Paranormal Link 6
Beep beep bwoop. Beep beep bwoop. The weird noise started blaring while I was knee-deep in making sandwiches. Yawning, I wrapped one up in paper and glanced down at my leg. A creepy thought hit me outta nowhere—that psycho might've planted a bomb in there or something.
"...Ain't that a ringtone?"
"...?"
Gustavo's gruff voice came from where he was pouring coffee next to me. I shoved my hand in my pocket and pulled out the device inside.
"..."
This thing does calls too? Staring at the unknown number on the screen, Gustavo leaned over to peek.
"It's Rom, the old fixer."
"...Who?"
"Fixer. Rom Yeonggam."
"...Ah."
That's when I finally got the cotton candy geezer's name.
"Pick up already. Must be a job or some shit went down."
"..."
Yeah, had to be. What other reason would that old man have to contact me?
I stepped to the corner of the kitchen and fiddled with the device. Despite being ancient, its intuitive controls let me answer easy.
...Or maybe it's old-school that's why it's so straightforward?
I was pondering that as I brought it to my ear when—
"YAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!"
A thunderous bellow exploded out. So damn loud I didn't even need to hold it to my ear—I yanked it away and replied instead.
"Sounds like you're full of vigor, old timer. What happened?"
"You fuckin' maniac!!"
Ah, I realized. This was definitely "some shit went down." And I knew exactly what.
"They croaked?"
"You, you... this...!"
"Calm down, old man. Wasn't me."
"Then who the hell?!"
"..."
What do I even say? While I was mulling it over, something caught my eye and I froze.
Uh...
I hung up first. The yapping cut off, leaving just the kitchen noise.
"Hey."
And outside the window... there's a freakin' person.
"Sandwich and coffee, one of each?"
She said it casually, her face as neat and composed as yesterday.
///
It was right around closing time anyway, so I whipped up two sandwiches and headed out. Might look like I'm clocking out on the dot while taking a call mid-shift, but once I'd sliced up the rubbery cheap-ass ham for today's sales, my job was basically done. My role here was just subbing for the retired meat slicer in the corner—gathering dust 'cause it couldn't even compete with my 3-credit ingredient slop.
Has-been piece of junk.
I handed the sandwiches to the woman—who was inexplicably waiting with my share of coffee too—and took the cup.
"..."
"..."
I started toward the stairs to plop down and eat, and she followed silently. Sitting on the stairs up to the boarding house, I unwrapped my sandwich and took a bite. She did the same.
"...?"
Wait, what about the wrapper? Watching her chomp through the paper crunch crunch, she stared right back at me.
"...Ah."
I took another bite, and only then did she seem to get it, peeling off her wrapper before munching.
"This is better."
...Not "better"—it's the only way.
I grumbled internally and looked down. She stood right in front of me—no interest in sitting, apparently—and the hem of her dress caught my eye. Faint, scattered dark red spots.
Blood spraying from a severed artery often leaves stains like that on clothes. Even top-tier masters end up speckled after tangling with multiples.
The only guy who'd butchered thousands without a single drop...
I pictured those pitch-black eyes, hardened like dried blood, and sipped my coffee. Already tasteless swill, but thinking of that unlucky bastard made it even worse.
"Yesterday."
"...Huh?"
She paused mid-sip, locking eyes with me.
"You find the spot alright?"
"Ah... yeah, thanks to you."
She smiled faintly and took a sip.
"Was supposed to pick up goods, but they were gone when I got there."
"Aw, wasted trip late at night. Must've sucked."
"Nah, wasn't bad."
Her glass-bead eyes drifted into space, like she was reminiscing.
...Right.
Gustaf, the old man... hell, maybe even Blanca sees me like that? If so, all three need an eye doctor or some decent cyberware upgrades.
No way I'm grinning like some psycho killer.
Second time meeting, but it was the brightest smile I'd seen from her. Not super bright—just her lips curving a tad more.
"...Ham's off. Tastes like blood."
"Really? Tastes good to me."
She'd scarfed it down already, crumpling the wrapper with one bite mark left.
"Good to hear it suits your taste."
"Planning to stick around a bit. Might eat here more."
"Uh... what?"
"Ah, here it is."
