Bursting Tomato 5

Warren Tower ran on an internal network; to break in, someone had to first open a backdoor inside the building, plant a node, and let Hei Ge in. Security was tight, with guards on every floor and around-the-clock monitoring, making physical infiltration nearly impossible.

That was why they needed someone to get them inside.

Lu Mingqiu's plan was to enter the tower herself, quickly neutralize the guards, hypnotize Dr. Sera to read her memory, and retrieve the formula for the consciousness-separation serum. For the infiltration itself, she and Yan Xianchuan were enough. Hei Ge would neutralize the alarms, and with any luck, they'd have plenty of time to finish the job before reinforcements arrived.

Lu Mingqiu was not inflexible; to achieve her goals, she could be ruthless in using herself, and she didn't mind using others. Meeting face-to-face was a precaution. If Harper agreed, they would sign a contract, but the real guarantee was Lu Mingqiu's esper ability. The stakes were too high to risk any leak of information. If Harper refused, Lu could simply hypnotize her into "agreeing."

Yan Xianchuan had understood her intentions the moment she spoke and had no intention of calling her out. She liked and enjoyed the tacit balance with Lu Mingqiu; it made things interesting.

The next morning, sunlight squeezed through the curtains, spilling pale gold across the floor. Its tendrils climbed the blue plastic flowers before slowly reaching Yan Xianchuan's eyelids.

It was bright. Night City was further south than Nanjin City, so even the early morning sun felt as hot as midday in the north.

Yan Xianchuan turned over. She was awake but chose to bury her head under the covers.

She'd had a good dream last night.

She rarely dreamed. People who dreamed often were said to be emotionally rich, imaginative, and mentally active. Her mind was the opposite—calm, empty. If compared to an electrocardiogram, her thoughts were like a patient being revived by a defibrillator: mostly a flat line, with only occasional, sudden spikes.

Yan Xianchuan knew she wasn't normal, but that went without saying. Anyone with basic judgment could easily see how different she was from others.

She just didn't want to admit it.

She'd been like this since childhood. Her parents noticed first. It wasn't obvious when she was a baby, but by the time she was three or four, when she could talk and walk, her new parents slowly became aware of her peculiarity.

Yan Xianchuan never smiled, nor did she often get angry. She simply lacked emotional swings. When her father tried to amuse her with toys, she'd watch him quietly. Her mother asked why she wouldn't play, whether she didn't like them; she said it was boring.

The family had a puppy. Children were usually curious about animals, but she wasn't. She walked around the dog as if it were furniture.

Her parents took her for examinations. It was congenital emotional deficiency, incurable. The doctor gave them a pitying look and only said to try giving her a loving environment.

That night, her mother quietly wiped her tears under the blanket. Not because she regretted having a flawed child, but because she worried about the future—when Yan Xianchuan grew up and stepped into society, she was bound to be an outcast, excluded by others.

Yan Xianchuan had a very good memory. She remembered everything from her childhood. After coming back from the hospital, her parents bought her favorite ice cream—two cones, though her young stomach was fragile and she'd normally be allowed only one every two days.

Two ice cream cones: one matcha flavor, one strawberry.

She dreamed she was held by her father, holding one cone in each hand. The ice cream was delicious, cold, and soft.

Yan Xianchuan didn't understand why she dreamed of that. Perhaps because she'd eaten too much yesterday, her brain associating it with that memory. Or perhaps it was for some other reason she didn't want to think about.

Knock, knock, knock. Lu Mingqiu knocked on the door.

Yan Xianchuan got out of bed, replied, and went to wash up.

The bathroom had no windows. Cold white light poured down from above. She turned on the tap and splashed her face with cold water.

A square mirror clearly reflected her face: pale lips, dark, deep eyes, hair a little longer now, resting on her shoulders like a mushroom. The light above cast stark shadows where it was too bright.

She gazed at herself in the mirror for a while, a mutual feeling of annoyance. "Why are you looking at me?" she said, and the person in the mirror stayed silent.

She reached out and pressed her palm against the cold, smooth glass; the faint blue veins on the back of her hand were visible. She stared at the other, pupils like ink dots painted by an artist—lifeless, motionless.

"Come eat breakfast," Lu Mingqiu's voice came from the living room.

Clear, melodious, flowing like a forest stream into Yan Xianchuan's ears. She blinked, lowered her hand, and replied, "Almost there."

She dried her hands and walked out. Behind her, several cracks fissured across the mirror's surface, like frost patterns on a winter window.

On the table were steamed buns, soy milk, fried dough sticks, and several other Chinese dishes, neatly arranged, steam rising. A side dish of cold vegetables was coated in chili oil and garlic, looking appetizing.

Yan Xianchuan sat down, picked up a bun with her chopsticks, and placed it in her bowl. Lu Mingqiu took a bite of the cold dish, using her chopsticks with equal proficiency.

"Speaking of which, I forgot to ask—are you mixed-race?" Yan Xianchuan asked.

