The desolate outskirts of Lungmen were a graveyard of crumbling concrete and rusted rebar.
A heavy transport vehicle tore through the haze of dust, its tires screaming against the cracked asphalt before slamming to a halt in the middle of the ruined residential sector.
From the shadows of the hollowed-out buildings, hidden eyes locked onto the intrusion.
Malice and confusion simmered in the dark.
But the moment those scavengers caught sight of the scratched, bullet-riddled penguin logo plastered across the chassis, the hostility evaporated into wary curiosity.
Penguin Logistics was an anomaly in the underworld—a miraculous courier service boasting a near-perfect delivery rate.
As long as the LMD flowed, they hauled the cargo.
Many assumed they were a front for a syndicate of assassins, yet they remained a strictly legitimate enterprise that paid its taxes on the dot.
Their unique, never-strike-first doctrine made them stick out like a sore thumb in Lungmen.
Capable fighters, meager payouts, and an irritating adherence to the rules—they were exactly the kind of outfit the black market despised.
The heavy passenger door swung open.
What spilled out onto the broken pavement wasn’t a hardened Sankta gunslinger or a towering Forte vanguard.
It was a frail, unrecognizable figure who immediately collapsed to his knees.
Lynn braced his hands against the dirt and began to violently empty his stomach into the roadside gutter.
The sheer agony radiating from his convulsing frame was enough to dispel the last lingering stares from the shadows.
The thugs knew the score.
This was just some naive client who had insisted on riding shotgun with Penguin Logistics.
Their drivers treated crowded city streets like open airspace, and anyone looking to save a little time usually ended up exactly like this.
The mismatch between the fearsome vehicle and the pathetic passenger shattered any illusion of a lucrative ambush.
If they were rolling in this brazenly, backup was surely waiting.
There was no money to be made here.
“Ugh…” Lynn retched, another mouthful of sour bile splashing against the concrete.
Tears streamed down his pale face, blurring his vision.
He leaned heavily against a rusted iron streetlamp, gasping for air.
Behind him, the rest of the crew stepped out of the vehicle looking entirely unfazed.
They stretched their limbs, completely immune to the motion sickness that was currently tearing his internal organs apart.
He opened his mouth to curse them, but a violent cramp seized his stomach, forcing him to double over and heave once more.
Seeing his disheveled state, Croissant offered a rare sliver of sympathy.
She stepped up with a bright, cheerful grin and slapped him on the back—a heavy, Forte-strength impact that nearly sent him face-first into his own puddle.
“Alright, alright, don’t die on us!
I’ll knock a little off your fee later, yeah?” “It’s not…
ugh…
about the money,” Lynn wheezed, clutching his abdomen.
“It’s about…
basic physiological limits…
ugh…” “Whoa there, Prophet!” Exusiai hopped backward, her halo glowing brightly as she narrowly avoided the splash zone.
“Don’t aim that at me!
Turn away, turn away!” “I swear to God,” Lynn gasped, his knuckles white against the iron pole.
“I will erase the gravity of this entire planet…
ugh…
I’ll make all of this cease to exist—” “Shut up.
And take the money.” Texas stepped out of the driver’s side, her expression an unreadable mask of stoic calm.
She shot a sharp glare at the babbling Lynn before turning her attention to the tall Sarkaz woman clutching her waist as she staggered toward the curb.
“This special VIP transport service has concluded,” Texas announced, her voice crisp and professional.
“All fees have been automatically settled.
If there are any issues, please inquire in person here.
If there are no issues, we will rest for a moment and then return to base.
Do you have any other questions?” Meteorite leaned against a crumbling wall, her hand gripping a heavy, sealed metal box as if her life depended on it.
She caught her breath and looked at the Lupo.
“Does Penguin Logistics accept long-distance transportation jobs…?” “Depends on the price,” Texas replied smoothly.
“We are a professional logistics company.
If there is a demand, we will fulfill it.” “Then, I will contact you in ten days.” Meteorite’s grip on the box tightened.
Her voice dropped to a soft, urgent register.
“In ten days, can I reserve your response time for that specific date?” Texas didn’t miss a beat.
“If you require a twenty-four-hour standby on that day, along with preparations for long-distance transport, you will need to provide one hundred thousand LMD upfront to book the time.
That is strictly for the reservation.
If there are additional transport requirements, we will calculate the final price separately.
Can you accept these terms?” “Completely acceptable,” Meteorite nodded, her expression grim.
“I will contact you to place the order once I return to my base.” “Then there is no problem.” Texas pulled a small notebook from her jacket, jotted down the specified date, and snapped it shut.
She gave Meteorite a curt nod.
