Right on Target (TARGET)
The car hurtled through the illusory figures of advertising stars like a heavy cannonball being flung away, crashing into another railing with a loud "bang" before skidding into a garden and landing with a thunderous impact.
Su Heting clung tightly to his seatbelt, his head slamming against the roof from the violent jolt. If his ears hadn’t drooped fast enough, the impact would have seriously injured him.
The car slid into a rose bush and stalled.
Su Heting’s chest heaved as he exchanged a glance with Xie Zenshu.
After a long pause, he asked, "We here?"
"Almost," Xie Zenshu pulled open the car door. "The rest of the way, I suggest we walk."
The biker on the overpass got off his motorcycle and stood by the railing, looking down.
The sky had darkened completely, and the buildings below were covered in projection ads. The light pollution in the Black Market was especially severe—the nightscape resembled a children’s amusement park, crammed with various holographic projections like a dazzling neon forest. The sports car that had plunged into this bustling district vanished instantly, as if swallowed by a kaleidoscope.
The vehicles on the overpass were all jammed in place, with clamoring voices rising from behind. The armed team’s aircraft landed smoothly, and several members jumped out to maintain order amid the blaring sirens.
One of the armed team members that were wearing a gas mask, spotted the biker and rushed toward him while shouting, "Armed team! Get down!"
The biker removed his helmet but didn’t comply—instead, he strode toward the armed team. As he walked, he raised his hands high, as if surrendering.
"Freeze!" The armed team member was a young guy, hesitant to fire recklessly and only trying to intimidate. "Stop! Or I’ll—"
The biker smashed his helmet into the young man’s face, knocking him flat. "F*cking bastard, ruined my damn ride."
He spat on the ground beside him, then yanked the dazed team member up before shoving his head forward. "Go on, shoot! Shoot me!" His eyes were blood-red—modified cybernetic eyes. He fixed the armed team member with a venomous glare, like a snake. "Call Monk right now. Tell him Viper’s waiting for him!"
The garden was fake.
All gardens in the Anti-System Survival Zone were fake. Nowadays, even vegetables couldn’t be grown, let alone flowers—these were just illusions the Black Market used to beautify the nightscape.
Su Heting pulled up his hood, stuffed his hands into his sweatshirt pockets, and followed Xie Zenshu.
They passed through the projections of roses, climbed over the railing, and turned onto the street to the right.
The street was filthy, with puddles of stagnant water everywhere. The buildings on either side were old, their age evident despite the countless neon signs hanging from them. The windows facing the street were barred with steel rods, like sealed coffins.
"Hey, cat," a group of Hybrids vaping e-cigarettes in the distance called out to Su Heting. "Wanna spend the night?"
Su Heting tilted his head slightly, revealing his face beneath the hood.
His nose was slightly red, and the scars from Monk’s rifle butt were still visible on his face. His expression was thoroughly displeased. "Say that again and I’ll knock your head sideways."
His modified eyes were a striking color, looking brand new.
New was frightening.
Because maintaining cybernetic implants required a fortune and in the Black Market, wealthy Hybrids fell into only two categories—those who worked for the big bosses, and regulars on the Colosseum rankings. To avoid being discarded as trash by the new world, they had to earn their keep with their lives.
The group quickly ducked their heads back.
Xie Zenshu suddenly turned, heading straight into an even darker alley.
There were no lights here, the ground riddled with potholes and rainwater puddles—hardly easy to walk through.
"Friend," Su Heting said, "you're only giving me the data now that we've arrived?"
Xie Zhenshen tossed the storage device he was holding to Su Heting.
"Thanks," Su Heting caught the device and stopped in his tracks as he watched Xie Zhenshen's retreating back. "We're strangers who just met—where exactly are you taking me?"
Xie Zhenshen also paused but didn’t turn around immediately. Instead, he reached out, grabbed a broken handle nearby, and yanked it hard.
A hidden door was revealed.
Light spilled out from inside, illuminating Xie Zhenshen’s hand. He turned slightly, giving Su Heting a glance that unmistakably said, "Come in or don’t, I don’t care."
"What’re you standing around for?" Suddenly, half a body leaned out from the door—it was the Hermit, holding up his oversized sleeves. "Get in here, both of you." He turned to Su Heting and patted the back of his head. "I was just piecing my head back together in the Safe Zone."
The Safe Zone was a cyberspace for Hybrids under the surveillance of the system, where the Hermit had gotten his head blown off. Unlike the Punishment Zone, injuries there didn’t affect the real world—you could die a few times without consequence.
Xie Zhenshen had already ducked inside.
Only then did Su Heting notice how tall Xie Zhenshen was—taller than him. He followed suit, about to duck as well, but realized it wasn’t necessary.
"Glad you made it," the Hermit carefully secured the door behind them. "I was really worried you’d get caught."
Inside was stiflingly hot—a cramped bar with an advertisement screen flickering in the corner, packed with Hybrids.
"Let me introduce everyone," the Hermit guided Su Heting to a seat. "This is my buddy, Little Cat. Cat, these are all friends."
Su Heting didn’t remove his hood, giving only a slight nod in greeting.
He wasn’t fond of making friends, especially not with those whose gazes lacked courtesy. He could hide his ears, but not his tail. That tail, exposed for all to see, marked him as a beast-type Hybrid.
Hybrids with animal traits usually stuck to the bottom two levels of the trading grounds, rarely appearing in the colosseum.
"All my intel comes from here," the Hermit sat across from Su Heting at the narrow table, which barely fit two glasses of water. He spoke in a hushed voice, "Did you get the data?"
Xie Zhenshen sat right behind Su Heting, their chairs so close they were practically back-to-back.
Su Heting held up the storage device and lowering his voice as if to keep Xie Zhenshen from hearing. "What is this?"
"The data," the Hermit widened his eyes. "You haven’t looked at it yet?"
"No time," Su Heting said. "I’ll check now."
He flicked his tail, the tip transforming into an interface that connected seamlessly with the storage device.
The upload took just a second.
There were no text files—only a short, blurry video clip that was clearly recorded under abnormal circumstances.
[Several people carried a stretcher through a midnight downpour, with a white sheet draped over it. But the outline beneath wasn’t a complete corpse—it was severed limbs. A surveillance camera flashed somewhere, and someone turned to look directly at the lens.]
The footage began to shake—the person recording had realized they were exposed and started running.
[The sound of ragged breathing lasted only seconds before the recorder was struck down.]
But the video didn’t end there.
【The peeping tom was dragged toward the stretcher and overturned it in his struggle. What lay beneath the white sheet tumbled out—two legs. The stumps were still smeared with fresh blood, newly severed. One leg bore the tattoo "Titan Clan," while the other read "Safe Passage".】
Su Heting was captivated by the footage in the storage device—he had seen those legs before.
"Sichuan Mahjong invites you to fight to the death!"
An advertisement blared like thunder right beside his ear.
Su Heting reacted like a cat startled by a cucumber. His thigh slammed into the table, toppling the water glass. He jerked his leg back reflexively, sending his chair crashing backward.
Xie Zhenshu, who had just stood up behind him, wasn’t hit, but Su Heting tipped over backward.
"Hey!" The Hermit reached out but grabbed nothing.
Su Heting’s hood lifted slightly—Xie Zhenshu had already caught him by the scruff.
"Ah—" The Hermit wanted to praise Xie Zhenshu but hesitated after glancing at Su Heting’s expression. Stuck in awkward silence, he blurted out a stiff, "Nice!"
As if on cue, the spilled water on the table drenched Su Heting’s pants.
Author's Note:
①: "Ruined my damn plan."
This time, our Sichuan dialect consultants were Xiao Luo and Xiao Yu again~
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