My Cyber Psychosis is Task Prompt

He laughed heartily.

The entire blind auction was sold out, with no unsold numbers. Coupled with internal collusion, John's bidding, and intelligence guidance, the final profits would be substantial.

Old Chris was that kind of businessman.

Click.

Another new cigar.

The obese middleman readjusted his flesh on the sofa, stamped his feet, and someone came to groom his beard, wipe his body, and brought in contraband drugs with complex ingredients.

The venue became noisy.

Those customers who successfully bid stood up from their booths, returning to the surface through hidden roller doors around them, with many routes, each guarded by bodyguards.

This is how illegal venues work.

The entrance is very small and strict, but there are many exits, and they are mostly one-way.

"John, don't be in a hurry to leave."

Old Chris stopped him.

"There are many kinds of middlemen; I am the business type, so I don't like to offend people. If you have a grudge with those corporate dogs from before, don't resolve it in Palmer, at least, stay away from the warehouse district."

"You care about that?"

"Of course, rules and reputation are important. What I rent out is not just a warehouse, but a harbor. Similarly, what I sell is a treasure full of surprises and dangers, but it must not be a trap where you enter and never return, as this will affect my business."

Chris raised a bottle of liquid comparable to industrial alcohol as a gesture, his artificial eye peeking out from a gap above his laser sunglasses.

"What do you think?"

[Promise not to cause trouble. (Optional)]

[Make no promise. (Optional)]

"I'll see to it."

John gave a worthless promise.

Old Chris nodded earnestly.

He waved his hand, and someone brought over a ticket, much more exquisite than the one seen before.

It was black with gold edges, equipped with a bio-information binder.

The security showed the item clearly and explained its use, placing it into a fine sealed box in front of John.

[Item: Blind Auction Ticket [Limited Edition]]

[Description: High-end illegal trade invitation, a rare commodity circulating in the black market, it allows participation in some large temporary auctions or premeditated illegal gambling, with both higher risks and rewards.]

Old Chris didn't speak definitively.

Every middleman has risk management and deterrence mechanisms; some are tough, while others prefer benefits and bribes.

As a businessman, he was clearly the latter.

But that doesn't mean Chris is easy to deal with.

Even in blind auctions, you might encounter bold rookies bidding without money, or those coming to cause trouble, or failed bidders resorting to offline robbery.

A middleman must impose appropriate punishments.

Fortunately, Palmer is not short of Ghouls and Rift Party members, plenty of professionals for killing as a warning and destroying evidence.

John escorted Oulos out of the auction site through a rusty roller door.

He confirmed there was no one following behind them, lifted the box containing the ticket, and said to Oulos.

"The middleman gave us a gift, so tell me if you want to kill or kidnap that corporate dog. If things really escalate, we'll have to confront them head-on."

"Hmm?"

Oulos feigned confusion.

"I never said I wanted to kill anyone, though this thing is nice. If there's time, it could be a good way to relax."

"You came for this?"

John frowned.

"What exactly is it for?"

"A toy."

Oulos replied calmly.

Her steps were slow, her cloak covering her glasses, and her high, thick-soled leather shoes splashed gently in puddles.

John realized immediately.

Oulos was contemplating.

She hadn't found what she wanted.

The scene fell silent.

The two walked side by side, with manhole covers above them.

Sunlight pierced through steam and the alley's crowds, leaving segments of light in the spacious industrial transport duct.

When they walked into the shadows, a faint yellow glow appeared—Oulos's artificial eye flashing, as various information gathered in this middleman's hands.

There are many kinds of middlemen.

Old Chris was a businessman, limited in level, his circles mainly among street hustlers and traders.

Oulos was clearly a more formidable type.

John let his thoughts wander, raising his head as a series of manhole covers passed by overhead.

Water clung to the lattice edges.

Drip, drip...

Oulos suddenly stopped.

She processed the information and once again smiled, like a sexy doll reconnecting after a line cut, returning to her role.

Oulos took the box from John's hand, helped him bind his bio-information, jiggled the soft metal ticket, flipped it playfully, then disdainfully stuffed it into John's pocket.

Clang.

The empty box was casually tossed into the corner of the sewer.

"What a pity, you're almost done for, as a mercenary, and you haven't even participated in a real blind auction."

Oulos's tone was full of mockery.

She turned around, walking backward in the duct, introducing the advanced gameplay behind blind auctions to John.

This vibrant neon city was alive.

Mercenaries and middlemen busied themselves constantly, resources gathered and vanished, leaving behind undiscovered or hard-to-obtain treasures in city corners.

Old Chris wasn't entirely bluffing.

Those vanished street legends do leave some heritages in hidden places, perhaps behind a power-cut roller door, or in a concealed lab beneath the wasteland.