Chapter 547 - 361: A Cautionary Tale (Part 5)

"So... money."

John concluded.

He transferred all his funds into the restaurant account, completely emptying his savings.

"Don’t worry too much, Boss."

Gerry helped ease John’s mental pressure. "The restaurant is rebuilt, and we can soon open for business, everything will get back on track!"

The serious conversation was over.

John and Gerry had a beer, and just as John was about to talk a bit more with the employees, he received a call from an unknown contact.

Gerry, being considerate, quickly left and let John sit alone at the bar.

The call was connected.

A familiar voice came through — Bone Shards.

[I heard you’ve got everything set up, when are you opening?]

John didn’t feel any warmth—the use of a temporary account indicated something troublesome that required hidden identity.

But he wouldn’t hang up the call.

Currently in need of funds, he couldn’t refuse work.

"Yeah, once the kitchen is ready, I’ll send you a takeout number."

John was obviously joking.

Bone Shards chuckled lightly in response and spoke directly.

[There’s a job nearby needing mercenaries urgently. If you’re interested, bring your gear and drive to the coordinates in the email immediately.]

Bone Shards sounded very casual.

Clearly, despite seeking John for work, he didn’t seem bothered whether John accepted or not, indicating that, contrary to Bone Shards, this deal was more vital for John.

[Series task Operator: Property Contract (13min43s↓)]

[Reward: Original Authorization Document [EI-674-04], payment]

The text popped up.

This was a task from the Operator series.

John noticed a countdown beside, and from past experience, if he didn’t act by the time it ran out, he wouldn’t have any chance to regret.

"I’m in, who’s the target?"

John waved goodbye to the employees and left the restaurant alone.

He started the Eisenberg supercar, importing the address from Bone Shards into the map.

[Task Target Updated]

[Proceed to Task Location. (Not Achieved)]

The coordinate was somewhere in the West District, just a few minutes’ drive.

Bone Shards kept the call uncut, confirming John’s progress to the site, and started chatting idly.

[At first, I thought you’d surely die in some street conflict, but Vito always believed you’d be limitless in potential, John, you suit that old man.]

Bone Shards stopped pretending in front of John, admitting they were cohorts with Vito.

[Thus, when you said you wanted to lease the restaurant, I casually picked a spot. Didn’t mean to, but this place does have some... historical problems. It’s officially under the Black Gold Gang, but effectively it’s Jingke Heavy Industry’s asset.]

Before John, there had been a legitimate commercial scam at this shop.

Some tenant leased the place, but the contract had snares—the actual fees and subsequent rents were astronomical, even surrendering most profits wouldn’t cover the initial interests.

Handling this was a certain business department chief from Jingke Heavy Industry, exploiting this scheme to drain tenants quickly, leaving them without options but to return the shop to the company.

"Why am I not surprised at all."

[Those in a rush pay quickly; that unfortunate tenant driven mad, truly insane, sold everything he owned and got a prosthetic body from a black clinic.]

"What was he trying to do?"

[Obviously, five minutes ago, he was driving a stolen cargo truck and blocked a Jingke Heavy Industry commercial vehicle, the police channels are in chaos full of cyber psychosis reports.]

ECPD, lazy during gang wars, hadn’t dispatched any officers yet.

"Hey, hang on."

John instinctively slowed down. "You couldn’t possibly want me onsite?"

[Exactly.]

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

[Why rush? I didn’t ask you to deal with that cyber psycho; he’s pitiful and unfortunate enough already. I fully sympathize, so I’m sending you to assist.]

John was left baffled.

Bone Shards continued.

[His poor-quality prosthetic body didn’t suffice; you go in and give a few shots, ensuring those corporate dogs at the scene get what’s due, help him fulfill his revenge, remember, leave no alive.]

John raised an eyebrow, the car fell silent.

Soon he reached the scene.

This was an asphalt road under an overhead bridge.

The cement bridge stretched overhead, covering most of the city’s neon lights, water trickling down from both sides converged into the road’s center, shimmering under the high beams.

Two cars lay on the site, flipped.

John approached the grotesque cargo truck, locating the first involved person.

The previous tenant was a middle-aged man, closely aged to Gerry, his weathered appearance somewhat similar.

His upper garment burnt through, revealing fierce, fresh surgical scars, two mechanical arms spliced onto him, every component crude, looked wild but actually incredibly shoddy.

The black clinic knew he was on a suicide mission, not willing to part with quality gear.

The man was still alive... maybe? But certainly mad, vehicle collision transformed the driver’s seat into a distorted trap, firmly confining him in twisted metal.

The arm didn’t work as intended.

John grabbed the door, pulled it open with a "bang".

The man stormed out, unaware, charging toward the commercial car like a beast.

The crash caused his prosthetic body to overload.

The internal heat gradually shattered each bone; within steps, a complete breakdown, dissolving outright on the road.