Vance stood before the workbench, his body swaying slightly. As the adrenaline faded, the exhaustion he had been forcibly suppressing crashed over him like a tidal wave. His vision blurred, and the mechanical ticking in his ears sounded distant and distorted, as if heard underwater. Then, a warm liquid slid down his nasal cavity, dripping onto his expensive dark grey coat.
Blood. Bright red, blooming like a dark flower on the fabric.
"Vance."
Cerberus moved instantly. He caught Vance's teetering body. The boy's eyes were still hollow, but his grip on Vance's arm was incredibly tight, trembling slightly. It was the instinct of a beast reacting to its master's injury—a deep-seated protection program activated.
"I'm fine." Vance waved him off, pushing Cerberus away somewhat roughly. He pulled out the wrinkled handkerchief and pressed it hard against his nose. He tilted his head back, trying to stop the flow, but a migraine drilled into his temples like a boring machine, forcing a groan from his throat.
This was the cost of Synesthetic Lie Detection. It wasn't a divine gift, but a pathology. His brain processed a massive stream of information that normal humans couldn't imagine. Scents, micro-expressions, heartbeats, tone... all converted into olfactory signals and jammed into his overloaded neural center. In the high-intensity game just now, to catch Old Ghost's emotions in the dark, he had burned every ounce of his computing power.
"Your brain is smoking," a raspy voice said.
Old Ghost had recovered from his defeat. He didn't attack; instead, he stared at Vance with a complex expression. As the Ghost Market's best mechanic, he knew human anatomy better than clocks. He saw Vance's bloodshot eyes, the unstoppable nosebleed, and the unnatural flush of skin around the neural port on Vance's neck.
"Normal neural ports are tools to assist calculation." Old Ghost stood up slowly, walking to Vance, his gaze sharp. "But yours... it's eating you. The temperature is too high. It smells like burnt protein."
Vance didn't speak, just covered his nose and stared coldly.
"Let me see." Old Ghost reached out to touch Vance's neck.
Slap.
Cerberus caught Old Ghost's wrist. The boy's strength was immense; Old Ghost felt his bones creak, about to snap.
"Let him go, Cerberus." Vance's voice was muffled. Cerberus hesitated, then released, but kept his eyes locked on Old Ghost's throat like a wolf ready to lunge.
Old Ghost rubbed his wrist, undeterred. He leaned in, his magnified goggles inspecting the port blinking with faint red light. Seconds later, he gasped, looking at Vance as if seeing a monster that defied physics.
"Madman..." Old Ghost muttered, his tone a mix of shock and disbelief. "Your neural circuit is reversed."
"Normal ports let signals in to help the brain. Yours... acts as a Neural Dam. It's limiting your brain, preventing your own processing power from frying the delicate electronics. This isn't a civilian model. It's not even military. It's an experimental relic from the Old Era. A cage for a monster."
"Seen enough?" Vance interrupted. He stuffed the bloody handkerchief back into his pocket, his eyes turning icy. The look reminded Old Ghost of a frog being eyed by a viper.
"Knowing too much isn't good for your health, Ghost. You're smart. You know the price of curiosity here."
Old Ghost fell silent. He looked at the pale, bloody young man. The humiliation of losing the bet vanished, replaced by a deeper fear. This wasn't a lucky upstart. This was a lunatic who burned his own brain as fuel just to win. And what was inside that brain seemed more dangerous than the entire Ghost Market.
"I didn't lose unjustly." Old Ghost stepped back, leaning on the workbench. He lit a cigarette for himself and tossed one to Vance. "Smoke. Nicotine helps with the neural pain, though it's not a cure."
Vance caught it, accepting the light from Old Ghost. He took a deep drag. The acrid smoke cycled through his lungs, suppressing the sickening smell of blood.
"Now, business." Vance exhaled a smoke ring. His voice was weak but commanded absolute authority. "You lost. Your life is mine. But I don't want your life. I want what's in your head."
"Of course." Old Ghost turned and rummaged through the pile of parts. "Rules are rules. In the Ghost Market, reputation is heavier than life. Since I lost, this old life and this shop are yours to command."
He pulled out a black, unmarked data chip from the bottom drawer. It looked old, worn smooth by countless touches.
"This is the 'Eyes' you wanted." Old Ghost slid the chip to Vance. "It contains backdoors to all Ghost Market surveillance, plus the intel network I've built over decades. It's not all top secret, but enough to let you see the filth hidden in District 9's sewers."
Vance pressed his hand on the chip. It felt cold. But he didn't check it immediately. He knew surveillance wasn't enough. In Viper's ledger, he had seen strange payments. Every month, Viper sent huge sums to an account marked "Data Cover-up." Last month, the payments stopped.
This meant two things: First, this person held secrets even Viper feared. Second, something happened to him.
For Vance, who hunted the Seven Deadly Sins, the enemy of his enemy was the best puzzle piece.
"One more thing." Vance looked at Old Ghost through the smoke. "I need to find someone."
"Who?"
Vance paused, then spat out the name. "Nyar."
Old Ghost's hand froze. Ash fell on his robe, but he didn't brush it off. His expression turned odd, fearful.
"You want to find that lunatic?" Old Ghost frowned. "Do you think you've lived too long? That guy is a ticking time bomb. Even I don't know where he is. Or rather, no one knows. They say he has a thousand faces and can become anyone he wants."
"I know who he worked for, and I know he disappeared." Vance tapped the chip. "I need his last known coordinates."
Old Ghost sighed. He walked to an old terminal and typed a command. The screen flickered, freezing on a blurry satellite map.
"Your puzzle piece isn't in the Ghost Market, or any safe house." Old Ghost pointed to a red dot. "He's in Hell."
"Sector D-6. The All-Seeing Surveillance Center. The lair of one of the Seven Sins—[Envy]."