In the vast chamber, tucked away at the zenith of the edifice, Luke made his exit from Zane's office, leaving in his wake an agreement that Zane found herself unable to reject.
Zane, her hands quivering, hastily gulped down water and began dialing a number with a sense of urgency.
"Pick up the phone, you imbecile of a brother."
After a series of futile attempts, the call was finally answered.
A serene male voice resonated from the other end of the line, his tone detached,
"What do you want, Martha?"
Zane, her face folding into a wide grin, proclaimed,
"The thing we have been searching all this time. I know a plan to get that. Meet me tomorrow, I will tell you all about it."
The man on the other end abruptly terminated the call without uttering a word. Zane then rummaged through her desk drawer, extracted a .44 Magnum revolver, and stationed it on the table.
She retrieved a framed photograph of Luke's mother from the table, placed it adjacent to the firearm, and smirked,
"Alicia, I couldn't beat you last time, only killed you with this gun. This time, I will definitely beat you."
Secluded in her room, Zane pondered over her scheme, her gaze riveted on the gun, the memory of its last discharge still fresh in her mind.
Simultaneously, Luke traversed through the city, observing the alterations around him, such as the scanners and other advancements. He inferred that all these modifications were associated with the Thief's Paradise game, while everything else remained unaltered.
No groundbreaking changes had occurred, and his bike and suit were still the epitome of advanced technology, as no one had yet unearthed gadgets of his caliber.
[Hey Luke, what are we searching for? It's been an hour we keep riding through every street.]
Ever since their departure from Zane's building, Aria had been incessantly nudging Luke for instructions and insights about his plan. Luke, however, maintained his silence.
'You will see when we arrive. Be patient.'
Luke responded to Aria through his mind in a nonchalant manner, prompting Aria's algorithm to question,
[Are you searching for an A.I upgrade replacement or anything? Don't waste your time. My hardware and software frameworks are all state-of-the-art. We've been covertly procuring parts for my processor for the past two decades.]
'You think I'm searching for something for you? Nah, I'm searching for him for our plan, and I already know where he is living.'
Luke flashed a broad grin, his gaze sweeping over the towering edifices casting elongated shadows, and commented ominously,
'I'm just sightseeing this city one last time before it turns into hell. That's all.'
[Even my algorithmic analysis can't decipher your actions. Maybe you don't know what you are doing.]
'Maybe!' Luke retorted sarcastically, his eyes scanning the countenances of passersby as he continued his ride.
After an extensive tour of the city, the sun commenced its descent, casting an orange hue that bathed the ground.
Luke eventually arrived at a ramshackle bar situated at the junction of the city and the slums.
The bar was a humble establishment, a two-tiered stone structure with walls bathed in a rustic brown hue and roofs with expansive eaves, bearing a striking resemblance to a quintessential cowboy abode. The only thing amiss was a signboard out front.
Luke stationed his bike in front of the bar, immediately attracting a throng of intrigued spectators and beggars. He brushed them off with an icy stare and proceeded towards the entrance.
Upon entering, he discovered patrons strewn across sofas, their faces hidden behind VR headsets, their shouts and bellows reverberating through the air. The bar was unpretentious, featuring a solitary counter for food and beverages. Yet, no one ventured near the counter; they were all immersed in their virtual realms.
Luke couldn't help but jest,
"Did people stop drinking or what? This VR addiction."
A deep, masculine voice confronted Luke,
"I never saw you before. Who are you, kid? Outsiders from the city are not welcome here."
Luke responded with a subtle smile. He turned to identify the speaker, an elderly gentleman sporting a thick grey mustache and a clean-shaven face, attired in a pristine white shirt and trousers. He was meticulously polishing a beer glass that already sparkled, his keen brown eyes on the lookout for customers.
Luke occupied a seat at the counter and declared,
"Just another fan of the bar's signature Deathrode drink. I'm here for a sip."
The old man slammed the beer glass onto the table and cautioned in a grave tone,
"Kid, didn't you hear? We don't serve outsiders."
