“Thank you very much for your assistance. Making you come all this way for nothing isn’t how Militech does things… We’ll issue the appropriate compensation shortly.”

Back in Night City, having outrun the incoming storm, Meredith offered Karl a polite apology before his departure. Karl simply gave a small nod, removed his combat suit, and left the convoy.

They had agreed that Karl could take a few items as part of the mission payment. Technically, he’d just taken a few apples—but clearly, this mission had escalated far beyond a standard convoy ambush. Too many unexpected variables. It was no longer a simple “intercept and retrieve” operation.

Karl didn’t ask for compensation—but the contractor still had to offer it. That was a matter of professional integrity.

No one in their right mind would risk offending a merc of Karl’s caliber over a minor material dispute. In the eyes of the coldly calculating corporate types, that would be an incredibly poor investment.

Karl returned home with a jacket full of apples. As he unpacked, he checked his comms—offline earlier due to the storm—and caught up on the backlog of messages.

Hmm.

Nothing urgent. Just the usual casual chatter.

The only message of note was from Mr. Johnson. Apparently, there had been a power struggle within the Tyger Claws earlier that morning. Andy had tracked down one of their high-ranking members and had already begun pursuing them.

Hopefully, it would all end well.

With that thought, Karl placed seven apples into the fridge. After a moment’s pause, he took one out, headed into the bathroom, and began rinsing it.

The tap water in Watson wasn’t much better than the contaminated mess in Santo Domingo, but it was enough to wash off dust. Still, to be safe…

He walked over to his vending unit, bought a bottle of purified water, and gave the apple one final rinse in the sink.

After all the trouble it took to get fresh fruit, he wasn’t about to eat it with any lingering industrial pollutants on the skin.

Karl remembered reading that apples had a natural waxy layer to protect against contaminants, so tap water wouldn’t penetrate anyway—but better safe than sorry.

One last step.

Karl walked to his weapons cache, rummaged through a drawer, and pulled out a chip.

A food analysis chip—same model used by Chiyome’s poison testers. He’d bought it on her recommendation.

He inserted the chip into a flat-surfaced scanner, placed the apple on top, and waited. Within seconds, the device lit up, its four corners glowing before a palm-sized screen popped out to display the results.

Karl scanned through the data. No issues detected.

So, the apples themselves weren’t the problem.

Then why had that rogue Arasaka team attacked?

He pulled out the diamond-shaped wooden block he’d brought back. There was no way it had been placed in the crates by accident. Hidden among the apples, it had clearly been attached to the crate at one point. Maybe not every box had one—but this definitely wasn’t standard cargo.

The reasoning was simple.

This kind of wooden block inside a crate of apples would bruise the fruit. Bruised apples rot faster, become breeding grounds for bacteria, and release excess ethylene gas—prematurely ripening the rest of the apples and triggering a chain reaction that spoils the whole crate.

That’s why you always remove the rotten ones first.

Thanks to that little nugget of domestic knowledge, Karl concluded: this packaging flaw had to be deliberate.

In the old world, sure, maybe this could’ve been chalked up to poor design communication. But in a world where fresh fruit was a rare luxury, no competent corporation would allow cargo packaging that damages its own goods.

He turned the wooden block over in his hands. It felt dense, a bit heavy, but otherwise unremarkable.

He set it on the table, took a bite of his sweet-tart apple, and frowned.

Let’s assume…

Assume that Arasaka squad came after this—the wooden block, unscanned because it wasn’t metal. What purpose did it serve?

Was there one hidden in every crate? Could they be assembled into something larger, like a wooden Gundam?

A wooden Gundam… sure. But even if there was one per crate, it wouldn’t be nearly enough. And with some of those crates now scattered across the Badlands thanks to the storm, who knew where the rest were?

That left only one possibility.

He set down his half-eaten apple, reached out carefully, and held the wooden block between his fingers.

Let’s see what’s inside.

Crack.

The material wasn’t particularly strong. In fact, it splintered almost immediately with a bit of pressure.

Hollow.

Inside the five-centimeter-thick block was a layer of aluminum foil.

Aluminum foil?

Once a handcrafted material used in traditional rituals in Shaoxing, it was now used mostly for sealing and thermal insulation.

Karl remembered it had excellent heat resistance.

Was that to protect the contents from the scorching Badlands temperatures?

He carefully peeled back a corner of the foil and opened it up—revealing a small wooden sculpture inside.

It was tiny, hard to make out. Looked vaguely like a bird—no claws, just two sets of wings and a beak. Made of wood.

More wood. What is this—Russian nesting dolls?

Karl took out the carving and, now used to the routine, casually crushed it.

Inside the shattered sculpture was a piece of paper.

A note.

Rare to see those these days.

Most people used datachips to store information. Printed documents were more of a nomad thing. Physical paper? Practically prehistoric.

Karl unfolded the overly elaborate, ridiculously well-hidden little note—and finally saw what had been kept so secret.

There was only one sentence:

“The location has been scouted. This document records part of the coordinates.

Item located at: E142°10′, N27°45′.”

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep