Chapter 27: Milton the Mercenary

Blood sprayed, and visceral pulp splattered everywhere.

The sharp, rapid crackle of gunfire, loud roars, agonizing wails, the thunderous collision of cybernetics, the piercing screech of grinding metal, and the deafening crash of walls collapsing and crumbling.

After a long while, all these sounds faded into silence.

"Oh... I wonder who it could be. We haven't seen each other in days, and you're already in such a rush to find me? Our relationship really is quite close, isn't it?"

Within the dim, blood-soaked terrain, a spark of fire suddenly ignited.

The scene revealed itself: a semi-abandoned underground parking garage.

Without the slightest regard for the mangled corpses surrounding him, the man plopped down onto the hood of an old, dust-covered sedan that had been deeply dented.

He casually puffed on a cigarette butt while staring at a floating screen projected onto his retina.

"—I’m right, aren't I, our respected Director Keng?"

On the other side of the screen was a bald man.

It was Keng, the medical director of the Palos Institute of Mind and Psychics.

"Milton, you still talk too much."

Ignoring the carnage beside the man, Keng’s tone was cold. His face, utilizing high-end synthetic skin that made him indistinguishable from a natural human, showed not a single trace of emotional fluctuation.

"Personal habit, my apologies, my apologies."

Spitting out a hollow apology, the man called "Milton" shrugged and took a deep drag of his cigarette.

"So, what can I do for you?"

Milton yawned. "Although we’ve had a pleasant enough partnership in the past, respected Director Keng... you’ve already been pushed out of the management layer and are stuck in a small, minor research facility."

"So I must emphasize: if you’re looking to get me involved in some grand 'comeback' scheme, then please forgive my refusal. A small-time mercenary like me wouldn't dare get tangled in the struggles of you corporate types. I’m quite afraid of dying, you see."

"This has nothing to do with that."

Keng stated.

Hearing this, Milton narrowed his eyes. In other words, the other party hadn't denied the intention of a "comeback."

However, as long as he wasn't being asked to help with that kind of heavy lifting...

It didn't matter.

"Then I have no issues. Tell me, what do you want me to do?"

Milton pinched the cigarette butt and crushed it firmly against the car hood.

"I need you to bring someone back. The relevant target file has been sent to you."

Keng’s tone remained cold.

"You can break his bones, twist off his limbs, satisfy that ridiculous urge of yours to inflict violence—it doesn't matter to me. I only have two requirements."

"First, the person must be brought to me alive. Second, do not alert the Security Bureau or anyone else at Emerald Pharmaceuticals. Keep the commotion to a minimum; be discreet."

A look of exaggerated realization appeared on Milton’s face. "Oh—oh! I see, so it’s a private matter. No wonder you’re coming to me through personal channels... I was wondering why you wouldn't just deploy your 'Ice Seed' troops and stage a total sweep."

"—Milton."

Keng’s expression remained unchanged, but his tone deepened as he repeated the man's name.

Perhaps years ago, he truly would have had the authority to deploy the [Ice Seed], the local armed forces of the Emerald Pharmaceuticals Palos branch.

But ever since his faction fell into decline and failed in their internal power struggle, he had been purged, demoted from his lofty position as a medical department director to the head of an obscure research facility. How could he possibly still command the "Ice Seed" troops?

Faced with the repeated sarcasm and veiled insults, even he felt a flicker of anger.

"My mistake, my mistake—sorry."

Seeing this, Milton laughed, raising his hands to signal he meant no harm.

"Let’s see... medical test volunteer, escaped halfway, orphanage background... Oh, and a First-Ring psionic user."

"Hmm, 'Song Shi.' I’ve noted the name."

After quickly scanning the file, Milton nodded and spoke:

"I’ll take the job. Fifty thousand credits, fifty thousand in internal credit."

"Fifty thousand credits, twenty thousand in internal credit."

Keng replied without hesitation.

Even though his current situation wasn't ideal, fifty thousand credits was merely pocket change to him.

The point was the "twenty thousand in internal credit."

[Emerald Pharmaceuticals] was a behemoth that sat atop the corporate alliance, looking down upon all living beings. Bioengineering, medical technology, cybernetic implants, mind and psychic science... these were all their domains. Some of their related technologies were so advanced they reached a "generational" level—monopolistic and formidable.

And Keng was a department head in the former medical division of Emerald Pharmaceuticals’ Palos branch.

Therefore, even though he had been pushed out of management to become the director of an edge-case research facility, his clearance level was still higher than that of ordinary people in similar positions.

Through internal channels for employees, he could purchase things like biological agents, implants, psionic techniques, and anti-rejection drugs at relatively favorable prices, including some unreleased products reserved strictly for internal supply.

With Keng’s clearance, he could buy quite a lot of good things.

His "twenty thousand in internal credit" had a purchasing power essentially equivalent to sixty thousand credits.

Using "internal credit" as payment, indirectly allowing the other party to buy internal goods, was one of Keng’s core competitive advantages when hiring mercenaries.

"No problem!"

Milton laughed.

The "fifty thousand" he had asked for earlier was just his habit of asking for the moon; he knew the other party wouldn't agree.

"My respected, dear, noble Director Keng, rest assured. Within a week, I guarantee that fellow will be in your hands—"

*Beep.*

Keng hung up the communication directly, not bothering to speak with him further.

"Sigh... I really am born with a life of busyness."

Milton shrugged again, sighed, and muttered.

But immediately after, as if he had suddenly discovered something, his tone turned surprised.

"Eh, you're not dead yet?"

Milton leaned his head out and looked at the ground. Amidst the pools of blood and shredded flesh, a human figure was slowly crawling—after the exchange of fire, this originally burly man now had his lower body severed at the waist, blood gushing out from the stump.

Then, a foot pressed down on his back, halting his crawling.

"I’m a man of principles."

"Since there’s no deep grudge between us, and you didn't die right away, there's no need for me to finish you off, is there?"

"Besides, the employer's mission is already complete."

"What a pity, what a pity—"

Milton wore a look of deep regret.

The foot he had pressed on the man’s back increased in pressure at a slow, steady rate, causing the man’s body to emit a chilling, crunching sound.

The burly man’s eyes were bloodshot, and he struggled to lift his head as if wanting to say something. However, his synthetic skin was charred and peeling, revealing red and white ligaments and loose teeth beneath his jaw; he could only emit a hoarse, "kaka" whimper.

"It’s a pity you heard things you shouldn't have. Keeping secrets for the employer is a basic professional trait for a mercenary—so, you’ll just have to die."

The dim environment was briefly cut by three flashes of fire, and the next moment, darkness swallowed everything again.

Milton shrugged, slowly put away his pistol, and dialed a communication.

The contact labeled [Middleman · Yeast Bread] answered quickly.

"Yeah, that’s right, it’s all been handled."

"...Detailed situation? Oh, five people in total. I’ve killed them all. Their transport vehicle is fine; I’ve checked the goods, it’s all pure sugar."

"I’ve sent you the location. Have the employer send someone to inspect and take the goods, and transfer the final payment to me as soon as possible."

"One more thing: next time, don't come to me for these black-on-black sugar-snatching jobs."

"The reason?"

"I hate the smell of sugar."