As Rion moved to take a seat, he couldn't help but glance around the room. The small office, though modest in size, exuded an air of power and authority that seemed to emanate from every corner. Every inch of the dark mahogany walls was adorned with an array of framed photographs and certificates, each serving as a visible testament to Cobra's vast network and power within the Western district's criminal underworld.
Among the framed mementos, Rion couldn't help but notice a a single faded black-and-white photograph that captured a younger Cobra standing proudly, surrounded by shadowy figures whose identities remained veiled.
A crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling bathed the room in a soft glow, illuminating a large painting of a cobra poised to strike. The serpent's eyes, painted with an almost lifelike intensity, seemed to follow every movement in the room.
The atmosphere was thick with the scent of leather and cigar smoke, the latter wafting from a crystal ashtray placed within easy reach of Cobra, who sat behind his imposing oak desk. His fingers were interlocked, forming a steeple, while a subtle smirk played on his lips, betraying his confidence.
Positioned behind him were two hulking figures, their suits straining against their impressive builds, hands resting casually near concealed holsters, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Like Cobra and the rest of the thugs outside, they had a tattoo of a coiling serpent on their left hand.
"So, how do I address you?"Cobra casually asked, his voice, smooth and commanding as he broke the silence.
Rion, seating opposite Cobra with his bag slung over his shoulder, met the older man's gaze with unwavering confidence. "Names are overrated, don't you think? Let's just go with... Mr. Nobody."
Cobra arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Mr. Nobody, huh? Real original," he quipped, a smirk dancing on his lips. "That's fine though. Would you like something to drink, or..."
Rion shook his head, declining the offer with a polite wave of his hand. "Let's skip the pleasantries," he replied, his tone firm and to the point. "You know why I'm here."
Cobra chuckled, a low sound that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Straight to business then. I respect that." He motioned to one of the bodyguards, who stepped forward and placed a briefcase on the desk with a click. It sprang open, revealing two sleek, black handguns nestled within, Cobra's gaze lingered on the weapons with a mix of curiosity and admiration.
"I received the samples you sent me, and I must say, I'm impressed. You've got some skills," he remarked, his tone tinged with genuine interest as he regarded Rion with newfound respect.
Cobra's motivation for accepting the meeting stemmed from his curiosity about the creator behind the handguns he had received. While they were only marginally upgraded from those available on the market, the mere act of being able to make firearms was an impressive accomplishment in itself as skilled craftsmen capable of crafting firearms were scarce and held in high regard.
"Thank you. I use a combination of materials, tools, and techniques, that I've learned and developed over the years. I can't reveal the details, of course, but I can assure you, they're effective and reliable." Rion answered in a vague and secretive tone.
Cobra relaxed in his chair, closing the briefcase. "This is a good start, but I need a lot more of these."
"Of course," Rion replied. "I can provide whatever you need. But let's talk numbers. Quality like this doesn't come cheap."
"So, what arrangements do you have in mind?"
Rion leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Cobra's. "I will make a list of materials, tools and parts for you to gather. I'll handle the entire manufacturing and assembly process. I'll come here to work for three hours every day. In exchange, I want 400 kila per gun, and access to the channels that will allow me to gather intel and resources efficiently."
Cobra leaned back in his chair, the smoke from his cigar curling upwards as he contemplated Rion's proposal. His eyes narrowed in thought, assessing the terms laid out by the mysterious Mr. Nobody, acknowledging the fact that he was dealing with somebody who was deeply versed in the workings of the game.
"Four hundred kila per gun, and you handle the manufacturing and assembly. I get exclusive access to your creations, and you want access to my network for intel and resources," Cobra summarized, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk. "That's a steep price, Mr. Nobody. What guarantees do I have that your weapons will live up to the cost?"
Rion, maintaining his air of confidence, responded with conviction. "The quality of my work speaks for itself. You've seen the samples, and you know they're superior. Your clients will pay a premium for arms that stand out. This partnership is an investment in our mutual success."
Based on his findings, a lower end handgun on the black market was priced between 800 kila and 1000 kila. In light of this, his asking fee of 400 kila for better ones seemed quite fair.
Cobra's eyes lingered on Rion, his shrewd gaze probing for any signs of hesitation or uncertainty. Rion, however, remained composed, acutely aware of the worth of his proposition. What gave him an edge was Cobra's ignorance of his true capabilities and background, giving Rion the advantage. The atmosphere in the room hung with anticipation as the two men engaged in this silent negotiation.
"Alright, Mr. Nobody," Cobra backed down as he realized that Rion wasn't someone easily swayed. "I'll agree to your terms, but on one condition. If the quality drops, or if your creations don't live up to expectations, we'll have to revisit our arrangement."
Rion met Cobra's intensity with a nod of understanding. "Rest assured, you'll have the first batch within a week and my work will speak for itself."
"Good. One more thing though," Cobra said, his expression turning serious all of a sudden. "If there's a hint of betrayal, I won't hesitate to cut ties. In our line of business, loyalty is earned, not given freely."
Rion met Cobra's gaze, acknowledging the implicit warning. "Understood. You won't be disappointed."
