The Thug Leif

"Ahahahahaha! Ahahahahaha!" Vili lay in Enoch's truck bed, eyes rolled back as he stared at the sky. "People! People! Hahaha... so many people... this is so much fun... Aaaaaah! Hahahahaha!"

"Useless." Enoch was thoroughly annoyed. He truly hadn't expected Vili to be so incapable.

The Dyson Principles prohibited the production and sale of most addictive substances. Violators would lose protection. Ethanol was permitted for personal use, but when used for non-fuel purposes, intake was strictly limited to no more than 0.3 percent of one's body weight.

However, certain good things that were "physiologically non-addictive" could still be sold.

For example, injecting testosterone directly past the blood-brain barrier while using electrical currents to stimulate the brain.

Apparently, this had become a tradition long ago, dating back to when the Dyson Principles first appeared. Traditional men would do it after finishing a martial arts game or watching a sporting event.

Enoch especially loved it. Before reaching puberty, he had already become heavy machinery. Logically, he no longer possessed organs that secreted testosterone, nor did he have many parts that required testosterone regulation [such as bones and muscles].

Under normal circumstances, he should have gone his entire life without developing any concept of the "opposite sex."

Enoch would never forget the first time he received that service from a technician. As that tube of fluid entered his brain, he felt as though he had been set ablaze. It was a sensation he had never experienced before, one he did not know how to describe. The chaotic electrical currents released by his biological brain bewildered his mechanical body.

He didn't know...

There had been an impulse, as though he wanted to destroy this body and burst from the cocoon.

He could not even remember how he had returned to town that day. He must have crashed into something. Yulia had scolded him then. The instincts in his genes told him that he wanted to enter Yulia's database... or something else. He wanted to access... wanted to...

That injection must have driven him mad.

That was why Enoch could so readily understand Vili's current state. The poor fellow had no money; perhaps he had never experienced anything like this before?

Enoch had spent quite a bit of money at the service station over the years. Even bringing Vili here this time, he did not feel too pained over the expense. Besides "being with Yulia," his dream was to become a "regular customer" of the service station owner. Apparently, the owner possessed some visual research materials from humans of the old era. They were extremely mysterious, and only a few regulars could glimpse them.

He wanted to join those people...

Bang!

A hollow impact rang out.

Enoch was somewhat irritated. Although he lacked tactile sensors, his other detection equipment was fairly sensitive. His driving system indicated that his body had suddenly gained roughly two hundred kilograms of weight. Combined with that sound, there was only one possible answer.

A pulley rider had latched onto him again.

Pulley riders were a gang of petty thugs—scoundrels and hooligans. Most of them loafed around and survived by running errands for others. Enoch had never considered it respectable work. Most could not afford proper power systems, so they hitched rides using a vacuum cup, a set of chains, and a family of pulleys.

Everyone in transportation hated these parasitic creatures that clung to people at the drop of a hat.

Enoch pulled up a map and began recalling the nearby routes, looking for a turn—preferably a sharp one—that could neatly fling the pulley rider away.

Under such circumstances, even if the pulley rider was thrown to his death, it would not violate the Dyson Principles. What pulley riders did was "using the owner's resources without the owner's consent"—in this case, specifically, fuel. Such conduct would not cause a pulley rider to lose protection, but it was not conduct deserving of protection. If the owner caused the pulley rider's death while retaliating, the owner would not lose protection.

But then came several clank, clank, clank sounds. The suction cup seemed to have come loose and then reattached itself to him. Each time, it landed farther forward than before.

What the hell?

Enoch jumped in fright and slammed on the brakes. A black figure shot past him. Vili was flung from the truck bed almost at the same time, hitting the ground with a smack. Then Enoch's left wheel turned forward and his right wheel turned backward as he made an emergency turn.

But a suction cup had already latched onto his front end.

As the winch tightened, a short silver prosthetic body with four arms drew close. "Hey, dear friend Enoch, stop, would you?"

The man's voice was very refined. Enoch had originally intended to swing his front end around and ram him, but the other's actions stopped that thought.

A half-meter-long gun barrel was aimed directly at the area containing his biological brain.

It was a modern electromagnetic firearm. Before recoil could even push the muzzle back, it could fire several rounds. Those bullets were like a discontinuous alloy spear, more than enough to tear through the shell of civilian machinery like his.

