“They’re all yours,” said Criminal AO. Cheers and whistles erupted from all around him. And little wonder, for what Takamasa had just revealed to his private army was a room filled with enough Legacies to take down an entire country.
And these soldiers were no simple AI-controlled PMCs. That would not be enough to win the coming battle. No, they were powerful Dealers, each and every one—legends on par with Called Game itself. And there was only one way for Takamasa to convince such people to work with him.
The Overtrick—the very weapons he had once fought so hard to contain. Now, he was handing them out like candy.
“Don’t you want one?”
“Oh, I’ll take a free gun, if that’s what you’re offering.”
The woman who answered him was a little older than Takamasa or Kaname, with straight platinum-blond hair that was almost white. She was slender and well-proportioned, with a youthful, doll-like face.
Her clothing, however, gave an entirely different impression. The most striking item was her pure-white racing swimsuit, over which she wore a black T-shirt rolled up above her breasts. A pair of suspiciously thick thigh-highs and a headband made from thin, twisted rope finished off her outfit. It looked like she was trying to cosplay a trucker while making sure her swimsuit remained exposed.
Her name was Poltergeist. She was a vehicle specialist, and her kill count behind the wheel surpassed even Kaname’s. Specialists like her, who were able to survive on their own rather than as part of a team, tended to be even more eccentric than usual. Bloody Dancer, the monster who tore apart Called Game, had been another example.
“But it sounds a little too good to be true. Don’t think I can’t see what you’re really up to.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“You’re only giving away the Legacies because you know you’re going to get them back. After everyone here gets themselves killed, that is.”
“…”
“In other words,” she said bluntly, “you don’t have the slightest bit of trust in other people, do you? I can tell just by looking around. All the Dealers you’ve gathered here have lost their humanity and joined AI society—they’re people who operate purely on potential profit and loss. Easy to control, and lighter on the conscience when you throw them away once you’re done.”
She was right. Takamasa had never intended to create a team. That kind of strategy would never be enough to beat Kaname Suou. That was why he’d taken a page out of Bloody Dancer’s book. After all, the man had once gone toe to toe with Kaname himself. His methods, then, should have the greatest chance of success. It was time to sow chaos, to build up walls that even Kaname could not cross, like how a microwave oven slowly agitated water molecules until they formed an untouchable mass of scalding steam.
Takamasa knew all this, but he still grinned and asked, “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’m the same way.”
Exactly the response he’d expected.
The woman walked over to the row of Legacies and calmly picked one out. It was a sawn-off pump-action shotgun, as short as one could possibly get, with a skeleton stock as thin as a wire coat hanger.
Its name was #lockpick.err, and it was not for shooting people. A single shot could decimate any physical lock, from a bike lock to a bank vault. Its simple construction was probably due to its origins as an attachment meant to fit to the barrel of an assault rifle.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get your money’s worth from me,” she said, unfazed by the thought of putting her own life on the line. Although she had seen through Takamasa’s lies, the truth didn’t give her so much as a moment’s pause.
“However,” she continued, “If I do my part and happen to live, I don’t want to hear any complaints. No asking me why I didn’t die like the others, understand?”
✦ ✦ ✦
The orange glow of dusk filled the sky. Midori looked up.
“A sun shower?!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t know Money (Game) Master had those!!”
“If it exists in real life, it exists here,” said Kaname, using a tow truck to hoist the mint-green coupe out of the garage. As for why he wasn’t simply driving the car, well…
“I had it kitted out just like you asked,” said Tselika, “but I’d much rather give it a test drive first.”
“There’s no time. We have to strike now if we want to subvert Takamasa’s expectations. You saw that weapon, right? He has a clear, unobstructed view of all the land routes leading into the rain forest and can fire with impunity. The same goes for the sky: He can shoot a missile or a stealth fighter right out of the air. We can’t hope to challenge him on his terms.”
“I understand that,” Tselika replied. “I just hope the wind doesn’t blow this thing off course.”
Seemingly unperturbed by the sudden rain, Tselika put a hand on her narrow waist and glanced at what had become of her beloved car.
The vehicle’s current setup brought to mind the way a ski boot connected to the ski. The entire chassis was mounted on a custom assembly, rendering the wheels useless. Instead, four large propellers sat at each corner, turning the mint-green coupe into something more closely resembling a radio-controlled drone or one of those old-school racing slot cars.
It wasn’t intended for ground travel, nor was it meant to soar freely through the heavens. So what was it for?
✦ ✦ ✦
“A flying car. We’ll use this to fly low, slipping between the buildings.”