Qiao started smoking again.

John had probably already guessed the content of the task.

"Do you have any leads? Anything at all."

"Just a nickname, Canned, used to hang around the West District, but hasn't been seen for a while—might be dead. The West District is Black Gold Gang territory, but the camp has a competitive relationship with the Eden City gangs."

"I checked after I left Damascus Camp, but the Black Gold Gang's Speakers have already changed."

"For a long time, whenever I saw or heard about someone dealing in underage Super Sensing Chips, I'd tremble all over."

Qiao shook his head with a bitter smile.

"That's all I know."

"That's enough."

John got up to say goodbye and left.

He didn't offer any guarantees or even reveal his purpose for this trip, after all, the follow-up requirements were unclear. What if he couldn't free the person involved from their nightmares?

Qiao called out to him.

"Hey, John, who is it really... fuck it, I'll just say it, is it Nando?"

John hesitated for a moment before asking back.

"If it is, would you be willing to return to the Damascus Camp?"

"Heh."

Qiao waved his hand.

[New contact created - Qiao]

John drove back to the West District.

[Task objective updated]

[Inquire about Canned-related information. (Incomplete)]

He called Jilead midway, then briefly explained the situation.

The events took place when Bone Shards controlled the streets.

Back then, the Black Gold Gang was violent and chaotic, and finding someone with an outdated nickname was much harder than imagined.

Luckily, Jilead had a good relationship with John.

Using his local advantage, Jilead thought for a long time and finally sent over a shop address in a commercial district, telling John to ask an old-timer there.

[Shop - Sensitive Scale (Tattoos, Glowing Implants, etc.)]

John rode his motorcycle through the bustling area.

He saw an about-to-fade photo wedged in a crate's corner, with only half of the neon lights still glowing.

The owner, holding a bottle, reeked of a peculiar smell.

Once John confirmed he was still alive, he went up to chat. The conversation was inefficient, so he couldn't help but fetch a sobering agent from a nearby vending machine.

The owner drooled as he sat up.

Bones crackled.

"Fuck your mother, who are you, a Ghoul or something? You fucking jabbed me with a needle, what's inside, STD-laden blood or a sedative, are you out for social revenge, you piece of..."

"My name's John, Jilead sent me."

The owner's expression paused for a moment.

He seemed to shake off his groggy state and began overclocking his rusty, sluggish mind.

[Street reputation increased↑]

[Black market has unlocked more goods and services.]

"Ah, I've heard of you... come, sit down."

The owner rubbed his mouth.

"You're really too clean-looking. You don't appear to be someone of significance on the street. Let me recommend some very rare designs to you, fluorescent ones too. A few years back, the annual boxing champ came here to get one done, an English abbreviation above his lower back..."

[Task objective updated]

[Obtain intelligence from the owner. (Incomplete)]

He seemed to get into the groove of chatting.

"Sit down, John, let me share some gossip with you. He publicly claimed it was a lucky letter, but it was actually his boyfriend's initials. Who would've thought the rough guy who knocked out the runner-up in just three punches was actually the bottom?"

"Hey, wait a minute!"

Wanting to save time, John proactively transferred some money.

The smile on the owner's face became more pronounced.

John mentioned the nickname Canned and described the specific time and situation.

The owner said that nicknames often overlap.

But then he changed his tone.

"Canned might be slang."

"Hmm?"

"When Eden City gangs battled for territory, Canned became a popular term at the docks because the additives Enterprise used in the canned goods were too much, linking it to drug worship."

"Can this knowledge help me find someone?"

John paid hoping to see results.

The owner introduced with a professional yet opportunistic expression.

"This is Eden City, friend. On Black Gold Gang territory, every graffiti pattern has a meaning, tattoos are no exception. Canned Worship gave birth to a series of tattoo styles, which were very popular in the '50s."

"Can you find them?"

"Fuck, do you take me for a census worker, or someone at ECPD in charge of resident files?"

Though the owner wanted to lose his temper, he was patient, thanks to the money, in explaining to John.

"People who roam the streets have short lives, most are dead by now. Anyone you still see involved with Canned Worship probably isn't carrying a gun anymore and has turned to safer businesses."

He slumped down on the stool, continuing to drink while muttering about the customers he could recall.

John was planning to call Jilead again.

The worst outcome might be bothering Mr. Vito.

He learned from Oulos that by troubling others, you're actually building relationships.

"...That fat guy never slimmed down, the tattoo's on his right shoulder..."

"What did you say?"

John suddenly turned around.

"Uh, you mean the gambler Sangbu?"

The tattoo parlor owner was recalling customer information. After all, it's easy to become sensitive to patterns in this line of work.

He described the appearance characteristics again.

John, in a flashback of memory, had seen the figure of the perpetrator and felt there's a strong likelihood it matched.

[Negotiate with Sangbu. (Incomplete)]

John rode his motorcycle to the residential area north of the West District.

This place was mostly home to heavy industries, with cheap housing crammed full of society's underbelly of druggies and gamblers.

Jilead was a small brother.

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