Enoch was so nervous that his engine emitted a humming whine. "Mr. Leif... I'm sorry, I... I just didn't recognize you!"

He knew this man. His name was Leif, and he had lost protection many years ago for murder.

Losing protection was a terrible thing. It meant that anyone could kill you without losing their own protection. The lords and the warriors under them would not stop anyone from killing you, either.

On top of that, only if you did anything else that conflicted with the Dyson Principles would the lord issue a wanted order for you.

In other words, losing protection did not mean "death." It merely meant that the greatest violent organization in the world would no longer stop others from killing you.

Whether it was reciprocal revenge, blood revenge, or anything else, it was all permitted.

Under such circumstances, any thug who could survive possessed some real ability.

Killing someone who had lost protection would not cause one to lose civilization's protection.

Therefore, around cities and within settlements, "civilization and order" still existed.

But in the wilderness far from the cities, savagery was the theme.

The thugs who had fled into the wilderness after losing protection to evade pursuit would slaughter one another there.

Then they would band together for warmth, licking one another's wounds.

That was what a "thug" was.

Those thugs capable of surviving there were mostly warriors, and even the lesser ones knew a trick or two of martial arts.

They were not people ordinary citizens could afford to provoke.

Enoch even knew the thug before him. Leif's prosthetic body was short, less than five meters tall, but stocky. The bright red "Z" mark on his head was his pass to run wild without restraint.

Enoch had seen him at the service station. However, Leif, who had retained more biological organs, never enjoyed the services alongside large machines like Enoch. He usually went to the one next door. Enoch had never dared provoke these thugs. Only once, on a whim, Leif had come to the service station for heavy machinery and had his brain injected.

"Vulgar! Hollow! But it feels damn good!" Leif had said after coming back to himself.

Enoch had been parked in the bay beside Leif at the time. He had gathered his courage and said, "Yeah."

That was the extent of their acquaintance, all of it within the service station. Sometimes Leif would also come to this service station, give his brain a shot of testosterone, and then stimulate it with several milliamps through electrodes. But that depended entirely on Leif's mood. Enoch was very attentive toward this formidable man. If they happened to be parked next to each other, while electrical signals were still racing through their brains, Leif would occasionally chat with Enoch for a bit, telling him tales of murder, arson, and the wilderness.

Whenever that happened, Enoch felt rather impressive himself. These thugs might have lost civilization's protection, but they were still alive, and some of them even lived quite freely. They were strong.

And being able to chat with someone so formidable made him far superior to the townsfolk.

Before Leif, he truly did not dare show the slightest disrespect.

"Mr. Leif, what brings you into the city this time?" Enoch desperately adjusted the parameters of his voice generator, trying to make himself sound more obedient. "When we were having fun at the service station earlier, did we not see you? Did we fail to greet you?"

"Oh, dear brother Enoch, saying that makes it sound as though I came into the city just to enjoy some services." Leif tapped his forehead. "Our boss checks memories too. Aren't you getting me into trouble?"

"I... I..." Enoch felt his clutch engaging and disengaging abnormally. He was deeply uneasy.

If he had not known Leif, he might have been frightened into an error already.

"Don't be like that, don't be like that, friend." Leif warmly removed the suction cup and patted Enoch's front end. "Nothing will happen just because you talk to someone like me, someone who has lost civilization's protection. Don't be afraid."

Losing protection merely meant losing protection. Human citizens had no obligation to kill these thugs, nor did they have any obligation to stay away from them. How they treated them was entirely up to them—truly, anything went. They could kill them, deceive them out of their private property without receiving any negative evaluation, do business with them, or even befriend them.

Some thugs who considered themselves highly skilled would also come into the city. They did indeed face all sorts of attacks, but anyone wanting to kill them had to consider the cost as well.

The thugs came into the city to shop, make repairs, and enjoy services.

Naturally, they also gathered information.

These thugs still had to follow certain rules. For instance, they could not casually attack settlements protected by lords. They remained alive only because the lords and other warriors believed their crimes were insufficient, and that the cost of exterminating them would be too high.

But once they crossed a certain line and made a lord decide that they "ought to be killed," those thugs were finished.

They would occasionally attack individuals in the wilderness, concealing themselves throughout the process. But they would absolutely never attack protected settlements.

But when a settlement lost civilization's protection... heh heh.

"Brother Enoch, I just heard something. Something very interesting." Leif smiled. "I remember you're from the recycling station town, right?"