Gleanings: Lingering Echoes

  Well, well, it seems you all have quite heated feedback on the after-sales service of this hell express, especially regarding that red-haired spitfire—Sophia Rossi.

  Relax, that gal, how should I put it, feels like she's been blessed by some "goddess of fortune." Anyway, her life is as tough as a radiated cockroach that's evolved in the data wasteland. Want her to exit the stage? Not so easy, meow~ To be honest, since the Stardroop job, seven or eight out of every ten gigs I take, I catch a glimpse of that annoying yet charming red silhouette. Fate really likes to make rivals cross paths, doesn't it? The word "frenemy" was practically tailor-made for her. If my memory bank hasn't malfunctioned, the next time I clearly caught her active signal should be in that Science Castle case... heh, that's another bizarre story altogether. I'll chat with you about it when there's time.

  As for your relentless probing into those unlucky passengers' motivations for boarding? Alright, alright, given how generous your tips have been, I'll tap into some archive fragments from my private database to satisfy your curiosity. Back then, time was tight, and I didn't have the leisure to conduct life investigations on everyone. But afterwards... some information fragments always flow back to the market on their own.

  (Black Cat's virtual avatar—that languid Chinese domestic black cat—elegantly flicks its tail, and several massive holographic screens light up in the surrounding darkness, displaying surveillance clips with some noise, audio slightly distorted.)

  Screen One:

  [Stardroop Railway Company Headquarters, CEO's Office, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Neo-Chinatown Metropolis's neon skyline]

  The Stardroop CEO, Richard Foster, wearing an expensive bespoke suit, drums his fingers restlessly on the mahogany desk. Across from him sits Jacob Lee, the old man in a neatly pressed cardigan, expression calm.

  "Jacob, for God's sake, you're already retired. This isn't something you should be involved in. The waters here run too deep."

  Jacob slowly sets down his teacup, eyes sharp: "Richard, that system is covered with my fingerprints. If it's sick, I'm the doctor. I can't turn away when the patient is critical! Besides, there are so many passengers using Stardroop—I have to be responsible for their safety!"

  Foster takes a deep drag of his cigar, exhaling smoke filled with helplessness.

  Screen Two:

  [Goyang City, South Korea, a top-tier club VIP booth filled with holographic billboards and electronic psychedelic music]

  A man equipped with flashy fluorescent-colored cybernetic limbs (CTO of Hangang Consortium) pushes an unopened bottle of premium tequila across the table. Across from him, David Kim's eyes are locked on the data streams flowing across the other man's cybernetic limbs, his lenses reflecting light.

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  "Kim, name your price. Just get us the core technology from Stardroop Company. I want their 'secret recipe' on my desk."

  David Kim licks his lips, his smile greedy and confident: "A wise choice. 'Peeper David' will prove his worth. You pay a bag of gold coins, and you'll harvest a treasure island!"

  Screen Three:

  [Neo-Chinatown Metropolis, an old apartment building hallway in an immigrant neighborhood, lights flickering]

  Lily Tang is struggling with a haggard-looking woman at the doorway.

  "Mom, don't stop me! I have to go!"

  "Lily! It's all over the news! It's too dangerous! Mr. Wong... he... he's already missing!"

  Lily suddenly shakes off her mother's hand, tears in her eyes but extraordinarily determined: "He was the only one who helped us when we had nothing! I won't abandon him now!"

  She turns and rushes down the stairs, her figure disappearing into the dim corridor, leaving only her mother leaning weakly against the doorframe, sobbing silently.

  Screen Four:

  [Neo-Chinatown University, a cutting-edge neuroscience and electronic information laboratory filled with holographic projection models]

  Professor Anya Sharma closes the brainwave chart she's been demonstrating and turns to her students, her face showing the characteristic excitement of a researcher bordering on fervor:

  "Children, we need to pause our class for once. This Stardroop system 'incident' has provided an extremely rare... even unique abnormal consciousness transmission sample! As a researcher, I absolutely cannot miss this opportunity to be on the scene!"

  The students whisper among themselves, both surprised and admiring.

  Screen Five:

  [Neo-Chinatown Metropolis, Lafayette Cemetery, drizzling rain, overcast sky]

  The camera focuses on a brand-new granite tombstone with an inscription that's quite remarkable:

  "Here lies Kenneth Ryder

  A renowned private investigator

  His client satisfaction rate was 99.99%

  —Only one bitch ever gave him a bad review"

  Sophia Rossi's figure appears, not holding an umbrella, her red hair dampened by the wispy rain. She casually places a bouquet of flamboyant white irises in front of the grave, as if this isn't an offering but a winner's laid-down chips.

  Facing the tombstone, the corner of her mouth curves into that signature mocking arc, her voice carrying that languid yet barbed tone:

  "Ken, you goddamn bastard! I wrote your epitaph—are you fucking satisfied now?" She chuckles lightly, shaking her head. "That one bad review was from me, because you fucking botched your last job! I hired you for 'dual insurance,' and you ended up playing hero and getting yourself killed! You threw off my entire risk-reward analysis! Everything went fucking haywire!"

  She pauses, the sound of rain pattering. Her tone eases a faint edge of sarcasm, with a hint of icy candor rising to take its partial place.: "...But... thanks. Without you, that engineer kid would've definitely played hero like you and gotten himself killed. So... these flowers... you've earned them... don't get too full of yourself."

  (The screen signal becomes blurry in the rain, then fades to black)

  Look at this trainload of people: prisoners of responsibility, hounds of greed, ghosts of gratitude, knowledge-hungry scholars, diehards of heroism... oh, and a troublesome woman who, like me, mixed some other feelings into the business. What karmic entanglement, what massive karmic fucking entanglement, all twisted together into a one-way ticket to hell. Truly a magnificent prelude to tragedy.

  Alright, gossip ends here—Black Cat's channel is closing. This cat needs some peace and quiet too. Next time there's a juicy story, I'll call you again.

  Ciao.