A voice from the stairs—I turned to see Blanca holding the pad for guest registrations. She came down and wedged between us.
"Here, sign your name. Room 206 is yours—right next to Isan oppa."
"...Isan?"
"Isan."
She took the pad, glanced at me quizzically, then I raised a hand from below to confirm. Staring at me, she signed and handed it back to Blanca.
"If it's noisy, just say so."
"...The guy next door bail?"
Did my noise chase him out last time? Wasn't even a few days—just one night?
"Yeah. Got a better gig, moving closer to work."
"Nice. Good for him."
Unlike my worries, he'd just timed out naturally. Relief.
Wasn't like I got him evicted over neighbor noise.
"...So, can I use the room now?"
"Sure. Rest is like I explained earlier."
"Got it."
She nodded to Blanca, then turned to me.
"Bye."
"...Yeah. Bye."
She headed up the stairs and vanished.
"You two know each other?"
"Nah, just bumped into her near here yesterday."
"...Hmph. Dating's fine, but anything more—do it outside."
"No dating, no 'more' either."
As if. Eight outta ten random beauties approaching are assassins; two outta ten are dudes. Don't ask why.
"Anyway, what's with this thing blaring like crazy?"
"..."
I sighed at her words, pulling the device from my pants pocket.
Bwoop.
I killed the call and stood.
"Gonna head out. Old timer's gonna stroke out from rage."
"What'd you blow up this time?"
"...Wasn't me."
Wait—"this time"? It was once.
Grumbling, I started walking.
A bit from the boarding house, I remembered something for her. Must've blanked 'cause of the damn ringing.
"...How the hell do you turn off the ringer on this?"
Uh... no vibrate mode?
///
Opening the door, no smoke billowed into the hall like usual. Meant Rom was pissed—though his bulging eyes glaring straight at me said otherwise.
"...Calm down."
Weird. Why does telling folks to calm down always make 'em fly into a bigger rage?
I plugged my ears against the incoming tirade and reached his desk.
"Missionaries already stirred shit up, and you go massacre the whole crew?! How?!"
"Just lopped off their cyberware. That don't kill folks."
One lost a wrist, but I stanched the bleeding fine. Probably didn't die.
...Likely.
"Then those dismembered corpses at Heud repair shop today—they suicide?!"
He rampaged harder at my words. Fair—if it'd been me, I'd suspect too. Guys packing heat don't carry blades unless they're style-obsessed psychos or chop-happy maniacs.
"Even comin' from outside the city, I know the black market score. Wipe 'em all, and they'll dig for the perp. Won't look weak—get fiercer. That shit spills over here... guaranteed."
"..."
He gaped blankly, eyeing me like some scholar enlightened by a madman's wisdom.
...Made me uncomfortable. Sure, Wall Force Thunder Heaven Art's "side effect" might make me look scatterbrained or thoughtless on the outside.
But I'm a man who thinks every step—even if I look mindless.
Left those who knew my face alive 'cause they'd be too wrecked to fight back. Decent power arm sliced off? Lose that plus a botched deal, and they eat organizational blame, get sidelined.
...Shoulda picked your targets better before fuckin' around.
Right, three-legs?
Watching him suck his fingers like he got it, Rom snapped back to his usual "madman" glare and spoke.
"...So, wasn't you?"
"Only ones I bloodied: shoulder-shot guy and wrist guy. Staunched 'em both—no deaths. Rest just knocked out."
"...Anyone know you were there?"
"Seven dead? Nah."
Ran into someone on the way back, but neither knows the other was there.
She's probably thinking the same. Recalled those hazel eyes faking a smile while eyeing me and the goods.
"...Fuck. Gotta watch their moves for a while."
He sighed, grabbing his pipe, lighting up.
"Go... come back tomorrow."
I nodded to his weary, fifty-years-older face and turned to leave—but curiosity hit.
"Oh, yeah—what faction they with?"
"...Why?"
"Gotta know. Spot trouble early, stay cautious."
"...Gromstroke."
"Shitty name."
Door open to leave, another thought—turned back.
"Oh, right."
"...What now."
"Thanks for the ongoing business, Rom old man."
"..."
Left him raging about who spilled my name. Told me to come tomorrow anyway—might as well keep working, no need to bitch over a name.