Standard Imperial Calendar,
The Human Empire, the Tempest Sector, and Planet Nessen 4
Edson Schmid, an employee of the Air Transport Authority in Sommers Hive, follows the flow of people through the streets.
People walked by him, bumped into him, and pushed him away when they were on their way, but no one looked at him. At most, they glanced at him, thinking about this guy who didn't take a shower, had a beard, and was blocking their way. who is it.
He didn't mind, in fact he enjoyed it: just walking, not needing to go anywhere, letting his heart wander as he pleased.
He had no choice but to make him so unlucky that he made a friend, but it turned out to be a trap.
Now he is unable to advance or retreat.
Thinking of this, he smiled.
A guard saw him, and he must have thought Edsson was laughing at him, because Edsson saw him frown and prepare to speak.
Edsson immediately saluted, shook his head respectfully, and continued walking forward.
He didn't know where he was going, but it didn't matter, this was the best situation he could crave for now.
"Edsson Schmid."
He didn't quite hear the words the first time and didn't bother to look back.
He must have misheard this call. It was just a somewhat similar syllable separated from dozens of sounds and hurried footsteps.
"Edsson Schmid."
This time the voice came from behind him, and he felt a hand on his shoulder.
So he subconsciously reached for the pistol hidden in his pocket.
"No, no, my friend."
said the voice, this time in his ear.
It was a soft voice with a sticky tone, which seemed to be the accent of a low-level hive city.
The next second, he felt the tip of a sword touching the skin above his right kidney.
"I don't want to hurt you, but you must come with me."
Ederson felt a crack open in the back of his mind.
"Who are you?"
He asked, his voice was very soft. Around him, many people passed by in a hurry, not paying attention to this place, and they didn't care.
"A servant of one of your friends, who wishes to see you again."
Edsson felt the pressure of the blade move to the lower part of his left arm, and the hand loosened its hold on his shoulder.
A man came up behind him, to his left.
The man put a hand on his shoulder, as if they were old friends, and no one else could see the sword.
When Edson looked at the man, he unconsciously showed a shocked expression.
The man wore a crimson uniform with black crosses, and beneath a pointed hat, a broad, clean-shaven face smiled at him.
"I'm sorry to hold you on sword, but I serve our mutual friends and I can't let you refuse this invitation."
The man's accent suddenly changed: crisp and strong, without any hint of a low-level hive accent.
Edsson could smell the faint smell of alcohol and the strong smell of smoke on his breath, as if he had just come off the card table.
The government employee's mind was racing, a blur of fatigue mixed with shock.
"I see."
Ederson met his eyes.
The man who looked like a traffic controller smiled and nodded:
"He's not far away, come with me."
Five minutes later, he arrived at the meeting place - an abandoned warehouse.
The room was very small, no more than a plastic box hidden behind a small door. It was located at the end of a quiet corridor and seemed to have been forgotten.
A lighting ball was chained to the ceiling, pouring dim light.
Three plastic steel crates sat on the floor, their edges frayed and covered with a thick layer of dust.
The room was also filled with dust - the smell of dust and stale air.
Edsson glanced across the room and turned to face the man in the red uniform.
"Wait here."
The man said, reaching out and closing the dull metal door.
Edson let out a deep breath and pressed his fingers to his eyes.
His hands trembled on his eyelids, trying to calm his thoughts and think about what to do next.
"Hello my friend."
Hearing this voice, Edson opened his eyes suddenly.
The man standing inside the door gave a friendly smile and bowed slightly.
He was tall and appeared to be in middle age, but his eyes revealed that there was more to him than meets the eye.
On his thin body was a set of work clothes full of oil stains and poor workmanship. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing lean but muscular arms, and his somewhat hairless head shone in the light.
He smiled and took a step forward.
"Mr. Sorge."
Ederson called out the man's name neatly.
"Nice to meet you,"
Edsson said, his voice loud, calm and unhurried,
"I'm sorry, this must be a bit shocking, I've been... here for a while, but I think it would be best if our destinies never crossed, after all... Things have changed since our last meeting.”
Ederson just stared at Sorge.
He recalled that when the two met for the first time, the other person was still a very powerful rich man. Not only did he have strong financial resources, he also had many "friends" in the government department, and his daughter happened to be a Severe illnesses require very expensive medical equipment.
Sorge looked at him too, as if he were recalling the same moment.
"A lot of things have changed, but both of us are still here."
Edsson felt a pain in his chest.
He took a breath, feeling himself filled with anger, hot and sour.
So he suddenly rushed forward, raised his hand, and immediately grabbed Sorge's smooth neck, pressed the cunning liar against the wall, and squeezed again.
Then his hands were empty.
Ederson's whole world suddenly spun and fell, and then he couldn't breathe.
He fell to the floor, feeling the last bit of air in his lungs being forced out of his mouth, and could only roll around and gasp.
Sorge stood above him, head bowed, hands hanging at his sides.
"You should have used a knife."
Sorge smiled and raised his hand to show Edson the knife he was holding in his left hand.
His eyes followed the sword blade downward until he met Edson's eyes.
"If you're going to kill a man, kill him with one blow."
Edsson endured the pain in his chest, the anger still lingering, just bound by the pain until they became one.
He rolled to his knees and took a deep breath.
"What else do you want to take from me? You've already made me a traitor!"
gasped the young employee, struggling to stand.
