Chapter 383: Chapter 362 Free
After a clicking sound, a hole appeared in the wall. He exhaled; it seemed indeed that no one had come for a long time.
"Number!"
"DOMO73895." The man announced a string of numbers in a rather unskilled tone and stepped back half a foot. With a clang, the wall split open to reveal a door, or rather, a gap just large enough for one person to pass.
He went inside, but got stuck midway. The mongrel tilted its head with curiosity, whimpering at the sight of his round figure squeezing through with difficulty.
Once he was entirely inside, the mongrel began to bark sharply. Its only response was another clang, followed by a piece of bone thrown out of the hole in the wall. It looked somewhat like a small leg bone. The milky-yellow shaft was still attached to bloody flesh chunks, very fresh and very gross.
But the mongrel didn’t think so. It happily picked up the bone that fell into the puddle, wagging its tail, and ran off into the darkness.
Its light steps were completely different from before, showing a hint of expectation and happiness. Yes, when it picked up the bone, you could almost see it smiling.
The mongrel ran quickly toward its destination, at the deepest part of a bridge cave. Almost no light reached this place, and even artificial light was a luxury inaccessible here.
The mongrel threw the bone into a metal can and barked at a narrow shack, to which a frail, elderly voice responded.
"Dog!"
The end of the shack was lifted, and the smell inside was as foul as outside. A head with hair as white as a bird’s nest emerged, its face wrinkled enough to squash a mosquito.
The mongrel energetically wagged its tail at the old woman, licking her fingers, then picked up the bone from the metal can and tossed it onto the so-called bed, made by stacking layers of cardboard. The shack itself was built from advertisement tarp hung on four bamboo poles, to block the wind, though there’s none, yet it’s very cold.
"Someone has died inside again." Her hand, as dry as chicken claws, held the bone brought back by the mongrel, her cloudy eyes showing no trace of emotion.
"We’re having bone soup today."
Climbing out of the shack, she picked up the metal can and hobbled toward the exit. The mongrel followed, moving beside or ahead of her, but never more than a step away, as if guarding her.
Halfway there, the old woman stared at an empty wall for a long time, shook her head, and continued toward the entrance.
Using an iron pipe to catch rainwater dropping from above, she scooped some snow into the can. It’s her rare chance to see light. Few people came here daily, so her ’Dog’ didn’t often get a bone.
The old woman watched as rainwater slowly filled the can. Human flesh probably doesn’t taste much different from animal meat! Her memory of animal fibers was already blurred. Looking back at the darkness behind her, it seemed like a gateway to Hell—one-way, never returning.
"Days of residence."
"Three days."
Passing through the last door truly meant entering the underground city.
The man walked strangely on the blood-stained stone path, holding a key ring in his hand. He couldn’t even remember what it was for?
The crosshead key looked rough, a brass plate on the key ring engraved with ’DOMO73895.’ Rubbing the brass plate with his fingers, in three days, this key would automatically lose its memory function, as the person explained, although he wasn’t quite sure what it meant. The man stood in the center of the road.
This wasn’t really a city, but a small social complex. There were no shops here but weapon stores. No churches or temples, but priests and monks. There were women, but they were scarier than men; plenty of rooms, but all locked and empty; you could say everything was here, yet nothing was obtainable.
Looking up, there was a massive electronic screen flashing a price leaderboard with bizarre tasks—from killing a cat to assassinating a foreign king. Red, green, yellow, purple, different colors shimmered as the only hues of this place.
"Number!" A canoe appeared before the man, its pilot looked small with an underdeveloped body yet spoke with confidence.
"’DOMO73895’" The man jumped onto the boat as the bamboo pole pushed them off the shore, reversing against the underground water current.
Along the way, many people were waiting. The man had no time to wonder or speculate, his face hidden under the hat brim was lowered. "We’re here."
So close! It was his only sense of time. Here time seemed entirely meaningless, detached from the surface, an indescribable feeling.
Stepping off the ship, standing before the door marked with the same number, the man was at a loss, inserting the key, producing a mechanical turning sound, the man hummed once again. Beneath the ancient facade lay advanced technology.
Tick tock tick tock! Click!
