2195 Apartheid (4)
“Yeah, sure, I fucked up big time on first meeting… but damn, miss, you're too harsh! You can't treat the team leader like this?”
“……You're not even on the team yet, and stop calling me 'miss.'”
“Then at least tell me your name, sis!!”
I hadn't called him that because he was older—just a roundabout way to say it pissed me off—but this self-centered merc looked thrilled, like this was all fun and games. No matter that they recruited on the spot, how the hell did a loose cannon like this end up leading a team?
“……Ivory.”
“That's your passcode…… wait, no…? Could just be a coincidence…! Ivory sis! Looking forward to working with you on this gig!!”
“Haaah……”
To fill my empty stomach and recharge my drained energy, I grabbed some fries from the plate in front of me. Mm. No idea if they were real potatoes, but they were crispy, salty—pretty damn good. The table was loaded with room service food we hadn't even ordered. According to Horacio, he hadn't called for it either; it was courtesy of the broker in the black suit, anxiously guarding the door to room 804.
Generous pay, lavish treatment. A broker who buttered up hires instead of flexing?
“……Too friendly, huh?”
“Right?! You think so too, sis…? Hey, Domino! What do you make of it?”
…Click!
Horacio's gaze finally shifted—after like fifteen minutes—to someone other than me. Domino, the skinny guy who'd ignored the decent grub entirely and just lain on the bed, silently flicking his jackknife open and shut. He side-eyed the fidgety broker and muttered low.
“……Happens sometimes. Brokers who ignore anonymous gigs tossed by the mega corps until the deadline hits, then scramble for bodies. Hate wasting commissions on guys who can't do their jobs… but big-risk plays don't come often.”
“Kuh…!! Been a while since I hit the jackpot…!”
“Oh……?”
Suddenly, his gaunt face and dark circles took on a whole new vibe—no longer untrustworthy, but exuding hidden expert energy with that calm, objective demeanor?
……Please tell me you're the real team leader.
“……Cough.”
“Huh?”
The cube steak was still sizzling, the fried rice had suspiciously square grains, the pasta gleamed with oil—whatever. Trusting my hopeful hunch, I relaxed into the free feast, only to choke. Covering my mouth with one hand, I reached for a drink bottle across the table…
But a quicker hand beat me, unscrewed the cap, and offered it over.
“Here you go, Ivory sis!”
“……Thanks.”
Maybe the real lavish treatment came from this Horacio guy, not the broker. What was his deal, cozying up to someone who'd publicly humiliated him?
…Did I mess up my cyberware hack and tweak his brain instead?
Beep! Beep beep!!
“……Huh?”
“……Well, shit, what's this…? Perfectionist finally clocking out…?”
A blaring alarm erupted from the laptop in the corner and our implanted cyberware. 3:30 PM—deadline.
“Fuck… fuck! You piece of shit……!!”
The broker—minus the neat suit and shades—flushed beet red everywhere else, stomping to the laptop. Fingers danced frantically over the keys, connecting a call to some unknown party.
“Pointless?! We're all here waiting on you!!”
““……?””
Everyone's baffled stares locked on me. Felt weird getting scrutinized mid-snack.
…What? Yeah, I'm the net hacker who applied. So?
“The hacker's already here, chilling with lunch—so hurry up…!! I'll waive the late penalty!”
Omen's dumbfounded reply drew more stares. At this rate, I couldn't even eat.
“……Coming via the stairs.”
“Stairs, not elevator. Curiosity satisfied? Now gather so we can talk business…?”
Click! Call ended. Broker sighed in relief, Domino back to his knife tricks. Horacio grinned at me like always.
…Please don't let 'fold in half' mean me.
Appetite gone, I set down my fork and knife, waiting primly for Omen.
1 minute… 2 minutes… He was in the lobby moments ago, so he showed quick.
Thud thud—!!
The room shook like an earthquake. Broker bolted out, flung the door open without checking.
Finally, the fourth teammate—Omen—his face was…… nowhere in sight.
