Nightfall
“Hoo, haa... haa... Inhale, exhale...”
“Not going in?”
“I’m... gonna go in.”
“Wanna hear ‘lame loser merc’ again?”
Enoch, steadying his ragged breaths, shot Soo a glare.
“...I never heard ‘lame loser.’”
“Might hear it today.”
How many mercs had already pushed inside? Every one passing by had thrown mocking glances their way. Soo, of course, couldn’t care less about stares, but even she felt a tickle when it got excessive.
“Don’t you get nervous, Soo?”
“Uh-huh...”
Soo lifted her gaze with her usual drowsy expression. Crimson neon signs and lights flickered above. Higher still loomed the name of the bar awaiting her and Enoch, crudely etched in place: Nightfall.
‘Those who truly seek to advance under the moonlight must pass through Nightfall.’
A maxim passed among Eden’s mercs about Nightfall. Since Nightfall evoked twilight, it was a pretty corny pun. But considering the mercs’ farewell phrases, it held its own meaning.
Anyway.
This place, Nightfall, was where Eden’s top-tier mercs and high-rank connectors gathered to trade jobs. Where dazzling stars faded and new ones rose. A bar that suited the name twilight to perfection.
Nightfall.
Soo rolled the familiar word on her tongue, then smiled lazily.
“Maybe a little nervous.”
That’s why she hopped down from the trunk she’d been lounging on. And trotted forward.
“You stay here, Enoch. I’m going in.”
Unlike Enoch, who needed prep time proportional to his nerves, Soo was the type to dive in headfirst, sooner the better.
“We’re... comrades! Isn’t that what you said? One heart, one body...”
Enoch finally caught up, whispering fiercely.
“Get there too late, and the old man might croak of old age.”
“...Don’t say that to his face.”
Salvador would just laugh it off. Soo figured Enoch would warm up to him eventually as she quickened her pace.
Step-step-step. Thud—thud—
“More... ordinary than I thought. Kinda rundown, too.”
The path to Nightfall was pretty mundane. Like Hollywood for actors, Nightfall was mercs’ dream stage. So Enoch expected something grand, but it just felt like a shabby hallway.
“It’s a place where people live, after all.”
“Sometimes you drop these... mature? Wise? answers that hit sharp, and it weirds me out.”
Soo puffed out her chest.
“I’m always mature.”
No mature vibe came off her at all. Sure, her body had issues, but it was the whole aura. Her usual antics proved it. From what Enoch had seen, Soo’s principle was simple curiosity. Too many accidents from not holding back her nosiness. Just a week ago, messing with a gas line had nearly blown them up—scary stuff.
“True adults don’t call themselves adults. The wider your view, the smaller you feel. You’ll get it as you age.”
“Boomer.”
“...Can’t argue with that.”
Enoch clamped his mouth shut after. Not sulking at Soo. Up ahead, Nightfall’s entrance loomed. And the two guards in front.
Not the strongest, but strong enough. Could Enoch take them? Maybe not. Soo? Easily. But that’d defeat the purpose. Storming a prime job spot with bad rep meant no one would take you seriously.
“New faces.”
The higher-ranking guard spoke threateningly, matching his burly look perfectly.
“Names.”
“I’m Soo.”
“Enoch.”
The guard’s ocular implant glowed red. Even unknowns might be on the list, so double-check. But no hits. Names not registered.
His eyes sharpened. Two types in this case: brainless idiots forcing entry, or rising stars so legit their introducer’s name alone sufficed. He pegged them as the former. The girl, maybe, but the guy had pulled every loser move out front. CCTV caught it all, even if eyes missed it. So, naturally, idiots. Cocking his gun? Routine. Happened every three days at least.
“Who’s your introducer?”
Enoch glanced at Soo. She nodded. Wanted to say it herself.
“Salvador Ortega.”
“...What?”
“Introduced by Connector Salvador Ortega.”
Enoch struck a pose, voice deeper than usual. Classic strong-weak-strong Enoch.
“P-Please... wait a moment.”
Salvador’s name changed everything. Guard holstered his weapon, radioed in. Soon, he stepped aside politely.
