Chapter 449: Chapter 279: Tattoo

The tattoo has the style of the Black Gold Gang.

Kenichi Sora’s name is integrated into the design.

The owner said that the material was mixed with conductive metal and photosensitive biomass, inserted into the subcutaneous armor layer through nano-needles, which can produce a weak connection with the nervous system and achieve some peculiar effects.

“There’s another thing, consider it a bonus.”

Poof!

A pump syringe was jabbed in.

“Ow, what the hell?”

John felt a sharp pain in his neck, the kind that penetrates deep into the skin.

“Interference chip, external. It’s rare stuff from Europe, don’t spread it around, it’s already discontinued. This won’t affect your life or be tracked. Its function is to reduce the success rate of scans, so when others scan you or when captured by surveillance, there’s a chance it will evade detection.”

The owner pinched his fingers together.

“Don’t rely on it too much, it’s just a tattoo after all.”

“It looks cool.”

John checked the tattoo on his neck in the mirror.

He took the cup handed to him by the owner and drank half in one gulp, almost spitting it out.

“Fuck, what is this stuff?”

“Hahaha, it’s an adult drink, you’re too young to enjoy top-shelf goods!”

The owner laughed loudly, took back the cup, and unceremoniously downed the remaining liquid.

His expression twisted, letting out a contented exhale.

John, however, felt his mind go foggy, like a knife cutting from his throat down to his navel.

He endured the twisting pain from his insides, pushing the mirror mounted on his mechanical arm back.

The image zoomed out from a close-up to a full view.

John could clearly see—his skin turning visibly red.

“My heartbeat is not right.”

“Don’t panic, it’s normal. This is simulating a heightened neural state.”

The owner pulled the mirror back.

The focus returned to the tattoo,

making the design on John’s neck dynamic, as if light was flowing, accompanied by a 3D flashing effect.

The owner was very proud.

“See, the neural connection effect, those flashy street designs are nothing in comparison.”

[I like this!]

More than the practical interference function, Sora was interested in the tattoo’s coolness factor.

“It’s great, worth the price.”

John paid the highest custom price.

The owner’s cybernetic eye flashed as he leaned against the wall, admiring his work slowly.

“Some things money can’t buy, street reputation needs cherishing. Back in the day, the appointment book at the gang tattoo shop would be full with young people eager to make a mark after a big score…”

His buzz subsided, consciousness blurry, expression slightly tipsy.

John seemed to remember something.

“So, you do graffiti too?”

“It’s a specialty, you want your own memorial wall in the West District? Hahaha, that’s not easy.”

The owner laughed, shaking his head.

“But I’m happy, young folks still appreciate these things. When you make a name for yourself, I’ll consider personally creating a standout piece for you.”

He tossed the used tools into the trash, waved a large hand, signaling it was time for the customer to leave, then turned off the advertising lights, suggesting no intention of doing business for the rest of the day.

The doctor would do the same, drink heavily then sleep it off.

The tattoo shop owner was similar; probably had his own ways to unwind.

Not suited for having customers around.

John grabbed his coat and headed out, still hearing the owner muttering to himself behind him.

The shutter door clattered down.

He said.

“Besides the name of the drink, tattoos are also a way to record legends…”

[Street reputation enhanced, unlocked more services in the black market]

[Transaction complete in East District Underground Mall. 1/3]

Sora stopped at another shop.

“Let’s see if there’s anything else we can tweak.”

John looked up.

[Shop: Old Gun]

The East District Underground Mall was converted from a warehouse, with some areas retaining concrete structures as separate spaces.

These were high-end stores with steep rental fees.

The [gun shop] in front of John was one of them.

The sign at the entrance was made from repurposed weapon boxes, horizontally cut shells forming letters, exuding a raw, wild aesthetic.

John pushed open the metal door.

The hinges creaked with an ear-splitting noise, revealing the strong lighting inside the shop.

Unlike the damp environment of the underground market,

the gun store was crisscrossed with several thick cables, and a few standing work lights lit the place as bright as day.

Shelves lined the walls on all sides.

Gun cases of various sizes hung from the ceiling.

John strolled through this mini armory, his gaze passing over gleaming alloy daggers, kinetic energy rifles, and even customizable electromagnetic pulse sniper rifles…

The owner was an ex-soldier.

He was very robust, the kind of robustness stemming from having a natural body.

A pair of military boots locked in position beneath a floating counter.

“Hello, John, I’ve heard about you.”

His voice was deep, as if his vocal cords were muscle-trained too, his slightly round face absent of eyebrows, with an old, torn scar along his left brow bone.

“Anything you need?”

The owner put down the chamois used for polishing gun barrels.

“You can take a look first, prices are on the tags, each item is locked, requiring biometric recognition to open. Don’t take it the wrong way; I say this to everyone who walks in.”

[Ask about customization services!]

Sora wasn’t interested in the guns displayed on the shelves.

“…Hmm, I’m not here for off-the-shelf products. I heard you offer customization services, can you elaborate?”

“Engraving?”

The owner put away the items on the counter, unfolding a large and heavy mat, and explained.

“Bring the gun over, we can add symbols for you.”

“Laser printing?”

“That’s low-grade, very damaging to the gun. We do fine engraving based on the barrel’s condition, not affecting durability, making your gun and firing sound unique.”

“Another personalized customization service.”

John showed a hint of disappointment.

The man behind the counter smiled, standing straight, seeing through John’s thoughts at a glance.

“Engraving services are pricey. We also offer precision tuning for firearms.”

“Maintenance, I can do that.”

“Maybe you don’t know your prosthetic body as well, or rather, your shooting habits.”

The owner stepped aside from the counter, clearing the path.

“Come with me, John, you’ll be willing to spend for this.”

They passed through another magnetically locked door, reaching a small indoor shooting range, its area comparable to a small supermarket. In the shop-dense East District underground, it was quite a luxury.

“Not just anyone can get in here.”

The owner picked up a virtual headset, connected it to John’s slot, and stuck patches from top to bottom on his limbs.

“The setup is simple: raise the gun and shoot, apply natural force.”

[Mission Objective Update]

[Complete firearm testing. (Not achieved)]

The guns prepared in the range were all models, from pistols to sniper rifles, each grip equipped with high-precision sensors.

The helmet was used to test the feedback speed of the prosthetic eye.

Targets popped up in the shooting range.

The flicker rate of holographic projections became faster and faster.

Following the prompts, John shot, moved, emptied his magazine, and switched to the next type of weapon.

The owner wore sunglasses, leaning against the corner.

His lenses flashed with a dense array of data.

Not until the last target was hit did the shooting range return to its original brightness.

“Well done, John, don’t mind the scores.”

The owner approached, his strong arm pressing John’s shoulder, fingers tracing down the muscle bundle to the wrist, explaining the physical attributes’ impact on shooting force.

“Everyone has a ballistic co-processor, firearm systems record each reload motion and shooting posture, but people have habits, and prosthetic bodies update and upgrade. Every part’s details need fine-tuning based on the current state…”

“Hey, hold on.”

John didn’t pay close attention to his words.

Because the owner’s actions became increasingly intimate, coupled with that eyebrow-less face and the muscles stretching his shirt, he felt oddly uncomfortable.

John warned.

“Back off a bit. I promise, if your hand goes any lower, it’s leaving your shoulder.”

“So sensitive, John.”

The owner was indifferent, retrieving the test gun from him, then proudly showcasing his right hand stump.

“I’m very happy with my husband.”

[Wow.]

Sora let out a sigh of amazement.

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