Cillian silently gazed at the enlarging red planet through the panoramic viewing platform. The planet, commonly referred to as "Little Red" by locals, was a dwarf planet, nearly 70% the size of humanity's old home, which had been destroyed during the war. Despite being in the Goldilocks zone of the local star with a sufficiently thick atmosphere, it remained a desolate land, home to only a single species of plant life, if it could even be called that. The reason? Red iron, which composed a staggering 85% of the planet's composition. This abundance of red iron gave the planet its distinctive crimson hue but rendered the land barren, as red iron was both exceptionally hard and somewhat toxic. Surprisingly, despite its name, red iron was a type of rock, which made it brittle under slightly higher temperatures and not particularly useful in small quantities. However, the colonizers saw an opportunity in its unique properties. Ravaged by war, they prioritized safety over comfort and used red iron's remarkable ability to absorb kinetic impact to create an extensive underground tunnel network, capable of withstanding orbital bombardment for an extended period.
Over the centuries, this tunnel network evolved into a sprawling underground city.
After a half-hour descent, Cillian exited the spaceport, accompanied by Simmon, taking note of the constant patrols by armed guards and drones. The entire port was under surveillance, with both visible and micro surveillance bugs in abundance. Cillian sighed, "It's a good thing I've come up with a way to disguise myself, even if it's not that elaborate. The warlords or spies from other factions may not care about a low-level criminal like me, but if someone from the foundation catches wind of my presence, things could get really bad."
Simmon hailed an autonomous cab, and they set off towards the nearest city, Njavo. After an hour's journey, they arrived in a bustling part of the city, surrounded by neon billboards. Simmon led the way, eventually reaching a shabby two-story building with a flickering neon sign reading "Neo TECH HUB." Simmon, who had been silent until now, quietly warned Cillian, "Boss, my friend isn't the most tactful with his words. Please don't do anything rash."
Cillian didn't even glance at Simmon. "Are you afraid I'll kill him?"
Simmon chose to stay silent, his expression revealing his concerns.
"Don't worry," Cillian continued nonchalantly, "I don't go around killing people for no reason." Simmon wanted to refute him, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.
Simmon opened the door and entered the shop, with Cillian following. A bald man, half of his head replaced with a metal plate, emerged from a room adjacent to the store counter. Simmon stepped forward and raised his hand. "Billy, it's me, your good brother, Simmon."
Billy responded with curiosity, "Oh, it isn't Simmon. To whom do I owe the pleasure of this meeting today?"
Simmon gestured toward Cillian, "That would be me." Cillian walked forward, smiling.
Billy inquired, "Who's this brat? A new recruit? Tell him to behave around his superiors, or he might need a lesson in etiquette."
Simmon practically leaped to cover Billy's mouth before he said anything else that might offend Cillian. However, Cillian's smile remained unchanged, and he kept on smiling.
Simmon, despite Cillian's smile, wasn't reassured; he had seen Cillian smile while dispatching people ruthlessly. Billy was pulled into the store, and Simmon whispered, "Please, keep your mouth shut, or you'll get us both killed."
Billy laughed at Simmon's reaction, "What's an E-grade brat like him going to do? Is he the son of some big shot?"
Simmon's anxiety grew as he replied, "That Grade E killed my entire crew, including Blancher, without breaking a sweat. The only reason I'm alive is that he needs me for something."
Billy was shocked, "He killed your whole crew, even that musclehead Blancher? Why the hell did you bring him to my shop of all places? Take him and leave now!"
Cillian covered Billy's mouth again, "Can't you speak so loudly? Are you trying to get us both killed? Just listen, okay? All he wants is a fake citizen ID, something I know you can create easily. So, do me a favor and get him what he wants."
Billy pulled away from Simmon's grip, "Do you think citizen IDs grow on trees? It takes a lot of effort and money to create one."
"Don't feed me your excuses; I know you have some IDs ready to go. He doesn't need a high-class ID, just a standard commoner's ID will suffice. I'll pay what you're owed."
Billy thought for a moment, then sighed, "You owe me a big one, Simmon. Bring him to the back."
Simmon sighed in relief, "Thanks, my friend." He led Cillian to the back, where Billy was busy working on his PC setup. Cillian and Simmon waited silently for Billy to finish his work.
After five minutes, Billy looked up, "Brat, come here and take a look. Pick what you want."
Cillian approached Billy and browsed through various options displayed on the screen, including student IDs, merchant registrations, and some blank IDs with only letters in the name field. He pointed to one of the blank IDs and asked, "What are these?"
Billy explained, "Those are blank IDs based in Beggars Paradise, usually assigned to migrants and their children working there. They're essentially untraceable and have almost zero value beyond identification. They're easy to obtain since all you need is someone with an existing ID who can vouch for you. They're almost useless anywhere else in the galaxy."
Cillian inquired, "Will the DPMC accept it?"
"As long as you're applying from the Borderlands system, it should be fine."
"Alright, I've decided. I want this one."