Paranormal Link-2
Knock knock.
"Who is it?" I called out to Blanca while sprawled across the bed. Truth be told, I'd been awake for a while, but my whole body ached like hell, and I had zero desire to get up.
"It's Blanca."
"……."
She answered, but I just buried myself deeper under the covers and shut my mouth. Too damn annoying. If we were judging purely by soreness, this was worse than the time I'd gotten my ass thoroughly kicked in Wells Town.
Bang.
"Hey, doesn't this place have any such thing as privacy?"
"You said you were inside, didn't you?"
That doesn't mean come on in.... Grumbling at her bold retort, I dragged myself up from the bed.
"Dad said I could take the morning off if I slice up the ham ahead of time."
"...I don't recall putting in for vacation."
"You're starting merc work today, right? You'll probably have to head out this afternoon, so I already told Dad for you."
"What about my opinion?"
I asked a beat too late, but she'd already shut the door and left. Letting out a long sigh at the tyranny of my landlady's daughter, I thought, This place is a brutal farm. A sandwich farm. And I'm just the worker harvesting sandwiches for North End's vagrants and underclassmen. A social weakling providing their daily bread.
I splashed some water on my face, sliced up the ham, and headed upstairs. There stood Blanca by the door in the same jeans, tank top, and baggy parka she'd worn the day we met.
"Alright, let's go."
"...Go where?"
"You'll see when we get there."
Honestly, I didn't feel like wandering around, but I had no choice but to follow her. I'd gotten these clothes for free, after all—least I could do was earn their keep. Otherwise, I'd still be stinking of soot everywhere I went.
The place she led me to was even farther out from North End, into the garbage dump known as Iron Valley.
From the rough background she gave me on the way, this spot was originally slated for a massive tech mall selling appliances and cyberware. But once Raze City got fully bought out by the corps and the government washed its hands of everything, the development plans got scrapped. Ironically, the abandoned land ended up as a dumping ground for the very junk they were gonna sell.
"So, this is my secret base!"
Blanca stepped into an unfinished gray concrete structure, spread her arms wide in front of a door patched together from metal sheets, and beamed with pride. The door—cobbled from mismatched panels—had an electronic lock tacked on, looking crude as hell where the parts didn't quite match.
"……."
It vaguely reminded me of the grotesque robot from the lab, but hers didn't give off that creepy vibe. Just the marks of someone patching together what they had.
[Beep.]
Whirr.
Did it have a recognition sensor? As she approached, a short electronic chirp sounded, and the lock disengaged.
"……."
I waited, figuring it'd slide open automatically, but then... "Ahem." She glanced back at me, shuffled to the door, and started shoving with grunts.
Grind.
...A manual door? Well, in a scrap dump like this, securing power for an auto-door was probably a pipe dream, even if they had a lock. Sure, maybe some insane power source I didn't know about existed, but no way anyone was scavenging or building that here.
I let out a small sigh and helped push the groaning door open. Her ears were a bit red—she must've realized I'd clocked the manual part. Kinda funny.
"Whoa."
I let out a soft exclamation at the sight beyond the sturdy, heavy door. Inside was a surprisingly legit workshop setup. A workbench against one wall, racks of tools, mystery junk and parts boxes scattered around, even a doorless closet with grease-stained jumpsuits hanging in it.
"I wondered why you were nowhere on weekdays...."
Grind.
Clank.
[Beep!]
Whirr.
The door slammed shut and locked way faster than it'd opened, right in front of me.
"...What the."
I glanced sideways—Blanca had already slipped inside without a trace. What was this signaling? Luring me out here just to ditch me solo. Some newfangled bullying?
My tear ducts suddenly felt loose, so I flicked my gaze upward. Had to be these illegal cyberware implants messing with my nerves. No other explanation for a guy known for having blood but no tears to get misty over this crap.
A rustling came from beyond the door, then [Beep!]—lock disengaged.
"……."
[Beep!]
Whirr.
I waited, but it relocked after a bit.
[Beep!]
Whirr.
Waited more—it opened again.
Creak.
This time, grunts from inside, and the door cracked open slightly.
"Could you... open it a bit?"
"……."
Grind.
I channeled a touch of inner energy and shoved it open effortlessly, just like when it closed.
Beyond stood Blanca, now changed into a jumpsuit, staring at me wide-eyed.
