Mr. Keratás paced, lightly dragging his feet against the ground like he didn't have enough energy even to lift them. Ever so slowly, as if to mock my pitiful attempts to hide underneath the desk, he sat down at the chair. It squeaked under his weight, and rolled back slightly.

He didn't scoot in though, which would've been a surefire way of finding me. Instead, he leaned back into the chair and let his legs hang loosely. Yet another sigh came, and his legs twitched in my direction.

I held my breath, fear causing the air to sting at my lungs like ice. Adrenaline pumped through my system, forcing my heart to strike against my chest loud enough that it was surprising the guy couldn't hear it. With that adrenaline rush came that raw force of excitement I was so addicted to crashing through me.

A yawn came next; a long, carefree yawn. Lethargic Presence at its finest. Hopefully, he'd fall asleep there or something. He just needed to stay away from me, and everything would be fine. If he rolled forward and kicked me on accident… I didn't even have an idea what might happen.

He sat there for a minute. Two. Three. Each second that passed felt longer than the last. A loud ringtone came from the room, nearly causing me to jolt from the surprise. Up above, oblivious to the fact he was literally sitting on top of me, Mr. Keratás sighed once more. "No rest for the wicked…"

A low chatter came across the line. It sounded like maybe the guy Mr. K talked to as he came into the office. "She… here… now."

"What- why's she so early? Fine- fine… I'm coming. Have her come through the back entrance. The front is too slick with oil. I'll be right there." Mr. Keratás spun in his chair. "Oh, and tell the men to clear out of the Robotics Garage and other staff rooms. I don't care where they go, but they can't stay here."

His phone clattered to the table and he just sat there for a few moments longer. Eventually though, he stood up. His shoes wrapped against the floor and he headed for the door. It swung open and shut, leaving me alone in the darkness once more.

"Haah…" I flopped out from below the desk and stretched out. No way that actually worked. It was such a bad spot! Still, I didn't get up and just continued to relax on the floor. The guys were clearing out of this place, so I patiently waited under the desk for a while to give them time.

In that time, Clarence sent a reply. The notification made me jump and slam my head into the desk. 'Good. Sir Abernathy personally wants to lead a strike team to apprehend the culprit.'

I rubbed at my head. A strike team? Seemed a little overkill to apprehend a blackmailer… If it was who I thought it was, it might be a mistake? Not my problem though. 'Fisher's Diner, tonight. I'll be there.'

After enough time passed, I crawled out from under the desk and made my way over to the door. Pressing my ear to it, I heard nothing. No clanks of machinery, no tools clattering about, and no subtle conversations of workers. Best I could tell, the room sat dead silent.

Carefully, without making too much noise or movement, I pulled open the door. The garage sat in near complete darkness, only illuminated by the occasional terminal or charging station. There was no one back here, giving me free access to the exit.

I made my way to the garage door-

Wait… I looked back at the scattered parts and pieces all around the area. The cameras were supposedly out, and even if they weren't the Advent Ghost had the feature scrubber built into it, so nobody would come after me if some parts went missing.

The temptation rose with every part I saw just left out. Some pieces would be a pain in the rear to get elsewhere. My foot reflexively took a step towards the precious loot glinting in the poor lighting. That's all it took before I ravenously dove back towards the tables. Several parts and pieces that wouldn't be missed disappeared into my bag.

'Course, I didn't just take anything and everything. I was careful to take the purely mechanical stuff so as to avoid any kind of hidden tracker. After I stuffed my bag full of parts and pieces, I numbly made my way back through the store and out to my bike. No one was around, all probably kicked out or greeting this Netrunner, so it was by far the easiest escape I'd ever had.

— — —

Fisher's Diner was on the fourth story of a small building in Portside. The building sat fairly close to the ocean, allowing a view of it. Rather- it would've if not for the highway built over this section of the city. One of the several support pillars just so happened to be right in front of the diner's window, blocking the view.

Still, the owner hadn't taken that sitting down. The pillar was painted expertly to look like how the view should've been. That was done a long time ago by the looks of things. Years of exposure and graffiti hid the original painting from view, giving the whole area a ghetto vibe.

And indeed, that was a fitting word for Portside. It wasn't as bad as East End, but everything in this section - outside of the Marinas, Yacht Clubs, and Shipping Yards - was in a state of decay. In a couple more decades? Portside might grow to be another East End.

Then again… maybe not? It was hard to get a read on this place. I didn't frequent the sub-district all that much. There were plenty of things in Portside that brought the population of Aythryn City to it, so there was a near-constant flow of money similar to Little Yukoto.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Portside was home to the city's Urbane league, the Slashers Stadium, and a variety of other major sources of entertainment. Sure, there were the hotspots like Ichiban and Rime Peak Lounge, but those were simply hotspots. There was a lot to do in Portside, which kept the money flowing through the area.

I sat in a corner booth alongside several other people. Mr. Abernathy, Clarence, and two body guards to be precise. It was an uncomfortable experience. The lights for this booth had been set on dim, obscuring us from any casual observation. Or, at least, I thought that was the plan. The lights might've just been dysfunctional.

"Is this- is this really necessary?" I asked.

Mr. Abernathy set down his fork. He'd gotten a dish while we waited. Surprisingly, Fisher's Diner didn't sell fish. It was some kind of southern food. "Of course. Can't be too sure."