You must hear the last syllable before you can push the door open; otherwise, you’ll trigger the security mechanism, and the alarm will sound. As for what happens, no one knows.
The room was clean and tidy, dust-free, bug-free, odor-free. A standalone suite, with a powerful ventilation system, ensuring there was enough fresh air to breathe.
The man took off his raincoat, revealing his black attire. He seemed to really like black, from head to toe, no other colors mixed in. He walked into the bathroom, all toiletries were brand new; one didn’t know whether to say the service here was top-notch or that it was humane to such an extent.
On the table lay basic books, a homeowner’s manual, precautions, a guide map to the underground city, and an assassin’s guide. He casually flipped through a few pages and tossed the books back on the table.
The man lay down on the bed. The map was a good map, with clear markings and distinct structure, easy to understand at a glance.
On the wall by the bed was an LCD screen connected to the earlier electronic screen, allowing you to freely search all information in the room. If you fancy a task, click, and the order will instantly be generated into the backend system. After approval within two hours, the first deposit will automatically transfer to your account, with commission deducted after task completion.
The rules are very clear; however, as the color changes, the level of requirement increases. The man’s hands never left the bronze plaque; he was obviously nervous, or perhaps excited. His bulging belly rose and fell with his heartbeat, fingertips crossing the screen—most of the red area lit green lights. Upon entering the purple zone, one could only see many online users, yet no one placing orders.
The man touched his fatty belly and furrowed his brows; only after two more hours could he truly step into the underground city night. He picked up the key from the table and stuffed it into his pocket, hesitating for a moment at the map on the table before also pocketing it.
Heading left led to a row of identical rooms, some doors opened. From outside, the interiors seemed similar, yet the arrangement varied considerably, all depending on personal preference. He couldn’t help but start to rub the bronze plaque in his hand again; evidently, every resident here had their own name, with plaques indicating their identity.
Tonight, there would be a fight, a high-level battle, among the arriving people who would become whom? As the man walked past these rooms, the occupants revealed warning or indifferent glances to this unfamiliar face. Newcomers didn’t pose a crisis for the people here.
Entering a weapons shop, the shopkeeper similarly appeared young and, noticing a customer entering, simply lifted his head and then ignored him, not even uttering a word. The storefront wasn’t large, but it was packed with things. From large to small, from cold weapons to hot firearms, everything was available.
The man chose a dagger and placed it at his fingertips.
"Blade thickness 0.4 centimeters, blade edge 0.02 centimeters." The man glanced at the shopkeeper, certain he hadn’t lifted his head; could he discern only by the sound of him picking up the knife slicing?
"Alloy steel material; a short blade isn’t suitable for your physique."
The man clicked his tongue; honestly, he quite liked the dagger. Although the craftsmanship had some flaws, the weight felt just right in his hand. Swinging it around casually, indeed for his physique, close combat would be exhausting. Putting down the dagger, he turned his gaze to a row of sniper rifles ahead. At a glance, they were all the latest weapon models. He picked the smallest rifle among them, aiming at a certain spot.
"How much!"
"Rent or buy?" The shopkeeper continued to tinker with the parts at hand, seeming to care more about them than the transaction itself.
"Either works." He stepped left foot, right foot followed, maintaining this posture to the counter, placing the firearm on the table.
"This one?" Finally, the shopkeeper responded, glancing at the firearm, then at him. "Portable, five-meter range."
"Oh!"
Those who make weapons rarely lack understanding of them; anyone like that, their memory and cognitive abilities exceed the norm.
"Serial number!" The shopkeeper took out a wooden box, placed the gun into the case, simultaneously adding a small box that could hold ten bullets inside.
"Card or cash? New weapon, ten bullets included."
"’DOMO73895’! Card." Indeed, wherever you go, you need a serial number.
"’DOMO73895’?" The shopkeeper showed a surprised expression, repacked the firearm, and handed it to the man. "Free!"
This time it was the man’s turn to be shocked, suddenly developing a keen interest in the existence of this serial number. The firearm in his hand looked worth at least a finger’s worth of money; how could a business person easily give it up? (To be continued. If you like this work, feel free to visit Qidian () to vote for recommendations and monthly tickets; your support is my greatest motivation.)