All I saw: monstrous legs, hulking torso. Thugs from the underworld would look like dwarves next to this giant. Doorway too narrow even sideways, he grumbled.
“……'Historic hotel' my ass. No consideration for guests.”
Clunk…!!
Ducking low, torso tilted, Omen squeezed through and scanned the room.
“Uh……”
'Corporate laws or rules? This human tank wouldn't even whisper them.'
Game tooltip for Geronote. His muscle-and-bone-packed frame wasn't bloated. It pulsed with ultimate beauty and unstoppable energy—totally opposite my body—leaving me staring slack-jawed. Bald head gleamed, suit strained to burst. Even indoors, a mask fed nutrient amps to sustain that bulk.
And this human weapon was busy glaring down at me with one eye cocked.
Tap! Tap tap tap….
“……”
“Hoo……”
Silence weighed heavy. Only Omen's breaths and broker's data clacks. Horacio could've yapped, but he gawked at Omen with shiny eyes.
“……Really tiny. That's how you missed her?”
“…Nah, she was already checked in here resting…?”
Almost added, 'Sorry for the wild goose chase!'
…Don't psych yourself out. No insulation on skin, clothes, gear? Close range always offered slim odds. Bring it if he wanted to flex…
Thud…!
“!!”
Omen casually shoved my chair aside with one hand, plopping to the floor. Even hunched butt-to-floor, his eye level topped my seated height—cheating.
“……Hacked the contract details, holed up here early to rest, huh. Gear's clean… I like it! First decent net hacker in ages.”
Eh…? Tense vibe evaporated, atmosphere warmed. Or maybe I'd misread from the start.
“Kyaa…! Omen, you bastard… sharp eye despite the looks! Spotted Ivory sis's true colors right away?! Fits the one who one-shotted this Daredevil, right? Huh?”
“Ivory…? New nick to me. But unlike your dipshit self, she looks solid at her job—relieved. And a referral… less worry about backstabs.”
“…Dipshit? This fucker gets praised and his mouth's still…”
“Felt pure malice in your words. Look in a mirror if you're mad.”
Click—Omen ditched the mask, tilted a whole plate into his maw. Domino shut his eyes fully; Horacio growled he wasn't a dipshit. Broker sidelined, the trio seemed used to this chaos.
With a hunch, I jacked into the hacker community, maxed search on key terms: Daredevil Horacio… Nocturne Domino… Omen.
No need to sort results. Obvious common thread.
“Ugh……”
Net junkie/hacker horror stories flooded in. No wonder they couldn't snag a hacker—rep was toxic.
Clear risks or not, mattered zilch to desperate cash-grubbers like me who'd nailed the intro.
Horacio's suspiciously chummy motives? I'd probe later…
Tap…!
“…Alright. Rest of you three: hired. Hacker miss? Black Market ID?”
“……Ah. Right.”
“Make one for me.”
“……What?”
Broker's face stone-froze post-sigh. Brazen as hell, but unavoidable. My unique hack style left weird traces—better stick to legit channels for standard shit.
“First time on Harvest Planet—got citizenship, that's it. Handle the Black Market ID too. …Take your cut.”
“…And Market IDs are universal across metropolises!! I specified experienced hackers only?! Fuck, mountain after mountain—what bullshit is this…?”
“……”
Crude, but spot-on. Zero trust cred: day-one joiner, clean job list, no ID.
…So? Find someone else if it bugs you!
“At least some related experience…? Specialty…??”
“Uh…. Got unspeakable mega corp gigs, can do Abyss Dive.”
“Fuck, world's champ at bullshit!! Cute face let you slide through life on lies?!”
Best pitch gutted instantly. Ten mil cred hacker pay tempted hard, but broker held all cards pre-hire—no choice.
Free grub gained, hunt elsewhere.
Grab!Crack…!
Suddenly, green-tattooed hand—back ink eye-catching—seized the yapping broker's jaw.
“…How many new teeth does our broker need to speak pretty…? Huh?? Daredevil vouches, and you see cock? Huh? Or…”
Daredevil Horacio yanked the squirming broker to eye level.
“…Do I look like cock to you?”