I looked around at the other patrons, almost all of whom were incredibly buff. This was probably the most patrons this place had seen in years. Although they were hidden pretty well, I also spotted several different kinds of weapons hidden under their clothes. "I guess… seems a bit over the top."

"This much is required to ensure Sir's safety in case the blackmailer gets violent." Clarence skillfully delivered a plate of burritos before his boss. He'd taken over the kitchen, making the food himself. I didn't even want to think about how much they paid the owner off with.

"Sure." I sat back in the booth, feeling a bit… lost? Here I was, a lowly investigator kinda, surrounded by mercs and a bigwig from ASCorp for a lowly blackmailing.

We sat around for nearly a quarter of an hour before a woman entered the restaurant. Although thick clothing clung to her and her face hid under a low hood, I recognized her. Yasmine. Just as I suspected. There were a few issues, but she was the most likely suspect.

Across from me, Albert Abernathy stilled. "Yasmine? She said she had dinner with friends…"

The floral scent to the letters at the very beginning gave her away. The garden was built for her by Mr. Abernathy, according to Clarence. Add in the way they just seemed to appear at the house? Oh, and the 'mysterious' way that the cameras were disabled? The simplest answer was the best answer in this case.

The only thing I couldn't quite figure out was the whole 'J' moniker thing. At least, not until I pieced together Mr. Abernathy's accent. He was saying Jasmine the whole time, just with a wonky pronunciation. And she had a motive if her personality was anything to go by. She was a right old-

"But why?" Mr. Abernathy stood. Immediately the mercs all over the restaurant, which unsurprisingly included even the wait staff, stood too, blocking the entries. Seriously overkill, but I couldn't deny the effect.

Jasmine's face crumpled for a brief moment before twisting. "Albert! What is this? Are you following me now too?!"

"Wha- Yasmine? Were you the one? But why?" Albert cried out.

For a moment, it looked like she would deny it. Then her face morphed into a malicious snarl. "You cheated on me and had a kid with another woman-"

Or at least, that's what I thought she said. I was too busy wading through the array of over-the-top mercenaries. My job was done, and I really couldn't be bothered to deal with listening to the drama. I was a bit tempted to find out what exactly was going on, but I could put the pieces together on my own.

Yas- Jasmine thought Christopher was Mr. Abernathy's son, even though they looked nothing alike. The fact that Christopher was taken care of so well must've given her the initial suspicions. And Leanara's entire funeral was paid for by Mr. Abernathy like she was a mistress.

This then brought along the motive. Jasmine was pissed about the whole affair and sought retribution. I only saw the woman once and she wanted no time screaming at me and yelling slander. She quite obviously had some issues. Best way to do that? Blackmail? Bam, case solved.

It wasn't the most rational idea considering pulling the rug out from Mr. Abernathy would also cripple herself. Then again, there was that saying 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'. Fury could be quite crippling to rationality. And, ironically, she was probably pissed over nothing. Albert seemed the hopeless romantic type, not the kind that'd cheat on his wife.

I sent a message to Clarence containing the information of Mr. Keratás and headed out to my bike. He replied with a 'Thank you. Mr. Abernathy will remember this favor' and a notification that fifteen hundred Rayn had been deposited into my account. Tomorrow was rent day, so the money was definitely nice to have.

Just as I mounted my bike, the interface popped up into my vision.

「Tracking - 4>5」

「Stealth - 7>8」

「Perception - 4>5」

「Intimidation - 1>2」

「Name: Shiro Tsukuyomi

Traits: Fox's Grace, Quick Healing, Insight

Skill Points: 1

Tracking - 5

Stalk

Tech - 5

Eidetic Schematic

Stealth - 8

Fox's Paw

1 Perk Point

Sleight of Hand - 8

Hidden Hands

Ambidextrous

Perception - 5

Aetherial Perception

Net - 2

Melee Weapons - 1

Intimidation - 2

Firearm - 3

First Aid - 3

Evasion - 2

Driving - 7

Land Vehicles

Deception - 5

Honest Face

Criminology - 5

Cues

Concealment - 8

Lethargic Presence

Hidden Weapon

Brawling - 1

Accounting - 1

Request Board」

Stealth finally went up? That threw a wrench into my plans. Originally, I wanted to spend my Skill Point on it, but now? Hmm…

I looked through the list several times on my way home. Nothing in particular stood out to me, and I was half tempted to just save the point for a rainy day… but then it wouldn't be doing me any good. The potential two-day KO took out any reason to try and save them. By the time I needed a Perk or Skill Point, I wouldn't have time to be out of the game for a couple days.

By the time I arrived home, I decided to just go with Tech again. It was the best option for me, and one that'd hopefully prove to be exponentially useful. For now, it was a safe point sink till it got up to level eight. I found no small joy in the act of creating something. Even something as simple as the Doctor Absolom figurines. It was... therapeutic, almost?

I took a quick shower, drank some of Jack's Sun Kicker from the canteen, which tasted strongly of oranges, and laid down on my soft bed. Another bonus to having the meal replacing smoothie on hand—I wouldn't be starving for two days. At most, it'd just be one.

I didn't immediately head into the interface. Was it right to just go lock myself up all willy-nilly after my recent psychotic break? Hmm… it'd probably be fine.

I popped the Skill Point into Tech.

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