[Task Objective Update:]

[Complete the auction game. (Not Achieved)]

The atmosphere heated up instantly.

A warehouse originally going for five thousand bucks went up twenty times, making the other guests a bit excited.

Old Chris wasn't idle either.

One moment he's bragging that it's a legendary mercenary's safe house, another moment it's a gang boss's little vault. Coupled with exciting historical cases of blind auctions, he coaxed many into opening their wallets.

John went through the warehouse numbers again, then looked back and found none priced lower than twenty thousand.

Is money picked up from boxes?

John is a pragmatist. Though he understands the allure of this game with "treasure hunting" and "gambling" elements, he never fantasized about striking it rich with a second-hand warehouse.

Oulos nudged him again.

John caught on and placed a higher bid on a warehouse number he lingered on.

It's a new number.

She wasn't fixated on the previous warehouse.

[Number: #074]

[Current Bid: 42,500 Euros]

John started a new auction, and after a round of competition, it stabilized at [60,000 Euros].

Palmer wasn't some high-end money pit.

Blind auctions have different levels too.

The kind that Old Chris runs happens every day, with generally low entry thresholds and final prices, attracting marginal folks with spare cash and company dogs killing time.

Dropping tens of thousands still leaves an impression.

The customers in booth B44 couldn't help but turn their heads to look.

He was also the one bidding up the previous warehouse.

John was pretty sure now.

This guy was Oulos's target.

His hair was slicked back, wearing a high-end tailored suit, with a couple of company soldiers in sunglasses sitting next to him, probably execs sneaking out for fun.

John didn't immediately scan.

He was concerned about triggering company security reactions and also because Oulos hadn't given a clearer task objective.

The price for warehouse [#211] also settled at 100,000 Euros.

No passionate confrontations or money-throwing duels as imagined.

Company dogs aren't, well, at least not all are idiots.

John noticed the similar people sitting in booths from B40 onwards.

There weren't many of them, maybe five or six in total, scattered around but all with the same characteristics—company dogs and wealthy elites.

John didn't even need to scan.

Because this elite group stood out too much—well-cut clothes, sharp lines, data ports hidden under high-end synthetic fabrics, starkly different from the street rabble outside.

"Really? Company dogs dare come here?"

John leaned back on the sofa, squinting his eyes and muttered sarcastically.

"They're all here for kicks."

The one who answered was Old Chris.

"It's a popular activity lately. These rich folks specifically look for places like ours, the more dangerous the better. There's even Ghoul's operating room, the gang's cheapest sex doll rooms..."

"Aren't they afraid of dying?"

"Of course, the more afraid, the more thrilling. These well-off idiots are just bored, you see? Look at those people beside them—those are the pricey bodyguards they brought along."

Chris put on a very businesslike smile.

His prosthetic eye was glowing, teeth showing a purplish tint, and a few glistening alcohol beads clung to his colorful beard.

"Did I tick you off?"

Chris leaned down, sticking his head closer to John.

He pushed aside the girls on either side and lowered his voice, his fat body appearing ominous and towering in the dim light.

"This 'city tourism' is a good money-making opportunity. I know a few friends who scout these spots and then attract these rich yet brainless idiots to play, shoot some videos, create a bit of drama, like dissecting halfway through a crime scene, sudden explosive gang fights, throw in some thrilling counterattacks, and every client leaves happy, cash flying out~"

"Why are you telling me all this?"

John was perplexed.

He also leaned in, acting interested—actually, he was trying to distract Chris's attention to cover for Oulos, who was still playing blind auctions on the sofa, wearing a headband.

She occasionally let out small exclamations, switching rooms and bidding against others.

Oulos was playing the part of a curious, clueless, flawed, sexy doll.

Chris gestured with his chubby hand.

"City tourism gets boring eventually. I think before this money trick fades away, we should squeeze one last haul."

"You want to make it real?"

"Smart, John. Adventure always comes with unexpectedness. You could even get knocked out of the sky riding a hovercar!"

Chris briefly explained the plan.

He had a method to disable safety chips, and through intel, he meticulously selected a batch of juicy clients to hit at the Ghoul's Super Sensing Chip shooting site. As long as they take out security staff, they could control everyone within thirty seconds.

No emergency team would interrupt.

They'd drug people, load them onto vehicles, and take them away, whether for ransom or dismantling and selling, they could make a fortune.

"We're still in the team-building stage and happened to run into you, John. The middlemen in the West District all know about your skills. How about it, pull off a job and screw these idiot company dogs!"

"Heh, honestly, I'm not that interested."

"Ah, what a pity... all right, looking at your getup, you must have better ways to earn money."

Old Chris grinned again.

"But no worries, Palmer always has new jobs popping up daily. You can hit me up when you get bored. If a job needing a pro turns up, I'll call you."

Old Chris was watching the clock; the auction was about to wrap up.

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