Paranormal Link-10
The process of getting the account at Paranormal Link-10 wrapped up surprisingly fast. "It's a 'clean' account you can use at regular banks too."
She'd sent the paperwork through the personal email she'd whipped up while I waited, and loaded a few more extension apps onto my terminal. Looked like a banking app for basic transfers and balance checks.
"I'd recommend handling things through here or a fixer rather than trekking to a bank yourself. Fees'll be steeper, but…"
"I get it."
I waved her off, cutting short what felt like her explanation treating me like some primitive caveman. "…You really get it, right?"
"Have I lived my whole life getting scammed or what?"
"Guy with no socket implants but that junk bolted on… terminal's ancient, and you don't even know how to use it… What am I supposed to trust here?"
"If you've got skills and street smarts, you survive. That's this world, ain't it?"
Her eyes screamed like you're clearly lacking both, so I beat her to the punch. Behold my razor-sharp instincts. I just don't usually give a shit.
Anyway. "So, we're done here?"
"…Unless you want another drink."
"Then we're good."
As I stood to leave, something soft whooshed toward me. Sounded harmless, so I reflexively raised my left hand… ting.
…Fucking three-legged wonder.
Grousing, I picked up the data chip from the floor.
"…You can actually work with that arm, right?"
"Still smashes skulls like a champ."
Better than a claw machine, at least. Never dropped a catch yet.
Dodging her pitiful stare—like she was eyeing a cripple—I checked the chip for damage. Old-school tough; just some scratches, otherwise fine.
"So, what's this? Testing my grip?"
"…Old lady gave it to me. For Rom… that elder."
What the hell? What's their deal? Curiosity flickered, but I kept my mouth shut. As the ancient sages said: don't stick your nose in others' love lives. Poke too hard, and you'll get kicked in the ass. Source: me. Don't ask.
Anyway, wisdom like that kept me from prying. I just nodded and turned to go.
Stares followed me out, but no one jumped me. Guess ronin here are milder than the martial world. Normally, shit would've hit by now.
With that thought, I stepped outside to find Blanca sulkily leaning on a streetlamp. Oh right, her! The rotten dream cola had wiped her from my mind.
Sun position said it'd been over an hour. I'd figured account setup would be quick, but waiting sucks with no bench around.
"……"
She eyed me warily as I approached, exhaustion plain on her face.
"Sorry, took longer than expected?"
Preemptive apology to hide the total brain fart. 'When you've screwed up with a girl, just apologize first. Even the stubborn ones soften a bit.' Some advice I'd heard once—proven gold.
Sure enough, her scowl eased. "…What took an hour for one account?"
"Well, see…"
…Why's my choice UI glitching like this? That dream cola must've been spiked. Or maybe some lingering effect from whatever I shouldn't have seen.
Either way, no good options. I mumbled vaguely. "Some trouble inside delayed things."
"…Trouble you ran into, or caused?"
Tough call. I pondered. Wasn't my fault, right…? Blame the shop selling that crap as cola, Gustavo dumping sentimental junk like old clothes in a bin, Gustaf gawking like it was treasure, the drunk hag's ramblings, and the waitress flaunting it all. Not me…?
If anything, Rom sent me here. He's the root of it all.
…Yeah. All Rom's fault. Epiphany hit, spawning a new choice.
"Number five!"
"…Huh?"
"The beggar who sent me knows the boss here, got held up chatting. Account took a bit too."
I licked my lips—dry from the booze, first time in ages.
"…Sigh. You're late, so let's hurry."
She shook her head skeptically and started walking.
"So, what're we shopping for?"
"…Just grabbed some pocket money for odds and ends, but with what you gave me earlier, tools too."
Her steps lightened—mood lifting, or shopping hype? "Grab some consumables… it'll be heavy. You owe me for waiting, so you'll carry, right?"
She glanced back playfully. "How heavy can it be?"
"I'll remember you said that."
…Uh-oh? ///
About two hours later, tailing her shopping proved it: heavy and plentiful. The tote bin for junk overflowed, stacked high, with leftovers in her hands before we quit.
Midway, it felt like a stacking test. I channeled my glory days. This is peak escort Tetris from a top-tier caravan master!
Perfectly balanced, no wobbles. Striding out of the industrial district, Blanca finally gazed at me with pure admiration.
…Is this really impressive? If so, what were all those cold stares before? Doubt crept in; others watched similarly.
Peering through gaps in the neat stack, Blanca halted abruptly ahead. Street was busy, but not standstill. More shopping?
"Bla…"
"Well, if it isn't Blanca."
A lanky prick with goons flanked him smirked at her. Gold chrome flashes screamed poser rich kid.
"…Gilbert."
She spat it coldly—the iciest tone I'd heard. Total asshole confirmed.
"It's Gilbert. Still got that lowly memory from your roots."
What? Psycho? His opener was pure trash talk. I blinked, stunned. Blanca trembled with humiliation, face hidden.
"Wondered what dropout trash like you does now… nothing impressive, judging by the hauling. Eh, face is still pretty—nice view."
His goons cackled harmony to his rotten-butter voice—dissonant nightmare.
Clench.Clench.
His smug tone pissed me off enough to shake—me, who doesn't shake easy. Talent for provocation.
"And you? Keep walking! No money for delivery, so hauling yourself? Don't block the street—stick to alleys."
My trembling claw caught his ear. Finally, my cue.
"So, if you'd just listened back then…"
"You don't know me?"
I asked the yapper politely.
"…Who the fuck are you?"
Fine. "You don't recognize me?"
"Like I'd know trash li—"
Qi surged to my right arm, shifting the load. Cyberware-lite punk; won't kill him.
"What'll you do then?"
"…What?"
Go, Three-Legger Punch! My clamped claw slammed his smug face center.
Krunch!
"Guhek!!"
Revelation today: Three-Legger's true calling. Teeth and blood sprayed; perfect hit.
Three-Legger: superior to fists for assholes!
"Hahaha, catch me if you can!"
Yelled to draw eyes from Blanca, then lightness skill. No Step Thunder Flash with cargo, but who am I? Ex-hauler turned top escort.
Sounds lame, but I'm unmatched at hauling. Caravans wrecked, horses dead—we porters carried. I was the steadiest.
Not a single drop. Ditched the flailing rotten-butter and goons, bolting fast.
Winked at Blanca passing by—smart kid, she dashed opposite.
Love quick-witted brats like her.
Slurred yells trailed. Predictable bullshit. They don't even know me—what're they gonna do? Morons.