2195 Apartheid (3)

...Towering.

...What a weird way to put it. In this massive metropolis, there had to be dozens of places offering lodging, and I could see why they'd hate losing a customer to somewhere cheaper—but "cheaper than here"? I slammed shut ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the navigation window I'd just pulled up and turned back around.

So what the hell was this? A threat? Or just sleazy salesmanship?

I'd put real effort into perfecting my appearance, and even if it didn't intimidate anyone, a string of incidents had shown me it was plenty attractive by this era's standards. I'd figured this place was pretty upscale—not on par with the luxury hotels from the game where I'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pulled off ops, but respectable enough. If this was some malicious poke, I had plenty of thorns to bare.

"..."

I crossed my arms and glared, eyes narrowed. Come on, I'd heard the setup—go ahead and spit it out.

If it was bullshit, I'd tank their ratings online... even if I'd never actually stayed here!

...Of course, that'd require a booking record first.

The clerk's eyes curved into a gentle smile, like he was pleased I'd taken the bait. But it wasn't genuine laughter—more like a kabuki actor donning a grinning mask.

"...If my impertinent meddling offended you, I apologize. But letting a lovely lady like you walk out... I worry you'd fall prey to some sightless thug. So, if you'll indulge me—just a moment of my profiling?"

"...Go ahead."

With permission granted, he bent his rigid posture, rested his elbows casually on the counter, and propped his chin with both hands, locking eyes with me for real.

"Very well... Our security team mentioned you took strong exception to their unauthorized scanning. And despite your relaxed demeanor with staff, your gear includes a high-end suit with no market release records, plus a rifle and pistol way too firepower-focused for mere self-defense..."

His extended index finger pointed straight at the ceiling—more precisely, the sky beyond the hotel.

"Someone from a much 'higher place', perhaps? Say... noble blood from Heylong Corporation?"

"...You some kind of pervert working hotel reception for this? ...Sorry, wrong guess."

...I was shocked.

I thought I'd played it off decently, but cyberware use here was too seamless. They'd gathered and relayed data on me in that brief walk from the entrance.

But no matter how sharp the intel analysis, no one would peg me as a lab-grown test subject leaving zero traces. Hell, even I didn't know exactly what project birthed me—imagine if some desk jockey did.

"Oh? Wrong? A shame... Hmm. No signs of anti-aging surgery for a retiree, yet you're pinching credits... Business trip stipend cut off? Or an agent—or engineer—here on strictly personal business? How's that?"

"Think whatever you want..."

Calling out my poverty—what the fuck. And he wasn't dropping the corporate affiliation angle either.

I was tired, with plenty to sort out, so why was I playing twenty questions with this creep?

I looked away from the guy tilting his head in mock surprise at his two misses. Smiling, pouting, smiling again... watching him was giving me a headache.

...Time to bail. For real this time. No more entanglements.

But as I turned to leave:

"...Do you know the types of crimes—and their frequency—in motels or capsule hotels?"

"...What, like them siphoning 10,000 credits while you sleep? I can handle that much."

Random event from the game's ultra-early stages, designed to piss off players. Sleep outside your home or hotel, lose some credits or consumables to petty theft. Not percentage-based, so small-time pickpockets were a risk I could stomach.

But... he chuckled darkly at my answer.

"Pfft...! Khkh...!! Ahaha, sorry... It's just... you view Harvest Planet with such a beautiful gaze, lady. Gives me chills..."

"...?"

His splayed fingers pointed straight at me this time.

"Unclaimed gold like this, a fragile flower, a winning lottery ticket left on the roadside—who wouldn't risk it all for greed?"

"...Huh?"

Targeting me directly...?

But that was impossible by game systems...?

Wait.

...Fuck the system?

Here, the "system" was the corps' manufactured order for control—not some game rule saying "don't attack sleeping players."

I'd been naive, thrilled at dodging crises with actions the game wouldn't allow. Jails restrict rights but also shield from outside threats. I'd walked into this info-void metropolis with zero safeguards.

Seeing my face pale and stiffen, he straightened up, resuming his professional demeanor.

"Standard room, then? For the lovely lady?"

"..."

Pricey as lodging, but dirt cheap as a life-lesson tuition.

"...One night... no, make it two. ...You'll never worry about quotas, huh."

Beep!

"Thanks for the praise, but I don't offer this service to everyone. Key to room 701—great view."

Credits deducted from my wrist, card key handed over, and another cryptic line slipped out.

Why me, then...?

"...If a lady like you died on the street, your megacorp's investigators and your life insurance aftercare team—emergency response and postmortem—would tear this place apart. I really don't want that hassle."

"...Impressive."

"My pleasure...!"

Extreme self-preservation from a misunderstanding. Proved why he manned a top-tier hotel desk—spotting and handling angles like that.