“We will monitor your order requirements.
If you find our terms unsuitable, you are free to hire another courier.
Penguin Logistics operates strictly on rules and regulations, not emotional ethics.
I suggest you remember that.
If there are no other requests, please give us a five-star rating.
Thank you.” She turned back to the vehicle.
“Let’s go, Prophet.” “Wait a second,” Lynn groaned, sliding down the pole.
“Just let me vomit a little longer…
ugh…” “Give him a plastic bag; he can puke in the back seat,” Texas ordered, already sliding behind the wheel.
“He doesn’t have much left in his stomach anyway.
We still have two more orders to clear.
Let’s head back.” “No!
Exusiai, save me!” Lynn shrieked, his precognitive intuition suddenly flaring with terrifying clarity.
“There are actually enemies lurking around here!
Let’s just rest first, please believe me!” “You’re speaking pretty fluently now, aren’t you?” Texas noted dryly.
“Croissant, get him in the car.” “Alrighty!” Croissant chirped, grabbing Lynn by the collar and hauling him upward like a sack of potatoes.
“This is murder!!” The heavy doors slammed shut.
With a deafening roar of the engine and a beautiful trail of blue exhaust, the Penguin Logistics vehicle tore out of the ruined sector.
Lynn’s desperate screams faded into the distance, distorted by the Doppler effect until the streets fell dead silent once more.
Meteorite let out a long, heavy sigh as she watched the chaotic crew disappear into the dust.
She turned her gaze toward the decaying housing blocks of the Lungmen outskirts.
The silence of the ruins felt oppressive, but the weight of the sealed box in her hands grounded her.
This was the hope of the Sarkaz.
Her fingers traced the cold metal edges as she recalled the scattered, fragmented words she had glimpsed inside.
Her face hardened into a mask of solemn determination.
Everything she endured, every drop of blood she shed, was to clear the tarnished reputation of her people—to prove the innocence of the Sarkaz to a world that despised them.
Yet, she was a mercenary.
It was a profession steeped in violence, one that left her increasingly conflicted with every contract.
She fought for the future of the Sarkaz, but her very existence as a hired blade only served as further proof of their bloody stain.
But after recovering this package, she had read a portion of the text hidden within.
The manuscript detailed the true history and reputation of the Sarkaz, outlining remediation methods, policies, and political maneuvers that, while deeply complex and almost beyond understanding to her, possessed a terrifying, obvious logic.
Meteorite truly believed the contents of this box could save her entire race.
‘I need to move…’ She scanned the seemingly empty ruins, took a deep, steadying breath, and stepped forward.
The moment her boot touched the ground, the texture beneath her sole felt entirely wrong.
It wasn’t the soft give of dirt or the hard resistance of concrete.
A sharp, mechanical click echoed in the dead air.
“Ah, ah, don’t move yet.” A voice drifted out from the shadows, dripping with lazy, chaotic amusement.
“If you don’t want to be blown to pieces, I highly suggest you freeze.” Meteorite went rigid, her blood running cold.
“…What?
How are you here?!” “Money spends the same everywhere.
Isn’t that just how we Sarkaz operate?” “But this is the hope for our race’s revival!” Meteorite hissed, her voice trembling with suppressed rage.
“Then let me take a look too.” A slender figure stepped leisurely out from behind a crumbling wall.
“The countdown goes from three to two, remember?
I told you not to get too excited.
It’s just me.
Why are you shouting so loudly?” Meteorite gritted her teeth, her eyes widening as the red-clad figure fully emerged into the dim light.
The Sarkaz woman with striking red horns strolled over with a casual, predatory grace.
Without breaking eye contact, she reached out and plucked the sealed box right out of Meteorite’s hands.
Meteorite, acutely aware of the pressure plate beneath her boot, didn’t dare twitch a single muscle.
“Ah, relax,” the red-horned mercenary smiled, her eyes curving into dangerous crescents.
“The bomb will automatically disarm in three minutes, as long as you don’t do anything rash.” “W…
you scoundrel…” Meteorite spat, the name tasting like venom on her tongue.
“Which Sarkaz isn’t one?” W chuckled softly, tucking the heavy metal box securely under her arm.
“I’ll be taking this little toy for now, my unconventional compatriot.” Ignoring the murderous glare burning into her back, W turned on her heel and strolled away.
She hummed a cheerful, off-key tune as she vanished into the ruins, leaving the furious mercenary standing perfectly still in the dust, entirely at the mercy of a ticking clock.
[Rhodes’s Note: Enjoying the operation so far, Doctor?
(This daily grind literally pays the landship’s rent!
to use the links!)