Jackie Welles

The Afterlife bar in the Heywood district was not hard to find. After all, in a place packed with government buildings like City Hall, the Mayor's Office, the courthouse, and NCPD Headquarters, a bar that looked utterly out of place among them was far too conspicuous.

After parking by the roadside, Oliver hesitated over whether to put on the bulletproof vest he had bought after dividing the money yesterday. He had grown up in a neighborhood controlled by the Sixth Street Gang and had even been a "former" Sixth Street Gang member. Although many people in the gang claimed to have decent private relations with the Valentinos gang, he was still somewhat afraid of them.

Who knew whether the Valentinos gathered in this bar would kill him just because of his former Sixth Street Gang status?

While Oliver was hesitating, Carl had already deftly slipped a bulletproof vest beneath her clothes.

Once she was dressed, Carl gave Oliver a puzzled look. "What are you hesitating for? We're here to find an employer. Mercenaries going on a job without basic defensive implants or a bulletproof vest? If I were the employer, I'd think they were idiots."

That was true.

Only then did Oliver realize that his old gang mentality was still affecting him. Back when he had been a civilian—or rather, a gang member—in Santo Domingo district, the whole territory had belonged to the Sixth Street Gang, so there had been no need to stay on guard all day. But now he was an unemployed mercenary. If mercenaries did not show off their equipment and demonstrate their strength, were they supposed to attract employers with their faces?

They were not famous legendary mercenaries. Those mercenaries could wear a shirt, hold a pistol in one hand and another "pistol" in the other, then cut their way through crowds with ease. Jobs sought them out, not the other way around. Naturally, they did not need to dress defensively; they could simply wear whatever looked coolest. Oliver could not pull that off, so he had to dress in whatever way made him look threatening.

He put on his own bulletproof vest and threw a jacket over it, then tucked his Nova revolver into its holster. Copying what he had seen in movies, he left the holster unfastened so he could draw it instantly. It also left part of the grip exposed, allowing others to recognize the quality of the gun.

Real men used Novas. They were damn fierce.

Completely unaware that his partner could have so many thoughts just from holstering a gun, Carl simply tucked her Lexington into its holster. After some hesitation, she decided not to bring the Copperhead assault rifle from the trunk.

They were only entering a bar. A handgun was enough. Bringing an assault rifle inside would look a little too much like they were there to pick a fight.

Once they were fully prepared, the two newcomers to the mercenary world stepped into the Afterlife bar under the curious gazes of the Valentinos street members milling around outside.

The moment they entered, they could clearly feel that the lighting inside was dimmer than outside. Unlike the streets, which were covered in densely packed advertisements everywhere, the Afterlife only had a few fluorescent lights on. If not for the brightly lit bar counter and the scattered groups drinking inside, they might have wondered whether the bar even opened during the day.

Standing behind the counter was an elderly woman in a leather jacket with a head full of white hair. Though she looked quite old, she seemed remarkably energetic. If one did not notice her hair at first glance, it would be hard to guess her age.

"Oh, two kids I haven't seen before."

Seeing Carl and Oliver enter from outside, the elderly woman greeted them. "You're a little early, but you're welcome anyway. What can I get you?"

"Mrs. Welles—I'll have another bottle of Blue Mood Vodka."

Before Carl and Oliver could speak, a customer at a distant table raised his hand and asked for another bottle.

"No, Ernesto. You've already had one bottle today. Don't you have something to do tonight? Go sober up."

"How can you do this? I was planning to have a drink with Jackie when he got back."

"Jackie can't drink either."

As Mrs. Welles spoke with the man who was obviously a Valentinos gang member from his clothes alone, Carl heard a very familiar name.

Jackie?

Could it be that Jackie, Jackie Welles?

If it was that Jackie, Carl knew him quite well. In the demo, Jackie had been V's close friend and partner.

It was probably just a coincidence. The same name.

Jackie was a fairly common name.

As she thought that, Mrs. Welles turned back toward them. "So, what would you like to drink, kids?"

"I'll have a bottle of Buddy Lager."

Oliver immediately chose a low-alcohol drink that should not affect their ability to take jobs.

"Alright, one lager. And you?"

Under the gaze of the kindly spoken elderly woman, Carl thought for a moment. Her eyes swept over the menu on the counter, and she picked a drink that seemed to have Chinese writing on its label.

"I'll have a sweet tea, and a serving of fries."

"Then find a place to sit. I'll bring them over in a moment."

Mrs. Welles nodded, turned around, and began searching through the liquor cabinet behind the bar. Oliver pulled Carl toward a spot where they could see anyone coming through the entrance.

"You came to a bar and only ordered a non-alcoholic drink. You even got fries. I wish I could be like you."

Compared to beer, Oliver actually preferred beverages, but he felt that it would be strange not to order alcohol at a bar. Carl, on the other hand, did not care about that at all.

"Then I can share some fries with you later."

"Sure. I'll eat yours first, then order some more after we finish and share those too. I love getting fries."

"I'm more curious about what the fries are made of."

As long as they were not bugs.

While waiting, the two looked around the bar. They found that most of the people were simply drinkers. Only a small number were like them—mercenaries who had ordered something while waiting, weapons hanging at their waists, bulletproof vests on their bodies, or obvious Subdermal Armor implants beneath their skin.

Well, at least Oliver's father had been right about being able to find work here. There really were plenty of mercenaries waiting for jobs. They just all looked like bottom-tier mercenaries like them, the sort who did not even have a fixer.

Oliver lowered his voice. "Honestly, fixers are basically just like mercenaries. There are the most badass fixers who can interfere with corporate affairs, and there are fixers whose jobs only involve dealing with minor trash or neighborhood feuds. But mercenaries who cannot even get work through the lowest-level fixers are pretty damn miserable."

As he said this, he did not realize at all that he and Carl were among the miserable mercenaries he was talking about.

"Who knows?"

Carl casually brushed off Oliver's words, but out of the corner of her eye, she spotted someone entering the Afterlife bar. When she realized he looked somewhat familiar, she instinctively looked over.

The man entering was a huge, muscular figure who blocked out the sunlight shining in from outside all by himself. He wore black braids, with obvious cybernetic modification marks along both sides of his face. His leather jacket hung open, exposing a chest covered in tattoos. He looked like someone nobody would want to mess with.

This person was—

Jackie Welles!