As the old man placed the glass down, his hand gradually vanished under the counter.
**[ Malicious Act detected] **
[Luke, he is trying to grab some weapon. The possibility of it being a shotgun is very high.]
[Do you want to engage Battle Mode]
'Stand by, Aria. I know this geezer.'
Luke instructed Aria, offering the old man a subtle smile and a fabricated story,
"Well, Roy told me to find you if I ever want to taste the best drink ever."
The instant Luke voiced those words, the bar plunged into a stunned silence. People discarded their headsets, their eyes ablaze with fury as they glared at Luke.
The old man swiftly seized a shotgun and aimed it at Luke,
"Kid, are you trying to create a problem for everyone? Leave this place now."
Luke delved into his pocket, prompting the old man to cock the shotgun in anticipation of a weapon. Luke quickly placated him,
"Relax, it's just paper."
The old man's eyes bulged as he noticed the crisp $100 bill Luke had deposited on the table. Luke's voice was tranquil and earnest as he said,
"Thank you for your warm hospitality. Here is your tip."
Luke made his exit, the irate stares of the patrons trailing him. Had he tarried a moment longer, the bar would have been engulfed in chaos.
Returning to his bike, Luke discovered a few new scratches marring the tank. He dismissed them with a nonchalant smile and fired up the engine.
He steered the bike around and ventured into the alley behind the bar, a grimy area teeming with refuse and rats. He parked the bike and settled in for a wait.
[Hey Luke, why are you waiting here? He told us to leave, and what's with that shabby Roy's story? Roy told to drink this stuff.]
'You will understand. Everything will fall into place soon.'
Luke placated her, his hands casually fiddling with the money in his pocket. He had unearthed a few thousand dollars stashed away on his underground shelf, a portion of which he had used to tip the Oldman.
After a few minutes of Luke's patient waiting, the sun dipped below the horizon, giving way to the night. The moon emerged, casting a soft glow over the city. Lights flickered on, illuminating the streets and stores with a warm, inviting ambiance.
The night was still young, yet the city seemed quiet, with most people lost in their own virtual worlds, playing VR in the comfort of their homes.
After a while, the back door of the bar creaked open, and the mustachioed old man emerged, his gaze falling on Luke.
With an air of anticipation, he directed,
"Follow me."
Luke and the Oldman ambled a few blocks away from the bar, eventually stepping into a small, rundown building.
The sight that greeted them was far from pleasant—mold clung to the walls, the ceiling and floors were riddled with holes, and vermin scampered across the grimy surfaces.
Luke couldn't resist a jest,
"So this is where you make your bar's famous drink. Then, what is your secret ingredient, mold or rats, which is it?"
"Kid, I don't have time for nonsense. Tell me how do you know about Roy and why are you here?"
The Old man got straight to the point, not entertaining Luke's humor.
Luke's demeanor transitioned to a more serious tone as he spun a tale,
"Swanson, Roy told me to tell you 'The Plan failed. After I die, follow Luke's order to complete the plan'."
Swanson, taken aback by Luke's revelation, felt a wave of dizziness wash over him and collapsed into a rusty steel chair, confusion etched on his face,
"What are you talking about? Roy didn't allow any visitor to see him, or he knows about his plan failed. He thought it was a success until he died."
Luke proceeded to weave a persuasive narrative, sprinkling in bits of truth for good measure.
He detailed Roy's last day visit to Taylor and James before his demise, their betrayal from the outset, and even disclosed that Roy's cancer was a consequence of the Millner family's actions.
After spinning a web of lies and half-truths, Luke even claimed that Roy had nearly strangled Taylor in their confrontation, painting a picture of a man who battled valiantly till the bitter end.
Swanson was overwhelmed with emotion, tears welling up in his eyes. But it was the surge of intense anger that prevailed—his fists clenched tightly, and he punched a hole in the wall, causing rats to scatter.
After a moment, Swanson regained his composure, his breaths heavy and labored. He finally queried,
"How do you know all this?"
Luke responded with a gentle smile concealed behind a wide grin,
"Well, I'm Roy's son."