With the deal sealed, they began to discuss the logistics of their arrangement. Rion detailed the specifications for the weapons he required, outlining the types of materials and tools necessary for the manufacturing process. The list was specific and tailored to ensure the superior quality of the firearms. It also secretly included some rare and specialized components that he needed for other purposes.
Cobra, in turn, shared information about the channels and contacts within his network that would be accessible to Rion. As they hashed out the specifics, time flew by, negotiations flowed smoothly, and they eventually reached a mutually beneficial agreement.
"To a fruitful collaboration," Cobra said, extending his hand across the desk.
Rion, his mask still firmly in place, grasped Cobra's hand in a firm handshake, sealing the deal with a silent nod of agreement.
"I'll be back tomorrow. Please make sure most of the important tools and materials are ready by then."
He turned to leave, a sense of satisfaction washing over him, mingled with a twinge of apprehension.
As he exited the office and made his way out of the garage, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, a subtle awareness tingling at the back of his senses. Glancing over his shoulder, he confirmed his suspicion—a shadowy figure was trailing him discreetly. It was evident that Cobra, driven by curiosity or caution, sought to uncover more about him.
Hmph, amateur....
Escaping his pursuer turned out to be surprisingly easy for Rion. He effortlessly merged into the flow of people bustling through Pinecrest's vibrant streets. Ducking into side alleys and adjusting his pace, he skillfully lost the person trailing him, weaving through the urban landscape with ease.
A while later, stepping off the bus, Rion saw that the district had transformed under the veil of night. Neon lights cast an otherworldly glow on the ordinary streets, transforming it into a captivating nocturnal landscape.
According to general information, this planet took a total of 13 months, each month filled with exactly 32 days to revolve around it's local star once. One complete rotation on it's axis took approximately 24 hours, splitting the time into two periods: daytime and nighttime.
He stretched his body as he looked up at the stars glimmering in the night sky.
No matter how many times I look at it, it's always beautiful...
He couldn't help but feel a sense of awe every time he gazed up at the stars glittering in the night sky. The colors here were so vibrant and varied, a stark contrast to the dull, polluted skies of his previous world. In that grim landscape, the sky was often obscured by a thick layer of smog, casting a dismal gray hue over everything below.
The stars were a distant memory behind the haze of malfunctioning city lights and industrial emissions. But here, in this new world, the night sky was a breathtaking spectacle, with stars shimmering like diamonds against a backdrop of deep indigo.
Looking around, he subtly adjusted his hoodie, letting the night air cool his face. The eccentric mouth mask once concealing his identity, now rested securely in his pocket.
Moving through lively streets, Rion's senses absorbed the bustling scene. Street performers added color to corners, and laughter resonated from open-air cafes embracing the city's nightlife. The distant traffic hum mixed with far-off music, creating an urban lullaby that wrapped around the district.
As he strolled through the vibrant streets, his mind began to drift, captivated by the lively atmosphere. It wasn't until his stomach growled that he remembered he hadn't eaten in hours.
He patted his pockets, expecting to find some cash, but his hand met nothing but empty fabric. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, rummaging through every possible pocket on his person. But, alas, not a single kila bill was to be found.
"Great. I didn't just forget to bring money, did I? Fantastic. Brilliant move, Rion," he thought sarcastically.
With his stomach now grumbling in protest, he glanced around for any potential solutions. That's when he spotted it—an old sedan making its way down the nearby road. The driver seemed distracted, likely more focused on getting home than the bustling surroundings.
Heheheheeee....., he grinned as a clever idea flashed through his mind.
Timing it just right, he stepped into the street, directly into the path of the oncoming car. The vehicle swerved slightly, but he swiftly sidestepped at the last moment, narrowly avoiding being hit. He threw himself to the ground, his arms flailing as he let out an exaggerated yell.
The car screeched to a halt, the driver, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, leaped out, panic etched across his face. "Oh my God, are you alright? I swear I didn't see you!"
Rion clutched his side, groaning theatrically as a small crowd began to gather. "You hit me!" he moaned, though he was perfectly fine. "I could've been killed! My leg! My... everything!"
Noticing the small crowd already forming around them, the driver, sweating profusely, reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, shoving it into Rion's hands. "Here, here, take this, get yourself checked out. Just don't shout!"
Rion peeked at the money—only a few notes. He groaned louder, rolling onto his back, still clutching his side dramatically. "Is that all my life is worth to you? My leg might be broken! My ribs too! I... I see a light!"
The man, now near a full-blown panic, scrambled back to his car, grabbed more cash, and thrust it toward him. "Please, just take it! And for the love of all that's good, keep your voice down!"
Rion gradually lowered his voice, but only as more bills were added to the pile. "Alright, alright, maybe I'm not seeing the light... but man, you really shouldn't be speeding like that at night," He admonished as he slowly picked himself up off the ground, brushing imaginary dirt off his hoodie.
The driver stared at him, baffled. "Speeding? I was under the limit! You—" He caught himself, realizing this wasn't the time to argue. He sighed in defeat, giving Rion one last pleading look before retreating back to his car, muttering under his breath about crazy pedestrians as he drove away.
Dinner funds acquired...