the delusion that they were special. They'd had game knowledge, after all, and the characters most of them inhabited had been plenty strong. A handful really had accomplished things far faster than the people who'd lived here all their lives.
But that was before they got a taste of reality.
This place wasn't a game. Starve, and you died. Take a bullet, and you died. Catch a disease, and you died.
The ones killed in back alleys over pocket change. The ones who signed corporate contracts and were dragged off to laboratories.
The ones who hunted mutants until they became monsters themselves. The ones who joined up under a gang and had everything stripped from them — organs included — vanishing without so much as a trace.
There'd been no shortage of stories like those.
Being a Player made them no different from anyone else. Game knowledge didn't fill an empty stomach, and skill with a blade wouldn't make a bullet miss. The ones who couldn't adapt were already all dead.
The survivors were one of three things.
Those who took a job and lived like any ordinary citizen of this world.
Those who built a faction of their own.
Or those who'd grown strong enough to stand alone.
Kang Do-seok was closest to the last.
"Looks like I've come quite a long way."
Of course, he stood out even among those. These days, not many people in this business didn't know his name.
Kang Do-seok the Blade. Unaffiliated Player. The man who'd do anything for money — extortion and blackmail, debt collection, all the way up to contract killing.
That was the reputation he'd earned from nearly ten years of steadily running people through.
Kang Do-seok stared at the dead screen a moment longer, then got to his feet. Just then, the old-model terminal on the table gave a low buzz. He picked it up. The screen flickered a few times, and the call connected.
"Kang Do-seok."
A familiar voice. Carvel — the broker who'd been feeding him work for years. On the screen floated a gaunt face and a gleaming gold tooth.
"So what's the call? Something come in?"
"That's right. A named request. They asked for you specifically, as I hear it."
"They've got money?"
At that, Carvel grinned around his gold tooth.
"Money's certain, and plenty of it. Says he'll explain the details in person. For the record, the retainer alone is 500 million Relics."
"Five hundred million."
Kang Do-seok answered, staring flatly at the terminal screen.
"Send the address to my terminal."
The more money, the better.
With enough of it, just about anything got solved. Finding a place to sleep. Tracking down someone to patch his body up. Even making the killing of men who needed killing that much more comfortable.
He knew it better than anyone — he only had to look at his own line of work. His trade, after all, was that of a fixer who'd move on anything from blackmail to murder-for-hire so long as the money was there.
In this world, money meant options.
And without it, you got forced into the things you hated doing — ten years of experience had taught him that much and more.
That was why Kang Do-seok liked money.
"Tell them I'm heading out now."
"Will do."
He rose and picked the coat back up off the sofa.
The smell of rain rose off the still-damp fabric. Not that it mattered.
Sword buckled at his hip, Kang Do-seok walked for the door.
In front of Kang Do-seok stood a rundown old warehouse. Two hulking men were posted at the entrance.
One carried an automatic rifle. The other toyed with a revolver, flipping the hammer back and forth with a dry click-clack.
Kang Do-seok didn't slow his pace.
"Who are you?"
The one with the automatic rifle spotted him and screwed up his face.
"...I don't think you're the one who should be asking names right now. I'm asking what you're here for."
"What am I here for?"
Kang Do-seok took another step forward.
"I've got an appointment with your boss."
"You? Meeting the boss?"
"That's right."
"Hold on."
The big one rolled his eyes in silence. Blue characters streamed rapidly through his pupils. Cybernetic eyes.
He gave Kang Do-seok a brief once-over, then spoke slowly.
"Confirmed."
"Can he go in?"
asked the one with the revolver. The big man nodded.
"Yeah. No weapons inside. Kenson, search him."
At that, the revolver-wielder stepped up in front of Kang Do-seok.
"Anything you're hiding, hand it over now. Arms out."
"Got nothing."
Kang Do-seok spread his arms without protest. The man's hands patted him down.
"...Nothing, huh? That thing on your hip is the whole inventory?"
"Carrying a sword in this day and age. Never thought I'd see one."
The man tapped the hilt with a fingertip.
"Wouldn't be worth taking this antique off you anyway."
Kang Do-seok paid him no mind. He unclasped the sword, sheath and all, and tossed it over.
Thump.
The revolver-wielder caught it and gave it a shake, as if weighing it.
"Heavy as fuck and that's all it is. Why the hell do you even carry this thing?"
"You talk too much. If we're done here, show me in."
Kang Do-seok just stared at him. Then a voice cut across the two of them.
"Kenson. You finished?"
The revolver-wielder went through Kang Do-seok's pockets one last time and dusted off his hands.
"Done. Take him in."
"Follow me."
Without a word, Kang Do-seok fell in behind the automatic rifle.
Inside, the warehouse was bigger than its shell let on.
Thick cables snarled across the ceiling, and every wall was studded with glinting monitors and surveillance lenses. Bundles of wire ran without ceremony over the water pooled on the floor.
Beep. Beep-beep. Whirrrr—
A low mechanical whine reverberated from overhead. He looked up. What met his eyes were a few drones with rifles mounted on them.
"We'll be bringing out the boss now. Don't be alarmed."
"Why would I be alarmed."
"Most people are."
With that, the brute jerked his chin toward a sofa.
"Anyway. Sit there and wait."
Kang Do-seok didn't sit.
The brute didn't press him, either. He disappeared around a corner of the warehouse, out of sight.
"Boss. Yes. He's here. Kang Do-seok in person. Yes."
Only his voice drifted back from deep inside.
A short while later.
Clunk. Somewhere out of sight, a lock came undone.
Grrk, grr-grrk. Krrrrr—
Kang Do-seok turned his head toward the sound. The brute was dragging something over.
A mobile cart. Kang Do-seok's brow drew tight as he watched it come.
"What the..."
The cart itself was nothing special. The problem was what had been mounted on top of it — something he'd never imagined.
A transparent cylindrical tank, filled with a yellowish nutrient fluid. And floating inside it was a human brain.
Several thick wires were driven straight into the brain's scarlet surface. Kang Do-seok narrowed his eyes at the sight.
"What is that?"
"The boss."
"That's the boss?"
"Yeah. One moment."
The brute pulled out a small canister hanging off the side of the cart. It was full of white powder.
With practiced hands he opened the hatch on top of the tank, scooped out a spoonful, and poured it in.
Fsss. The powder spread across the surface of the yellow fluid.
Kang Do-seok watched him with an expression that asked what the hell he was doing. Whether he'd read that face or not, the brute gave the powder canister a light shake.
"Sodium, potassium, and a mild stabilizer. This is what keeps the neural signals stable."
"It's not a fish. Why's a brain soaking in brine? What is this, pickled brain?"
The brute tilted his head.
"What's pickled?"
"Food you cure by soaking it in salt water."
"Strictly speaking, this isn't salt water, but... From what I hear, you're a pretty vicious blade. And not much of a conversationalist, so I'll leave the explanations there. Have your talk with the boss. He's awake."
Kzzt—
Kang Do-seok's gaze slid to the black speaker mounted beneath the tank.
Kzzt-kzzt. The speaker crackled once more.
"Kang Do-seok. A pleasure. Do you know who I am?"
At that, Kang Do-seok looked down at the brain in the tank. Every time the speaker sounded, the brain floating in the nutrient fluid twitched faintly.
"Sure. Celnar, boss of the Blood Gang. Or should I call you the Brain in the Tank?"
"I'd prefer my name, if it's all the same."
The Brain in the Tank. Celnar went on.
"Anyway, there's exactly one reason I called you here. Kang Do-seok. You're a fixer on quite the rise, aren't you? I hear that even among the Players who fell here with you — those nearly two hundred thousand Koreans — you're something special."
"That's right."
Kang Do-seok looked down at the camera lens mounted beside the tank.
"If you went looking for a fixer who'd do anything for money — extortion, debt collection, contract killing — you came to the right man. For the record: I don't deal with junkies."
"...I see. Shall I tell you the job, then?"
"Go ahead."
"Kill the bitch who stole my body. I'll pay you plenty. I already know who took it, so this shouldn't be a difficult job."
At that moment, the old terminal inside Kang Do-seok's coat buzzed. He checked the notification — 500 million Relics, deposited — and looked back at Celnar.
Celnar spoke.
"Pull it off, and I'll add another 800 million."
"Eight hundred million. The size of the contract, half a billion dropped up front like pocket change — you really do have money."
"I don't owe you an itemized account of my finances. Get the job done, and the pay won't disappoint."
"No argument there. But—"
Having confirmed the deposit, Kang Do-seok slipped the terminal back into his coat.
"You left out the important part."
"And that would be?"
"A name. You never told me who the woman who stole your body is. Kind of hard to go stab her to death otherwise."
"Ah. Right. Slipped my mind. The bitch's name is Sinkella."
The speaker beneath the tank crackled briefly.
"CEO of a security firm — absorbed three street gangs and turned them into a proper corporation. The kind of woman who runs her whole company out of one small building."
"Worth 1.3 billion, then."
"And she is my biological mother."
"Your biological mother?"
"Mm."
Kang Do-seok scratched his jaw for a moment, then snorted in disbelief.
"So what you're telling me is... your mom ran off with her own son's body."
— End of Chapter 2 —