The race queen licked her lips and left.

"Why do you like it too?"

John chuckled.

"What's that magnetic card?"

"A magnetic card for placing gambling bets. You think those fools lifting the hoods are doing it to show off? No, it's to get people to bet and earn money for them, gambling odds, racer shares..."

The organizers risk getting settled by the ECPD for this event, surely it's not because of passion.

"Try harder, John."

Oulos said with a smile.

"I don't want to make a losing trade. The money spent today, you have to earn it back for me. If it loses, I'll sell you to the SAT and Eastern People."

"That's too cruel."

"Either way, if we're going to die, don't waste it, darling."

Oulos teased with a laugh.

Palmer's dock area was submerged in spray paint and neon lights.

Abandoned warehouses had been converted into temporary repair zones, with personalized graffiti glistening on the latest coatings.

Bam bam bam...

Powerful electric surges rushed through the roadbed.

Lights lit up on both sides of the abandoned highway, outlining a bright and colorful starting area.

A larger holographic projection rose up.

It was a skeleton spanning the entire dock, slowly rotating with black letters, releasing yellow light from its empty eye sockets, with synthetic mechanical sounds emanating from its opening and closing teeth.

The holographic projection enveloped the forty or so sports cars below.

Those motorcycles participating in the race were all propped up in the waiting area, anticipating the midnight betting.

Fans in Eden City fond of this path gathered at the docks.

John slowly drove onto the track, and Eisenberg, equipped with crystal car coating, looked unique, although not many people knew he was the mercenary who made waves in the West District.

He took off his coat and stood in front of the car wearing a vest.

John thought of his life at Tiebang Logistics, suddenly wanting to seriously tune up before the race.

A feeling of rekindling fun emerged.

The intense sweet and burnt smell of nitro fuel and ethanol-2 got into his nose.

The warm, hot air, mixed with the smell of sweat and perfume, the pungent odors of heated oil and metal, repeatedly ascended in the atmosphere smoke and crowd clamor.

This is illegal racing.

Bam.

The magnetic closing doors slowly sealed.

Through the rippling car window glass, the whole car's data and scattered race queens could be seen; the announcer's voice echoed from the "Skull" projection as the race's start was declared.

"Let me ask you something."

Suddenly, Oulos spoke.

She had been silently watching John inspect the car just now.

"Why did you come to find me before you die?"

"..."

[Mission Objective Updated]

[Respond Honestly. (Optional)]

[Lie. (Optional)]

"I'm sorry."

John didn't pay attention to the mission prompt.

"Since being in contact with you, I've definitely benefited. Owing something feels uncomfortable, especially when I'm going to die; it just seemed right to say goodbye to you."

[Palmer Speed Race, starting now, everybody freaking race!]

OH——

The crowd's cheers were akin to a tsunami.

The uniquely styled cars roared to start, various tire burn sounds and thick smoke obscured the view.

John immediately initiated, but was intercepted.

[Vehicle System Access/Waiting Confirmation]

Black Light could forcibly break through.

Normally, no one could touch John's Eisenberg.

Unless...

John turned his head and saw Oulos' artificial eye flashing in the passenger seat.

"What's wrong? Don't want the bet?"

He didn't mind.

Oulos shook her head, watching the competitors leaving in a cloud of dust.

The crowd gradually noticed the few lagging cars.

Some genuinely had vehicle issues, with overloaded parts causing engine cylinder blowouts, while others were victims of sabotage, with hackers remotely shutting down their systems.

Cheering, mockery, questioning, cursing.

Accompanied by tossed and spilled drinks, smoke changing color with the lights, becoming topics of discussion here and there.

There's also some focusing on this Eisenberg.

The announcer said "John" is a novice without experience in the race, understanding the perilous nature of the Palmer Speed Race, drawing more laughter; by tomorrow noon, his identity and the day's significant toilet purchase would be discovered and would become another classic joke in the bars.

All these sounds were isolated outside by the aqua-blue glass.

Oulos sighed from the passenger seat.

"Wow, John, honestly, you're disgusting me, let me take it slow... John, why, when you're about to kick the bucket, are your thoughts still so naive?"

"..."

John leaned onto the steering wheel, his gaze crossed the dark water, seeing those sharp-edged skyscrapers.

"You're smart, most people in this city are smart, but there always needs to be a few fools to show them some people are different."

"..."

Now it was Oulos' turn to be silent.

Every piece of data from Messiah's Eye confirmed that John spoke from the heart.

Ultimately, she revealed a hopeless expression, clicking her seatbelt into place.

[Vehicle System Unlocked, Route Load, Adapting to Race Parameters...]

"If you can come first, we'll clear the debt, and you can peacefully close your eyes!"

Oulos gripped the handle, prepared.

"I won't attend your funeral, so this is my last message to you."

But to her surprise:

John didn't immediately start the vehicle; instead, he released the steering wheel, climbed over the console, nearly pressing onto her.

At that moment, numerous thoughts crossed Oulos' mind.

The middleman walks a precise calculation between ruin and prosperity—both propelling a city's cycle of violence and becoming the mercenary's sole dependable "order" amidst chaos.

Some will always act beyond the "calculated" logic, becoming part of the "unexpected" factors.

This unexpectedness is lethal to the middleman.

John didn't do anything nor cared about Oulos' rampant thoughts; he simply pulled over the other side of her seatbelt, fastening it in an "X" shape.

Eisenberg Silver Rider is a vintage supercar.

It has a professional race mode, which in such extreme speeds, requires more advanced protective measures.

"We've been delaying too long."

John returned to the driver's seat.

With one hand he pressed the launch button, simultaneously stepping on the dynamic weight balance pedal.

Silver Rider 577's rear wheels spun freely, burning a cloud of rubber smoke.

Oulos hadn't reacted before feeling a powerful force pouring into her spine.

Her head was violently embedded in the roll-over seat.

Meanwhile, the passenger seat contracted inward, welding Oulos wholly to the seat.

Carbon fiber connections emitted a squeak.

At peak torque release, the Silver Rider supercar was "launched" off the starting line, those entrenching in front of the audience were dispersed by a whirlwind.

Then the cheers resounded across the dock!

Palmer's dead-end road was a straight path, also a section for each racer to slam the gas pedal, pulling out layering in the area.

The supercar engine roared alone on the empty street.

Tail lights like a gentle stream flowed under nearly a thousand gazes, curving out an arc, entering the first bend with a forty-degree tilt, pressing the entire car low to one side, toughly enduring immense torque.

The speed was truly incredible.

Those competitors that had darted out earlier, even without an electronic leaderboard, noticed the unusual engine sound:

It was nestled in the roaring night wind, aimed like a high-piercing deadly bullet at the back of everyone's heads.

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