Most of the greenery consists of common shrubs, showing signs of pruning, but devoid of vitality.

John ascended the narrow and short stone stairs and discovered a man staring at him in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.

His hands were clasped behind his back, the white shirt untied, black twill pants as neat as new.

A veteran.

John recognized at first glance that the man had significant military experience.

He activated the scan program of his cybernetic eye, the pupils focused, zooming in to see more details. At the edge of his vision, detailed information about the other showed.

[Name: Hawthorne McCarthy (Saber)]

[Affiliation: Mercenaries [Jingke Heavy Industry]]

[Scan: SeeAnViston Tyrant V, auxiliary heart, alloy skeleton, plasma electric blade, etc.]

The man named Hawthorne nodded at him, allowing John's scanning behavior.

His profile was sharp as a blade, hair cropped short, his presence exuded a calm and convincing aura.

Hawthorne lightly tapped near his eye sockets.

"Hello, John. I suppose introductions are unnecessary."

His sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms with hair, two golden rivets embedded between the cooling vents.

"The files didn't specify what you're here for."

When John shook hands with him, he felt a firmness.

Hawthorne's joints were thick, the ballistic iron plates in his palm hard, indicating frequent use of equipment with major recoil, unconcerned about grip wear.

Like military gear such as the Hercules MAX.

"I'm a mercenary, obviously here for work."

"Specifically?"

As they spoke, a uniformed receptionist brushed past them.

She still clutched a tablet, seemingly ready for a daytime patrol, just as her advertised services implied.

John instinctively glanced at her, Hawthorne's voice still echoing in his ears.

"I'm in charge of…"

Click.

John almost instinctively retreated backward.

SeeAnViston automatically activated.

His eyes widened gradually, data streams in his pupils flickering, slowing everything in his view to a fixed speed.

The scene started to freeze.

Hawthorne, in an extremely clashing posture, snapped the neck of the female receptionist.

John never saw the transition between gestures, as if the process between a handshake and murder had been erased.

By the time he reacted, the blood had already splattered across half the wall.

Hawthorne calmly approached, yanking off the face of the corpse by the head.

The face transformed into a flickering mosaic.

[Prosthetic Body: Holographic Simulacrum Disguise]

[Manufacturer: Raqi Group]

The receptionist's face was fake.

"I'm hired by Vito."

Hawthorne slashed open the panel on the wall, calling in real cleaning services.

"Don't be so shocked. In the past half month, there have been 43 attackers, with quite a variety of tricks."

"You killed them all?"

"What else? Mercenaries aren't like sex dolls, can't solve problems with just words."

Hawthorne tossed a crude joke, clashing with his serious image, seemingly attempting to casually bridge the gap.

"No, uh, I mean, fuck, you're pretty badass."

John indeed felt shocked by the number.

Hawthorne remained calm, chuckling as if compared to other problems he's handled, this one was trivial.

John then asked.

"Who all wants to kill Angelica?"

"Eastern people, politicians, gangs, even arms dealers and intelligence peddlers, internal corporate opinions aren't that unified either…"

By company, Hawthorne referred to Jingke Heavy Industry.

"Hold on, you work for the company?"

"Haha, mercenaries do jobs for money. I just have a more stable payment account. Don't view me with the corporate dog lens; the world is vast, corporates' interpersonal networks are far more complex than you imagine."

Hawthorne cleaned the fingers of his hands from the blood at the corridor's sink.

He introduced leisurely.

There are many factions within the company, branches and roles are as complex as nerves, each system is independent and competitive, like a miniature Eden City. In the worldwide business map of Jingke Heavy Industry, Eden City is but a tiny part.

"The free will that mercenaries advocate is idealistic, costly, most just manage to scrape by."

Hawthorne flicked water, approached the hand dryer, and turned his head with a smile.

"This time, I'm here mainly to return a favor to Vito."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm offering you a long-term contract, not with the Black Gold Gang, but with Jingke Heavy Industry, secured by the European security department's special recruitment quota. Don't rush to decline; we'll provide top-notch medical services to help resolve some of your bodily troubles."

Hawthorne's eyes were very sincere, his words full of hints, as if he could see through John's secrets.

[Mission Objective Updated]

[Accept Saber's invitation. (Optional)]

[Decline Saber's invitation. (Optional)]

Mainline mission transition shows progress.

John realized that the choice now concerned his survival.

He had only ten days to live; scrimping might allow for some aftercare unless new clues emerged.

"I'm not interested."

But John bypassed Hawthorne, heading towards the distant rooms.

He didn't know how many of his secrets were in Jingke's grasp. The price behind the choice might not be any easier than death. Surrendering his life might make even seeking death difficult.

Pa.

John suddenly felt his shoulder weighed down, turned his head, and noticed a hand still damp from the wash.

"Getting rough because we can't agree? Not that surprising."

"You're overthinking it."

Hawthorne smiled and shook his head.

"You have no experience handling problems, best to listen to my advice."

As a mercenary, Hawthorne was only responsible for handing Angelica to John; technically, the commission was over.

"Those who want her dead won't quit just because I'm gone. Vito and I both doubt whether you can get him out of the city, so we've made some preparations."

Hawthorne retrieved a pre-prepared spare blanket from the hallway utility room.

He packaged the body in the corridor, disguised as a complete lady.

"When leaving, hold it tenderly like your own girl, place it in the passenger seat, fasten the seatbelt, then drive your flashy sports car as fast as possible so that everyone's attention is on you…"

Hawthorne tilted his head, indicating inside the room.

"She'll leave on her own."

"Do you think others are idiots? She'll still be tracked even if she leaves on her own!"

John wanted to rebut.

Hawthorne, like a patient senior, actually provided an explanation.

Safikar conducts dozens of rescue missions daily, the Floating City and ground support vehicles on standby.

Fifteen minutes after John leaves, a "platinum member" will experience an assault.

Angelica will follow Safikar's rescue team to the northernmost upscale apartment in Eden City.

There will be a gunfight at the transfer area.

The entire building will be shrouded in smoke.

At this time, a transport vehicle will be waiting in the underground parking lot, heading for the Border Wall, with two stowaways intending to leave via the Wanderer's channel.

But this is also a decoy.

Angelica will board a news broadcast hovercar at the accident scene, depart near the corporate headquarters, then transfer to a van equipped with full medical facilities and attendants.

"That's a real escape route. You lack the experience, admit it, then learn."

"…"

John couldn't refute such a setup.

He could learn, though he may not have the supporting resources. As a mercenary, especially as a Lone Wolf, it's a hard disadvantage to overcome.

Hawthorne seemed to intend to demonstrate the benefits of siding with the company by showcasing resources.

He didn't continue to extend the invitation, instead changing the topic.

"Is the gun that killed a Jingke executive still around? Heard it was a Raqi silencer."

"…"

John stayed silent, glancing toward the entrance.

Earlier, he placed the weapon bag on the reception desk.

"I'd like that gun as an extra payment for this commission, consider it my collection hobby."

"Didn't Vito pay you?"

"That's separate; you need to personally cover this part."

"… Strange, you want it, take it."

"Don't underestimate it; that gun killed a member of the Jingke board of directors and was wielded by you. Every weapon used by mercenaries during major events carries commemorative significance, a kind of gilding no accessory or modification can provide."

Hawthorne again patted his shoulder with a smile, picked up the suit jacket resting on the windowsill, and walked out.

"That's called a legend."

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