Survival Instinct (1)

A week of effort had put a fortune in my hands, and now I needed a fence to convert it into clean cash.

Gold and jewels were highly liquid, sure — but I couldn't completely rule out the chance of being tracked. Dumping them just anywhere was out of the question.

That was why I'd come looking for James, the junk dealer who showed up often enough in the original novel War City.

I stepped into the shop, and an old man with a monocle — James — looked up to meet my eyes.

Even within the story, James was a fence known only to those who needed to know him. Money he laundered came with a perfect safety record — one hundred percent.

"What do you want?"

"I've got some goods to unload."

I dumped the gold and jewels onto the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠counter in front of him. It was a considerable haul of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hard assets, but James studied it without so much as a flicker of expression. Exactly the kind of composure you'd expect from a top-tier fence.

"You're telling me you came to me to dispose of this?"

"That's right."

"Coming to me specifically means the goods are dirty. Who referred you?"

Instead of simply taking the merchandise, James pressed for the name of whoever had pointed me his way. Most of his clients were people with one foot in the underworld already. Being this careful about who he dealt with wasn't strange at all.

I dug through my memories and pulled out a name that wouldn't cause problems even if it got back to someone.

"Bruno."

"Oh? You know the Cripple?"

"Heard about him in passing, back when he was still alive. Something about him leaving a debt with you, old man."

Bruno the Cripple. Once the worst criminal to ever tear through the city. He carried real weight in War City's storyline — never appearing on the page himself, only through the trail of his deeds, but his influence still lingered over the city to this day.

The moment I brought Bruno up, James's face changed. I'd just spoken of something that should have been known only between the two of them. No wonder he was startled.

"So being referred by the Cripple isn't a complete lie, then."

"Right. So I'd like this handled quickly."

"You know my fees run high?"

"Of course I do. You're infamous for taking a filthy cut."

Tap. Taptap.

James punched numbers into a calculator while eyeing the gold bars, then spoke.

"Fifty-four thousand credits. If you don't like it, take it somewhere else."

"That's all it comes to?"

"That's after my forty-percent fee."

"Huh."

Gold didn't hold the same value here as it did on modern Earth. I'd expected a somewhat low figure. But after the fee, fifty-four thousand credits — roughly fifty-four million won, if I had to guess. Not bad for a week's work, but I couldn't help feeling shortchanged all the same.

"You selling, or walking?"

James leaned in, pressing me as I smacked my lips in dissatisfaction. From his side, this was a deal with nothing to lose. In the end, the mistake had been mine — treating the money as already fully mine the moment I walked in.

"Convert it."

"A wise choice."

With no better option on the table, I took James's offer.

The world of the novel War City was a peculiar one.

Long, long ago, after the age of true mages had passed, the world advanced day by day until it became what it was now. The secret, devastating magics that once flourished had all faded into legend and been forgotten. The great Archmages of that old era had become beings whose very traces were nearly impossible to find.

What took their place were the Instant Mages — people who awakened a single magic circuit in their bodies and could use exactly one spell. No depth. No breadth. Only a miracle that was easy and fast to use, sitting in that empty space.

Those Instant Mages were also the source of no small number of problems for the city's public order. There were no real constraints on how they wielded their power — which, in a certain sense, meant it was all too easy to abuse for crime.

Instant Mages weren't particularly rare, either. Percival Smith — the me of right now — was a 3rd Circle telepathy user, after all. Instant Mages who'd awakened magic were rooted deep throughout every layer of War City's society, and running into a criminal who abused that power was never a difficult thing.

"Hey. You. Stop right there."

The gang I was facing in the alley right now was one more example of exactly that.

One man stood in front of me in the dark of night, fire burning openly in his palm. Two more blocked the path behind him. From a distance you might have mistaken that small light for a lighter — but up close, it was unmistakably some kind of magic.

"You talking to me?"

At his call, I stopped with as much swagger as I could put into my posture. Honestly, three-on-one made me want to turn and run — but the second I showed my back, that fireball would almost certainly come for me. Better to come on strong from the start, hard enough that they couldn't write me off.

Besides, I held a first-degree black belt in Taekwondo, a second-degree in Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and a second-degree ranking in Dungeon Fighter Online's arena — five degrees of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠martial mastery, all told. I was not a body that would fold easily for a pack of back-alley muggers.

"Yeah, you. I've got a pretty good nose for money."

I flinched before I could stop myself. I'd just finished converting the gold with James and was carrying the credits on me. Was he actually capable of smelling money the way he claimed? He'd picked a pretty suitable target, I'd give him that.

"What, so you want a cut?"

"A cut? Don't be so cold. You're going to hand over all of it."

"And if I don't?"

"Then there's one more corpse in the city tonight."

A deserted alley. An evening with almost no passersby. Whatever this man did here, the worst that would happen was a brief stir in the neighborhood. Handing over the money and walking away clean would have been a perfectly reasonable option — if it actually worked.

"You're talking out of your ass."

But there was no guarantee that giving them the money would keep me safe. Here, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the only correct answer was to fight back.

I swept my gaze quickly, reading the terrain for a fight. This was a high-density residential alley — sealed, packed windows set into the outer walls of the buildings. And the hour was deep night, when most people would be asleep. A telepath had his own ways of fighting.

"You looking to die right now?"

"You're the ones who don't understand the situation."

"Don't understand what? You're alone."

"Alone? That's a joke. I've got subordinates hidden all over this place. If you don't want to die, start crawling."

"Subordinates? Hahaha!"

The man snorted. His two companions did the same. Fair enough — claim a scruffy pedestrian has a crew waiting in the wings, and anyone would be skeptical. If I'd been in their shoes, I probably wouldn't have believed it either.

But right now, I needed to invent subordinates that didn't exist.

"Tsk. So the truth broke your minds. Boys — come out."

Even as I bluffed, I cast my telepathy across the entire alley, excluding only the three men in front of me. In a street packed with studio apartments, the content of that telepathy was obvious. Music that would make anyone lose their temper if they heard it at night.

Windows flared open with a clatter. Lights snapped on up and down the alley. Shouts poured through the cracks of opened windows. Anyone jolted awake by a morning call in the middle of the night was going to lose their mind — and they did.

"What the hell! Who is that?!"

"Aaaagh! Aaaaaaagh!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

I made sure to weave that telepathic line in among the real shouting, aimed straight at the three men. Lights kept coming on. The yelling kept rising. The thugs started to panic, stumbling over themselves, eyes darting in every direction without settling.

"Th-this isn't how it was supposed to go…"

"Looks like you're finally catching on."

"N-no, we didn't know! We had no idea this was your territory—!"

"The price of ignorance is paid in lives."

I sent one last telepathic flourish to crown the whole performance.

"Damn it. So the Security Force picked up our trail after all."

I hardened my expression as I said it, and the three men spun and bolted. But I was never the type to leave a job unfinished.

I drew the ghost gun I'd bought from James, leveled it at their fleeing backs, and pulled the trigger.

Bang! Bang-bang!

In an alley still ringing with morning calls, not a single person heard the gunshots.