Arthur stayed quiet, going over the intermediary's letter and the information about the female researcher.
Melanie, Twenty-seven years old.
Thanks to Neural Link, scholars in 2077 saved enormous amounts of time when it came to building up knowledge. They weren't exactly plug-and-play, but they did shorten the distance between the brain and information, vastly improving learning efficiency.
This naturally pushed researchers' exploratory stages forward. But to complete a technology coveted by corporations before turning thirty? That made the Chief Researcher nothing short of a genius.
The records showed Melanie wasn't just the lab's Chief Researcher—she was its de facto leader.
Before ZetaTech's takeover, she had been the head of the small company. Even after securing investment, she remained the one guiding the lab's direction.
Considering how brutally the company had hunted them down... Arthur couldn't shake the feeling that things weren't that simple. Maybe meeting Melanie would clear some of it up.
Inside the car, the two watched the sandy haze ahead burn red under the setting sun. The wind had picked up, driving the grains faster and harder, scattering them in every direction.
It wouldn't be long before night swallowed everything.
"This isn't as simple as it looks..."
Having finished reviewing the data Arthur sent her, V leaned back against the seat, voice calm.
"...What is it? Something wrong?
Hands... unless my eyes deceive me, he doesn't strike me as the type who'd screw over mercs."
Arthur's gravelly tone broke the silence. V smirked faintly, shaking her head.
"You're good at reading people, huh?"
She threw back the question with a teasing edge.
"Alright... damn it...
Maybe not so good after all."
She gave Arthur a curious glance. The fact that he didn't bother snapping back was rare enough.
"Anyway... back to the point. The problem I meant wasn't with Mr. Hands."
V gestured toward the ruin ahead, half-swallowed by wind and sand.
"That group of fugitives... they don't seem quite right."
Recalling the Fixer's detailed intel, her sharp instincts as a former intelligence officer instantly flagged what was off.
Her tone was steady, confident.
"The people in that lab... they stuck together through everything. Their bonds are obvious.
If something went wrong inside, not everyone would be guilty. But still—They chose to stick together—even if it meant dying under pursuit."
And yet... their leader, the Chief Researcher, Melanie, gets taken by Scavengers... and they don't act like it's urgent.
They sound frantic, but it isn't real urgency."
"Maybe they're just trying to protect the weaker ones?"
Arthur frowned. He said it, but even he could feel how strange that group seemed. The words came more from a reflex—hoping the job wouldn't spiral out of control.
"Please... they've still got about ten armed guards.
And another thing—what kind of leader goes out alone to negotiate?
Even if it was to show good faith, she'd have taken a security detail. At the very least, her movements wouldn't have been so exposed to the Scavs."
As she spoke, V cast a scornful look toward the Scavenger base, riddled with gaps.
"No way Scavs are running some intel network."
This time, her reasoning was clear. Arthur fell silent, a spark flashing in his narrowed eyes.
"A traitor, then...
Move now?"
V nodded slightly, leaning forward to twist the car's noisy ignition.
"Definitely a traitor. Trust me.
I'm a professional."
With that, she slammed her foot onto the gas.
The best way to handle a possible ambush was to flip the script—to strike first and hit hard. That's exactly what they were doing.
The clunker's engine howled as V pushed it mercilessly, the worn-out frame rattling under the strain. The roar beneath the hood sounded like someone crouched inside, hacking at wood with an iron saw.
Ahead, a flimsy sheet-metal door posed as an entrance. At their speed, it was only a blur before shattering open with a deafening crash.
"Damn... what if there's a pillar right behind it?"
Arthur's hoarse voice came with the weight of the gun already braced in his hands.
"Come on, who the hell puts a pillar behind a door?"
V had her weapon out too. The interior was shrouded in darkness; she flicked her sunglasses aside, her sharp eyes scanning coldly across the space.
No enemies rushed forward yet. Hopefully, their blitz had thrown them off.
"Keep your eyes on the surroundings..."
Her voice dropped, pupils glowing faintly as streams of data flickered across them.
Arthur shoved the door open and strode inside. With Kiroshi Optics built in, his vision held clear enough in the gloom.
The place was deserted.
Sweeping the area, Arthur looked for stairs or something similar.
Didn't take much effort. Not far off, tucked behind several thick support columns, lay a concrete ramp.
A flash of light burst from that direction. Seconds later, a group of figures came rushing down.
Gunfire cracked, sharp and echoing through the dark, each shot carrying an unnerving weight.
Scavs weren't worth sparing. Arthur dropped every single one he saw.
By the time the last of them fell, V had already finished running her checks.
"Over here, quick."
She was sprinting toward the ramp.
Arthur swung his gun back from that angle, then followed, muttering as he caught up.
"If you can't keep your eyes open and watch where you're going, maybe you should just stay home.
What's next, do I gotta worry about you crossing the street too?"
"Asshole. I just found us the way up... and that woman, Melanie.
We're mercs, not some grizzly that only knows how to roar, you get me?"
Her reply was sharp, low, as they reached the foot of the ramp.
They stepped over the strange corpses strewn across the ground, climbing to the top where a small iron door waited.
The walls around it clearly didn't match the original structure—added on later.
Neither of them slowed their pace or their bickering.
"Alright... looks like our netrunner lady's got a short memory...
We've got a professional netrunner in the team, remember?"
"But she's inexperienced... and that costs time.
Not that you'd understand."
Arthur didn't respond. He really didn't.
The kind of trouble that could find you just lying low at home...
...
(70 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser