22. It Has Begun, 2075

"Boss, leave the items for a moment; we'll be back to retrieve them shortly."

Carl said this as he walked toward the door. He wasn't entirely sure what was happening outside, but since Oliver’s car was parked not far from the entrance, he had to check if it was alright. If the vehicle were damaged, they would have to carry their goods back on foot.

Looking out through the shattered door, Carl saw a street descending into chaos. In the middle of the road, a burly man with yellow hair styled in a pompadour and wearing sunglasses was firing a Military-Tech MK.31 heavy machine gun at a truck that had been intercepted.

Closer to Carl’s side of the street lay two familiar-looking corpses, their bodies riddled with bullet holes and scattered with Eurodollars. Given the pattern of the wounds, it appeared these robbers, who had just held up the Braindance shop, had fallen victim to some collateral misfortune.

"What’s going on?" Jack crowded up to the doorway to peer outside, only to shrink back immediately upon seeing the scene. "A heavy machine gun? What kind of mess is this?"

"My car!" Oliver spotted his vehicle outside. There was a clear bullet dent on the door, likely struck by a stray round from the skirmish near the truck. Seeing the damage, his eyes reddened instantly. "That was a birthday gift from my sister!"

"What’s the call?" Carl tightened his grip on his weapon, his left hand instinctively brushing against the grenade he had scavenged from the Maelstrom gang. "Should we take out both sides?"

With the grenade, he was confident he could handle targets even with subcutaneous armor like the Maelstrom members, not to mention that Jack was currently carrying a Crusher shotgun on his back.

"You're too aggressive." Oliver wasn't about to kill someone just because his car got a dent in the crossfire. The guy with the heavy machine gun and the people shooting back from the truck were clearly not to be trifled with; he could still stomach such a minor loss. After all, those with heavy weaponry had the right to be unreasonable, and Oliver happened to be a reasonable man.

"Too aggressive?" Carl felt his reaction was measured. Compared to his compatriots who liked to wipe out entire families and root out the source of every problem at the drop of a hat, he was actually quite conservative. As the saying went: who said we like to kill entire families—I’m going to kill his whole family...

The firefight outside concluded faster than expected. As the driver of the truck scrambled out to return fire at the yellow-haired brute, a group of people—seemingly allies of the gunman—flanked the vehicle.

The first to open fire among them was a man with a black mohawk, wielding a Copperhead rifle with a mechanical arm. Following closely behind was a pale, petite girl with green twin-tails, armed with a pink M-76e Omaha pistol. With their help, the transport crew trapped by the truck lasted less than three seconds before collapsing, never to rise again.

"Maine!" After finishing off the men by the truck, the green-haired girl waved at the big man. "All clear!"

"Rebecca." The yellow-haired man called Maine nodded at the girl from a distance before beckoning to the mohawked man beside her. "Pilar, hurry up and grab the goods; we’re moving out."

"You got it." Watching the trio move with professional efficiency at the back of the truck, Jack remarked, "Looks like they're mercenaries, just like us."

"Then there’s nothing left to see." Carl turned back to collect his Braindance gear and headset. "Do you want to fix your car first, Oliver?"

"It’s fine. I can hammer out this dent myself. Let’s head to the apartment."

During their exchange, after the shop owner had finished packing up his Braindances, he scurried out to gather the Eurodollars lying near the corpses—those were his, after all, and he had to get them back.

As Carl and Jack squeezed back into the passenger seats and Oliver started the engine, the mercenary crew led by Maine secured their prize from the truck. As they retreated, Oliver’s car drove past the scene. Maine glanced at the passing vehicle without much interest, though Carl gave him a lingering look from the passenger seat.

*That guy’s subcutaneous armor is quite impressive. To be able to stand in the middle of the road and trade fire for that long...*

The thought flickered through his mind and vanished. Such a minor interlude couldn't hold Carl's attention for long.

Oliver drove all the way to the Megabuilding without further incident. They contacted the property manager and began discussing the lease. The Megabuilding was owned by a corporation, and the manager was essentially just a corporate cog, yet they were as stingy with commissions as any landlord. After reviewing a mountain of clauses and warnings, Oliver and Carl signed for apartments on the fourth and fifth floors at a rate of 1,000 Eurodollars a month. Oliver had hoped to be neighbors, but with only one unit left on the fourth floor, he was forced to settle for the one above Carl.

The apartments came furnished, allowing them to move in immediately—though given the corporate management, one could be sure there were hidden costs to every amenity.

"A private phone requires a 10-euro startup fee, plus 0.75 euros per minute of talk time. The TV requires a 50-euro deposit, and then it’s 1 euro per hour of use. And there’s a vending machine inside the room... good grief, they’ve managed to turn the rooms into storefronts too."

Carl walked up to the vending machine and spent 15 euros on three small cans of Cola. He tossed two to Jack and Oliver. He didn't care much for the taste, but since the vending machine—likely due to corporate monopolies—offered nothing else, he had to settle for the teeth-gritting sweetness of the soda.

"How does it feel, Carl?" Jack lounged on the sofa, his first time in such an apartment.

"Overall, it’s livable."

"Just livable?" Oliver hadn't had a chance to check his own unit yet, but since the layouts were identical, he was surprised by Carl's nonchalant attitude. "I haven't lived in a place better than this since I struck out on my own at eighteen."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-four. I told you that when we first met, remember?"

"Forgot."

*Can't even afford a 1,000-euro-a-month apartment after six years of independence? Your life has been truly miserable.*

Having landed in this world only yesterday, Carl felt no sense of achievement in living in such a place. Regardless, looking at Oliver and Jack sprawled out on the sofa like salted fish, Carl popped his tab and took a sip.

"Glug."

"So sweet."

His story in 2075 had officially begun.