When they walked into the nightclub, the eyes of a large number of mercenaries settled on the three of them, and the scanners updated their profiles once more.
Outsiders didn't know, but the locals did: these three big shots were outrageously capable. Hopefully, we won't end up fighting them on a job.
There were a lot more people here than usual. The locals had the advantage of being close by, and outside mercenaries weren't allowed in to look for work, so the local mercs had access to this information first.
But this money wasn't easy to earn.
"I told you to get your ass over here! If you don't come over and operate on him, I'll be the first to put a bullet in you when I get out!"
"What? You can't even protect yourself? You just wait, you bastard!"
In an open booth, Lier saw a man lying on the table, barely clinging to life.
His neck had been fitted with reinforced components, but they'd been smashed to pieces. It looked like some kind of high-temperature blade had cut through it; the edges were charred black and clean.
His companions were gathered around him. Some were crouched on the floor, and some had lost an arm. Their team leader was anxiously making calls beside the table, contacting every ripperdoc he could reach.
But
The man on the table wasn't going to make it. That was Lier's assessment.
By the time they reached Rog's booth, the Queen of the Afterlife had already been waiting for them for a while.
Clearly, she knew exactly what had happened at the entrance. As soon as Lier walked in, she spoke.
"The one you killed just now was called Arctic Wolf. His team was the Icefield Hunters, from Oslo. They were pretty well known