I'd thought my resolve was ironclad, but this shook my confidence. How do you prep for every scenario? You don't—you just stay vigilant, endlessly.

I took the card politely with both hands instead of chin-propping seductively, and headed for the elevators.

"...Ah! Dear customer?"

...This guy just couldn't stand people walking away, could he? I get you're slick—stop calling out!

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Ding!

...Nope, too much. If it was crucial, he'd say it.

I boarded the arriving elevator, hit 7, and mashed close.

"Room service or other discreet services—which gender staff do you prefer?"

"Pfft?!"

This maniac wouldn't quit...!

"...I won't call anyone!!"

"Noted~ I'll log female preference on instinct...!"

His piercing shout slipped through the closing doors, nailing me despite no setup.

If even my androgynous look was bait to gauge reactions... I'd lost completely.

People have their specialties, alright.

...We'll see about that.

A cheerful chime, and I stepped onto the 7th floor.

Room 701 was at the corridor's end. Far from elevators, near emergency stairs. Perfect.

Beep... Click.

Solid door lock recognized the key. Inside, lights flicked on sans card slot, layout clear.

"...Whoa?! Wh-wh-whoa...?!"

Not the panoramic Harvest Planet view through the vast glass.

The plush mattress bed got one gasp. The shower peeking from the bathroom got two.

And it wasn't just awe—I carefully unholstered my firearms.

Suit, boots, undies? Off in under 10 seconds, into the booth.

Screech... Whoosh...

"Haaah...!"

I cranked the faucet blindly; perfect warm water poured. Head to toe, life's essence flowed over me. Even my detergent-complaining skin approved.

Drip drip...

"...Huh?"

My lavish rinse—more savoring than washing—cut short before I was satisfied.

The booth panel displayed a stingy notice:

"...Atchoo!"

Mood killed, chill doubled without the heat. What could I do against their no-loss policy? I grabbed the big towel, wiped roughly, wrapped up, and dove onto the bed.

The feel... "plush" didn't cut it. More like sinking into a cloud—but I'd nearly vanish.

"Oof!"

I expected a bounce; instead, 2195 mattress and duvet swallowed me whole. Thought it'd eat me.

Rustle rustle.

I burrowed out, flipped over, stared blankly at the ceiling. Sunlight filtered warmly through half-drawn curtains; my trait-induced appetite nagged, but...

This interlude of bliss and comfort cost precious credits. Couldn't forget that.

So just a bit. A quick rest, then up...

Beeeep!

"Wha...? What? Shit...!!"

Sun still high, but holo-clock showed 8 hours passed. Set alarm? Dead.

What roused my drowsy body and mind: a call. From...

"Aigoo... Mary, I made it to Neo Haven fine...?"

Cyberware auto-lowered volume for ear protection... still stung.

I soothed her tearful betrayal rants, her massive rebellion via skipping dinner, her cute rebellion dreams. For family peace and dad's authority, I even promised to visit soon—urgent business now.

Beep! Call ended.

Vague promise, no deadline, yet she was thrilled... Might call tomorrow too.

...Not bad. Gave me an energy boost.

"...Alright. Recharge complete!"

I hadn't splurged recklessly sans plan.

I sprayed detergent meticulously on my scattered suit, shook it out in the bathroom, overclocked cyberware. Scoured web shadows, punched remembered keywords into address bars.

What I sought: mercenary/hacker job boards. Game's repeatable missions—but this world had 'em too. Corps bypassed rules to screw each other; Harvest Planet surely had portals...

"...!! Found it!"

Neo Haven keywords flopped, but I snagged an encrypted hacker link. Posts updated insanely fast—nearly missed it.

Endless job lists unspooled. Finally... a battlefield for my strengths.

Filters: skilled hacker requests, high pay. With separate combat personnel.

"Hmm..."

Sooner execution, closer rally—ideal. Shady ones? Bail after details if off.

Beep!

"...Huh?"

One job's hacker pay spiked real-time—broker desperate, deadline ~1 hour, no taker.

No time to dally—applied, slipped on shoes.

Quick reply, as expected:

"...Fuck?"

Trap? Too blatant...?

Suspicions swirled, but I exited, shoved the creaky emergency door, entered the stairwell. Gun grip palmed, calm ascent.

Screech!

"..."

Poked head out—8th floor corridor clear.

If targeting me, they'd have struck while I slept... Right?

Deep breath, knocked on 804. Interview time—project confidence, competence.

"...Who is it?"

"...Ivory. Drag this out, I'll reapply once pay bumps more."

"...Hmph!"

Door eased open. Preempted nicely—no way they'd think I was desperate.

If the waiting prelim team members were sane humans, we'd be golden...

"Oh...?! Lady!! You followed me all this way? Or fate's green thread?? Perfect, for real!"

"Ah, fucking hell...!"

A cabbage bomb awaited inside.