+++++++++
SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING:
Iron Beard Pirates Spotted in T.Hill.
Report Immediately.
Reward: 100,000 Units.
Include Visuals for Verification.
(A barcode)
(A 3D revolving hologram of Iron Beard)
(A tall man at an imposing 6'4", adorned in a brownish-black leather overcoat, which covered the cyberware underneath.
Atop his head was a wide-brim hat, hats worn by the pirates of days long lost.
He had the face of a villain, cyborg left eye, with a vertical black line running through it from his forehead to his metallic silver jaw.)
(The images change, showing other equally menacing 3D projections of the other members of the gang)
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Michael unconsciously stepped back, gulping in fear.
The people, though just a hologram, looked terrifying, their presence radiating malice.
"Yeah, no... no one will be willing to risk their life for just a few units," he quickly walked away, as if the hologram would come alive and eat him up.
"100k units, that's a lot," his inner voice reminded him, the reward for reporting them.
He needed money as of now, and 100,000 units was more than enough.
"Nope, nope, no way I will do that... Only a fool would risk their life for a few units," he gulped, his words betraying the greed in his heart.
"A few units," though he uttered those words to persuade himself, it felt like needles in his guts.
His college loans were yet to be paid, 60,000 units, now chipped down to 40,000.
A 100k reward would save him, with more to spare.
Enough to leave the beehive for a better settlement.
"Even if I were that fool, I don't know where they even are," he shook his head, trying to shake such a dangerous thought out of his head.
There was no way he was going to look for trouble. He might head into it if it came his way, but going to look for it? There was no way.
T.Hill city was vast; it would take weeks, even months, to search every part of it. Not to mention, they were cyberpunks—there was no way they would be easy to find.
"Hahaha, to be poor is truly a crime. I can't believe I am even considering that," he laughed, stepping into the bullet train—no one on board, not even a conductor.
It was barely morning, the sun yet to rise, most people still in ergonomic beds.
Michael's work demanded that he wake up earlier than most.
⫷----------⫸
Michael 0015
Destination registered:
Almi Station
Fee: 20 units (Paid)
Subscription Active
⫷----------⫸
The notification popped up in his vision, the abrupt distraction clearing his thoughts.
"I got work to do... I gotta be practical. Most people wouldn't snitch even if they spot something," he shook his head, taking his seat.
He wasn't going out of his way on a wild goose chase.
....
SFS Delivery[1] Warehouse
T.Hill Branch[2]
"Good morning, Sir," Michael said to the stout man before him.
"Stop with the formality and get to work," the man grunted, shooting Michael a glare.
"Sorry, boss. I will get right to it," Michael awkwardly scratched his head as he left the man's office.
"This stingy guy... I made the cut last month, yet he refuses to pay the bonus," Michael cussed internally, disgruntledly making his way to the storage area.
He had worked his hardest last month, after being told there was a bonus reward.
He worked his butt off, even suspending his less profitable part-time jobs. But now...
The month had long passed, the manager ignoring him, always coming with excuses or, like today, pushing him away before he could say something.
"I gotta quit this job," he thought.
A rebellious thought that he couldn't actually go through with it; out of his many part-time jobs, this paid the most.
Quitting would be suicidal.
Arriving at the storage rack, he scanned the items, recognizing his ID on one of them.
"This is a large package," he stared at the large box in front of him, curious about what was inside.
Delivery personnels weren't privileged to know the contents of what they delivered.
He, none the wiser.
"Well, whatever. With something this big, I might get a tip," he carried the item with ease. Though large, it was surprisingly light.
Paying it no heed, he skillfully strapped it to his delivery bike—a bike that closely resembled the cruiser bike, but more advanced and large enough to be used as a delivery vehicle.
"I hope I get a tip... a unit won't hurt," he smiled to himself. As he sat atop the bike, with a twist of his wrist, he rode off to his delivery.
.
.
.
"Arrr, when be that booty arrivin', matey?" a tall muscular man inquired.
He looked menacing by any description, a triclop cyborg, broad-shouldered, his left side made of complete cyberware, the right side human.
To infer fear, he covered his human part, showing off his cyberware.
Titanium skeleton with a shimmering ribcage exposed, muscles and tendons all artificial.
It looked like the other half of a metallic human anatomy model.
"I... It's... It's on its way," an average-looking man barely croaked out, seating with his back to the pillar of the underground parking lot.
"Ye best be, and if ye dare call the coppers, an' ye'll be drinkin' yer teeth, ye scurvy bilge rat!"
The triclop brandished his sickle-like fingers, a warning to the shaking man.
"He..." He could only swallow his saliver, nodding his head vigorously in agreement.
He, an average Joe, was going about his day when he was abducted a few days ago by what he believed to be cyberpunks, their menacing features pointing towards that thought.
They had ordered him to make a purchase, to which it was to be delivered today.
He could only hope the delivery comes on time, if not...
As if on cue, a notification popped in his vision.
⫷----------⫸
SFS Delivery.
Package delivered.
⫷----------⫸
"The package is here," he breathed a sigh of relief.
"Arrr, that be good — what be ye doin'? Off with ye — An' mark me words, if ye warn a single soul, I'll..."
"I promise I won't," he got up, quickly heading out of the parking lot.
A few meters in front of the packing lot stood Michael, his arms crossed as he leaned on his bike.
"Where is the guy?" he scanned his surroundings, no one resembling the client.
The client's image floating in his vision.
"I wonder who they are to order something this big,... I wonder what's in it," he shifted his gaze to the package still strapped to his bike.
Curious but wouldn't risk his job to find out.
"He... llo..."
Someone called to him, Michael quickly turning to him.
"Hello," he quickly recognized the individual, the client to whom the order was meant for.
"Mister Dickson, good morning..." Michael said politely, trying to get on his good side.
Even though the guy looked average, for him to have ordered something this big, it meant he was rich.
"Please look at my smile and give me some units," he screamed internally as he handed the item to the man.
The man grabbed the item, and without even a thank you—
"Huh, he left like that, not even a thank you and the proof for delivery," Michael stood there dumbfounded, wide-eyed as he stared at the man's back.
The man rushed down the underground parking lot.
The place was a bit rowdy with about twenty people moving around, not to mention he wasn't paying attention earlier and had not noticed where the guy came out from.
"Huh, the parking lot... Is he a crook?"
Seemingly dissatisfied with his rudeness, Michael thought the worst, his gaze unwilling to leave the guy, and that is when he noticed.
At the periphery of his vision, right at the corner of the entrance, were glowing green eyes locked on the man.
"Three eyes?!" Curious, he narrowed his eyes, his vision zooming in.
Clearly, he saw the cyberpunk.
"A triclop," he gasped, recognition dawning in his eyes.
"The Iron Beard crew..."
[1] Safe. Fast and Secure
[2] Tungsten Hill: City Name