“My apologies. Sir Salvador is in Hall 7, Basement Level 3.”
“Hmph.”
Enoch smirked and strode in. Soo trailed with a rare chuckle. Mr. Mature from moments ago now looked more kid than anyone.
Orange lighting like a sunset, rowdy crowds. Heavy bass music muffled their chatter. Unlike the exterior, Nightfall’s underground was vast and sleek. Seemed mismatched for rough mercs, but seeing the patrons, it fit—top mercs looked no different from rich civilians.
Enoch walked ramrod straight amid them, fighting lame-loser vibes. Just listening caught big-name merc talk; he tensed to avoid staring. Imagine some grubby nobody gawking like a tourist while they chatted. Pathetic. He wasn’t a hick or grubby, but still, no unwanted eyes.
Soo, meanwhile, sparkled at everything. Eavesdropping up close, outright staring at merc chats. Enoch reined her in, getting close looks himself—handy, but he couldn’t show it.
“Sit wherever’s comfy.”
After tribulations, Hall 7, Basement 3. Oddly, triangular tables. “Comfy” meant one of two seats. No complaints. Soo plopped right of Salvador.
“Drinks or food, order what you want. This old man’s buying.”
Matching his grizzled look, Salvador puffed a thick cigar while reading. Classic game sight. Book unknown, so Soo’s eyes lit up.
“Whatcha reading?”
“You’d find it boring even knowing.”
“Curious.”
Chuckling low, Salvador stubbed the cigar and showed the cover.
“Friedrich Nietzsche. Know him?”
“‘God is dead.’ Right?”
Salvador’s lips twisted up.
“Surprisingly, yes.”
“Yeah.”
Famous line. On Earth—Soo’s old world—most knew it. Eden folks? Not so much. Perfect memory implants, but no room for philosophy amid survival. Yet “God is dead” fit their lips perfectly. No better phrase for this world.
“Know any others?”
“Yeah.”
Soo puffed her chest.
“‘That which does not kill me makes me stronger.’”
“Haha! Suits you perfect.”
Salvador nodded, pleased like watching a grandchild play.
“Then, Soo.”
“Yeah.”
“‘Man is something to be overcome.’ How do you interpret that?”
Soo answered bold, no hesitation.
“Become a dragon.”
“Pfft—!”
Enoch, mid-sip, sprayed toward Soo. Missed her, soaked himself. Her magic.
“Kuhahaha!”
Salvador burst laughing. Absurd answer, but it echoed Lü Chen’s experiments he knew. Satire? Pure heart? Didn’t matter. Funny now, good enough.
“Sure, that’s an answer too. Philosophy’s personal interpretation.”
“Yeah.”
“Good one. Refreshed me.”
Tilting his glass, Salvador spotted the hefty trunk. Huge. Could cram 190cm Enoch inside.
“New weapon?”
Soo eyed the room’s camera. Salvador caught it, shook head.
“No audio. Safe.”
“Really?”
“Who’d bug this old man?”
Fair. Soo nodded.
“Viktor Kral’s inside this trunk.”
“...Dotage hitting?”
Salvador blinked, then stammered.
“You brought him alive?”
“Yeah. Still breathing.”
News said confirmed dead. Meant a third party puppeteered media—not Lü Chen execs, some shadowy player lurking.
‘And you smashed his plan flat.’
Salvador’s smile deepened. But no more talk here.
Knock knock.
“You there, sir? Lena Marietti.”
Soo’s drowsy eyes flicked to the door. Enoch, knowing the name, whipped around shocked.
Lena Marietti. Not Salvador-tier, but famous connector. Long-time acquaintance, he signaled Soo and Enoch it was fine, then spoke.
“Important enough to interrupt this old man’s chat?”
“No, sir. Just greeting an old friend.”
“Fine... Got folks to introduce anyway. Wrap it here today.”
Door eased open. Click of heels.
“Hope I’m not intruding.”
Red hair like blood, not fire, swayed softly.
“Hello. Connector Lena Marietti.”
Beauty to stun even stoics, with warm greeting. But Soo thought it mismatched. She smelled of disinfectant.