"I figured if I saw you, you'd tell me to fuck off."
"...What do you take me for?"
She called me a killer-looking freak first. But saying that out loud would just sound petty, so I grumbled internally and stepped inside. The door only auto-closed—grind, clank, [Beep!], whirr—locking us in the sealed room alone.
"……."
"……."
Not that I was hyper-aware of it, but an awkward silence hung for a second, so I broke it casually.
"No wonder you vanish on weekdays—this is where you've been hiding."
Safe topic, picking up from the door fiasco earlier.
"...No space at home. No basement or anything."
She jumped on the cue, heading to the workbench.
"Isn't hanging out here dangerous?"
"Scavengers don't bother trekking this far just to die for scraps. Barely any working stuff anyway. What they really hunt are parts that actually... move well."
'Parts that actually move well'.... Yeah, I got it. Scavengers my ass—they were probably just murdering thugs.
"Sure, some come for scrap metal or components, but I don't cross paths with 'em. No issues so far. Anything rare gets picked clean before it even reaches here."
She was desperately justifying it, probably thinking I'd rat her out to her parents.
"Not my business to meddle, but why not at least tell them where you're going?"
"...I told Uncle Gustaf. Promised to be back by 5 p.m. sharp."
I generally don't trust bastards, but... Gustaf seemed solid enough. Recalling our chat in front of the shop, he was trustworthy—at least from the landlords' perspective.
I shrugged and plopped into a chair in the corner.
"Anyway, let's pick up from yesterday. Tell me more about that photon thing and the projector. What'd it look like?"
She grabbed a chunky pad with a big display from god-knows-where, eyes sparkling, and approached. In her hand was a metal-sculpted pen—knockoff for sure, but the cursor followed it fine.
"Oh, and I'm not expecting it for free, obviously. You haven't gotten those cyberware checked properly, right? I can take a look."
"……."
I'd been fine spilling for free, but her sudden offer made me want to clam up even more. Ever since waking on that mad scientist's table, I'd developed this vague terror of gearheads. That twisted mug of his had that power.
"You're a merc now—lesson one: always get paid, no matter what."
"Oh yeah? Now you're teaching me the merc life?"
"...Uncle Gustaf told me. Said he was pretty badass back in the day. All his stories, though, so who knows how much to believe."
She shrugged, twirled the pen deftly on her finger, and leaned in close.
"So, what'd it look like?"
"...Look, no matter how you slice it, that shit wasn't normal. That's all I told you yesterday. Boxy like that door of yours, patched together...."
She shot me a glare, brows furrowing—didn't like the jab at her door, huh.
"...A crude, boxy machine with metal tubes linked like a barrel. That's it. Fired blue flame-like stuff—hit something, it evaporated or burned up."
"Hmm...."
"And the guy with it jammed straight into his arm just...."
I twirled a finger at my temple in the universal crazy sign. Her face turned dead serious.
"...He shoved an external photon array and energy projector right into his nerves?"
...Yeah, psychotic breakdown central. Watching her mutter in disbelief, I figured those idiots really were morons. Even this kid knew, and they didn't? How...
...?
The three dipshits' impact hit hard, so I sized Blanca up anew. She was super into the projector and photons I'd described—asking for visuals meant she'd never seen one. Yet she knew it'd trigger psychosis. Meanwhile, those clowns bragging about reverse-engineering corp tech had no clue. They fired energy blasts, so they had the know-how to build it, at least.
...Was she some hidden genius?
A grease-stained jumpsuit on brown skin, curly hair tied back, glaring at her pad with pen in hand—she noticed my stare and looked up.
"...What?"
"Nah, just wondering if you're hiding some insane skills."
"...Just self-taught. Nothing special."
She answered bitterly, sighed, and set the pad down.
"Sucks I can't see it myself. Where the hell did those guys even get that?"
"……."
No way was I mentioning the techie chased out of the market gang turf war. Tempting fate if she went sniffing around. Didn't know exactly what the market was, but it sure as shit wasn't a peaceful corner store—and 'tempting fate' always brought trouble.
"Eh, next time I find weird crap, I'll bring it."
"...As long as it doesn't explode?"
"...Check this out, then."
She'd poked my sore spot, so I stuck out my left arm. The driest look I'd seen all day turned my way.
...Zero interest. Not even a speck.