13. Industrial Zone

Since we were heading to deal with the Whirlpool Gang, proper preparations had to be made—such as...

Getting Jack, that bare-chested fellow, a bulletproof vest.

“I thought at the very least you’d have some bulletproof plates sewn into your clothes—so when needed, you could just zip up your jacket. But you’re telling me you don’t even wear a bulletproof vest when you’re not wearing leather armor?”

Even though they were already inside the weapon shop, Oliver still couldn’t comprehend Jack’s reckless nature and careless attitude. Victor had reminded even first-time visitors like them, so someone like Jack, an old acquaintance, must have been warned countless times. Plus, Jack was a mercenary who understood the importance of armor safety. Yet here he was, completely unprotected.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Karl chimed in, criticizing Jack’s reckless disregard for his life. If this were a game, he might understand; after all, characters were often designed to look as exposed as possible for aesthetics. But there were two problems: one, Jack was a man; two, this was reality now. Wearing the same outfit as in the game was a bit too much.

Karl wasn’t familiar with the game’s storyline, but he was certain Jack would pay the price for this.

Though bulletproof vests and plates couldn’t compare to subdermal armor implants and couldn’t defend against many gun types, they were sufficient against basic kinetic weapons. Take Karl’s trusty Lexington pistol, for example—wearing a bulletproof vest meant even a direct hit wouldn’t penetrate deeply, leaving enough time to rush to the hospital for treatment.

“That’s why I came with you guys,” Jack said indifferently. Since his two friends strongly insisted he wear a bulletproof vest, he’d come along. Originally, he planned to save up for subdermal armor, skipping the vest stage altogether, since a decent vest cost quite a bit of euro.

Of course, Jack had been putting off buying subdermal armor for a long time. Every time he saved some money, he’d spend it on other things—motorcycle parts, books, and the like. The armor purchase just kept getting delayed.

“But if I’m getting a vest, KK, aren’t you thinking of changing your gun?” Jack eyed the pistol strapped to Karl’s waist. “The Lexington is just used by low-tier NCPD cops because the higher-ups are corrupt and broke. Even shooting the weakest subdermal armor with this pistol won’t penetrate.”

“A low-tier pistol? That fits us low-level mercs just fine,” Karl replied, unmoved. When he scavenged weapons from fallen Whirlpool and Six Street gang members, most guns were either broken from lack of maintenance or so heavily modified they were unusable by others. But a few were decent, like the Constitution Arms standard-issue pistol—twelve rounds, decent power, and reliable. Karl just preferred his Lexington and hadn’t planned to switch.

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If the pistol rounds weren’t powerful enough, there was always the Copperhead assault rifle. The pistol’s purpose was convenience—easy to carry and quick to fire at close range. If you needed power, you’d use something else.

Even if forced to fight with a pistol, Karl was confident he could shoot through any unprotected spot on his opponent’s body. He refused to believe that a few Whirlpool gang thugs would be decked out in full-body armor.

After buying enough equipment and ammunition at the weapons shop, the three boarded Oliver’s car and headed toward the Whirlpool Gang’s stronghold.

The place lay in the northern industrial district of Watson. This area once provided abundant jobs. Back then, the official description would have called it vibrant and thriving. Now, it was a living quarter for low-level factory workers.

They earned meager wages and labored seventeen hours a day in factories that had long been automated. They didn’t understand that machines required maintenance, and that repair costs could outweigh human lives. They only knew to be grateful to factory owners while working themselves to exhaustion, fearful of being fired.

Who could say otherwise? The bosses treated them like disposable resources, yet the workers were thankful just to have jobs, lest their families starve. If Karl were to judge, he could only say it was helplessness.

What else could they do?

Should he feel happy? Happy that he didn’t have to work as hard as they did to feed his family? Or grateful that he had no family to support, like Batman? That would be a cruel joke.

Anyway, since Karl hadn’t been assigned to take out any factory owners, he’d just wait for now. If such a job came along, he’d be glad to take it. Whether the workers could survive afterward was not his concern—he was just a mercenary.

Thinking about it, the reason so many kept joining the Whirlpool Gang might be that gang life, no matter how dangerous and crazy, was still better than factory work. Many probably saw their parents toil endlessly and resolved to make something of themselves no matter what.

“Come to think of it, gang promotions might even be better than this,” Karl mused.

On the road, sparked by this thought, Karl, Oliver, and Jack discussed the topic.

“That reminds me why the Six Street Gang was founded,” Oliver said. “The original founders couldn’t stand the oppression from the war companies and formed Six Street to fight back. But things have changed a lot. When I was a kid, no one imagined Six Street would start collecting protection money from civilians and other gangs, or that relationships and power would become so important inside.”

“A gang that fought companies becoming just like them—that’s ironic,” Jack remarked, then suddenly realized something from Oliver’s words. “Wait, Oliver, you used to be in Six Street?”

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“Technically, until yesterday. I was kicked out this morning,” Oliver replied, then recounted how he and Karl met.

“The employer specifically sought out KK because they saw footage from back then.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. It’s just a coincidence. I used to be in the Valentino Gang, then left to become a mercenary. Now, two guys who used to be enemies in different gangs have become friends and teammates.”

“Jack, you were in the Valentino Gang?” Oliver exclaimed in surprise. After a moment, it passed. It wasn’t strange; Jack’s family was from there, and he was close with the Valentino gang members. It made sense on reflection.

“Once we finish this job, let’s celebrate leaving the gangs with a drink tonight.”

“Sounds like you’re talking about going to kidnap someone,” Karl joked.

At that moment, the car’s navigation voice interrupted.

“Target is fifty meters away.”

“We’re here. Grab your gear.”

Karl gazed at the approaching factory building, anticipation swelling within him for what was to come.