Normally, this is a two man's job. Or rather a —six highly trained licensed medical professionals with the right tools and standard laboratory, kind of job. John had tools. With his chisel pressing directly beneath his eye socket and his fingers dragging over the raw edges, he dared not blink.
He stared at the broken mirror in the messy dump of a closet. He took a deep breath and then proceeded to pop out the eyeball.
Little blood. He stared at the globe, with four colored wires snaking from its edge. He rushed to the bedroom or laboratory or junkyard. A half-sized box stuffed with cartons of broken machines and jagged scraps of metal, barely wide enough to squeeze through. The air smelt like burnt circuits.
He sat at his work desk and connected the wires from the eyeball, to something that's supposed to be a processor, while he was focused on the monitor.
"Full Display"
The system displayed a list of information and codes. Error messages piled up. The overloading 'caution pop-ups'. He kept cancelling, clearing, trying to get a full read of the codes. The screen glitched violently, blasting hundreds of error messages across the monitor.
John in shame, stared away. He looked around his dungeon: broken engine parts, wires crawling across the floor, his entire collection of machinery junked into boxes, the quiet scent of things rebuilt, one failure at a time.
"I need new hardware"
His one remaining eye had left the rust clung to the walls, the week-old garbage, and the cobwebs spanning across closed windows.
He stood up, grabs his jacket and heads out of the door.
"He's at the dumpster again," one security man muttered.
"He's always at the dumpster," the other replied, eyes lowered as he scrolled through the hologram hovering before him.
[Transfer Successful]
A smile crept onto the first man's face as his own screen blinked into existence.
[20 XP Received]
They chuckled. They wore a Blue security guard outfit with a logo while they stood at the entrance of ROBOTS© tower. John found peace in the alley, always. The best spare parts, quality materials, actually good stuffs.
ROBOTS© made everything from engines to gears, weapons and ammunitions, and other battle-tech running more on energy crystals. One of the best in the World.
But today, not much in their trash.
"Looking for something?"
John spun, muscles tensing, body dropping into a defensive stance. And the voice vanished.
His eyes narrowed. He reached down slowly, gathering his finds.
"You know you're not supposed to take what doesn't belong to you."
The man now sat atop the dumpster. John froze. He shifted again; taking another stance.
"Spatial teleportation," John muttered, eyes sharp.The man smiled. "Line-of-sight teleportation, actually."
A short black hair, a scar across his nose and another spanning from his missing left ear to his lips. He wore a suit that's way too clean for this place. He lounged casually on the rusted edge of the garbage bins.
"And you?" the man tilted his head. "Who are you?"
Silence.
"…Right. Not talkative." He waved it off. "That's fine. I know one thing though—you're not a Ranker."
"Neither are you," John shot back, face hard.
The man chuckled. "There are over ten million Rankers in this country alone."
"You're not one of them," John cut in.
John was certain. More certain was that the man Infront of him was no ordinary awakener. A C-rank most definitely.
A smile lingered on the man's face.
"I have a job for you."
"I don't know you," John said. "You don't know me."
"Exactly." The man leaned forward. "That's what makes it perfect. It pays."
"I don't chase coins." ~john
The man's gaze swept over him—torn clothes, skinny malnourished body, cracked sandals.
"…Are those sandals?" He laughed softly. "Damn. You really do need coins."
He raised three fingers. "Three thousand."
John's eyes widened before he caught himself. An entire month's salary in an average corporate company.
"I need you to deliver something," the man said, already producing a small black box. Sealed. Inscribed. Wrong.
He opened it. John's breath caught. Compound X!
"You're insane....no." John turned away.
The man appeared inches from his face.
"Why don't you do it yourself?" John snapped.
"You know why."
"Yeah," John growled. "Because it gets you executed. No trial. Nothing ...Just like that!"
The box felt heavier than metal.
Compound X — Compressed Tetra-bisyntate xafide -crXX4
A failed miracle.
The drug that could max stats beyond reason. It became popular about ten years ago. At the time, still in the testing phase. It never passed. It was made with the blood remains of the first Disaster-class demon that appeared in the world. It was developed to induce extra stats in average awakeners. It backfired. While some showed resistance to its mutation, a large majority fall victim to its dreadful side effects. It turns them into complete demonic beasts! The Bureau and the World Government puts a Ban to its entire existence. The Drug however gains popularity in the slums— the drug that max all stats ×100%— for a few thirty mins a D-rank could Rival against an A-rank.
John pushes through. He squats to his scraps on the floor, wrapped around with his jacket. He proceeds to lift it up.
"For someone with bad arms, you lift a lot," the man teased. "You could just store it."
John stiffened.
"Oh." The man blinked, amused. "You don't have space storage. Wow."
He raised his hand. Five golden rings gleamed.
"Extra."
He flicked one into the air.
"If you're in—catch it. If not, I'll pick it up on my way out."
The ring spun. John sees the ten thousand xp-worth Spacial Storage Ring spinning in the air. A treasure he could never lay his hands on. An opportunity with a death-sentence attached to it.
John always made risky choices! Adding to his terrible decisions are his completely crazy and bizarre ideas. No wonder his inventions usually explode.
John didn't even allow the ring drop lower. He jumped and grabbed it.
"Good boy" the man mentioned. John bends to pick the drug packet on the floor.
"How do I deliver?" he asked. But he raised his head to an empty alley.
A note drifted down. An address. A club.
"…And how do I get paid?"John shouted.
No answer. He stared at the ring. Then the box.
"Shit!"