"Yes," Lu Mingqiu said. "My original name is Inola Bolov, if you remember. The Bolov family is mostly Nordic; my mother was Asian." She smiled lightly, her azure eyes as clear as glass. "I thought my appearance was obvious enough."

"But compared to my birth name, I prefer my current name. I chose it myself—well, a stage name."

"Does it have a special meaning?" Yan Xianchuan asked.

"If I have to say: autumn is the season of harvest and withering. I like autumn," Lu Mingqiu said. "No deeper meaning."

"We'll leave after breakfast. Harper agreed to meet. No rush," she added, "I've set aside enough time."

Since Su Hong hadn't come on this trip, driving fell to Lu Mingqiu. Yan Xianchuan genuinely didn't know how to drive. When she entered the escape game, she'd just graduated high school, still a minor, too young to learn. Her family had planned to arrange lessons once she was in university with more free time. After entering the game, there was no need.

The car was smooth. She sat in the back, head turned to watch traffic, not saying a word for an hour.

That was unusual.

Had they just met, Lu Mingqiu wouldn't have found it odd—the woman had seemed lifeless then, and speaking would have been more surprising. But after getting to know Yan Xianchuan, especially after both dropped their masks, she had become more talkative, sometimes too much. Because she deliberately tried to find topics.

Not like this silence.

Lu Mingqiu glanced at her a few times in the mirror. Yan Xianchuan was just staring out the window, lost in thought.

"Want to chat?" she asked lightly.

The other turned back. "About what?"

Good, at least she wasn't fully lost in her own world. For a moment, Lu Mingqiu felt like a psychiatrist coaxing her patient, relieved that she wasn't entirely beyond help.

Keeping Yan Xianchuan alive posed problems similar to killing her: the former meant enduring a latent variable, both controllable and uncontrollable—a thorn in the side for someone like Lu, who liked to plan. But killing Yan would mean marrying another alpha, bound to other financial scions, creating equally unpredictable consequences.

Yet that wasn't all that pushed Lu Mingqiu to choose the first path.

There was a strange air about this lunatic. She was so overwhelmingly self-centered that everything appeared equal in her eyes—a rarity for Lu Mingqiu. Lu's identity, abilities, and work inevitably drew astonishment from others: "How did an omega do this?" "Incredible, an omega can do this too?" "Coming this far as an omega must have been hard." "You didn't have to do this; after all, you're an omega."

Omega, omega, omega.

Praise was fine, but why attach the label? Anyone who joined Spark to fight the corporations was a commendable hero, yet only she was singled out because she was an omega. Perhaps it was well-meaning, but the underlying discrimination against omegas was something she couldn't accept. Yan Xianchuan, however, saw her the same as anyone else. She didn't see it as extraordinary. That "equality" was what Lu Mingqiu wanted—the root reason she was willing to coexist peacefully.

"Talk about you, about me, anything," Lu Mingqiu said. "For instance, do you want to learn to drive?"

"I should learn," Yan Xianchuan said thoughtfully.

"It's simple. A single auxiliary chip does it," Lu Mingqiu said. "You currently have only an internal comm chip. You still have a free slot."

"I don't like chips," Yan Xianchuan refused.

"Then I can teach you," Lu said. She braked and pulled to the curb. "Come on, take the passenger seat."

Yan Xianchuan didn't want to move, but her mother had once told her to never refuse kindness from someone genuinely offering. She let out a breath, almost a sigh, and got out, opening the passenger door.

"Driving isn't hard. This is the steering wheel, gas, clutch, gauges, and this is the horn..." Lu pointed as she explained. "And every car has an assisted-driving system. The pricier ones even have autopilot. Easy enough."

She pressed the gas, and the car moved again. "But piloting an airship is far more thrilling. You might prefer that."

She happened to glance up as another medical-team airship flew overhead. "Looks like only medical airships can fly," Yan Xianchuan observed, watching the red-and-white craft, siren blaring, cut through the sky.

"There are flight regulations, but medical teams are exempt—human rights above all, lives matter, that sort of talk," Lu Mingqiu said, laughing with a cryptic edge. "But only Class Three citizens and above can afford the insurance and the fee for a single medical callout."

"Helicopters can fly too, though they're reserved for the corporate families; rare, so usually you wouldn't see them." Lu added dryly, "Those flight rules are just a way for the rich to show they're above the rest."

Ordinary people couldn't even buy a chopper or an airship.

"Did you have a helicopter?" Yan asked.

"Once did. But after the news about my inability to conceive spread, the family confiscated most of what they'd gifted, so no." Lu said. "Still, the organization has a few airships. I can teach you if you like."

An airship cost two hundred million, and from Lu's tone, the "few" were hardly its most valuable assets.

"Sounds like the organization's fairly loaded," Yan said thoughtfully.

"Probably more than you imagine," Lu said with a smile in her eyes. "We're here."

The car swung into a stop with a flourish. Yan stepped out, looked around.

Hard to imagine the vibrant Night City held places this desolate: an abandoned factory, everything of value stripped away, even the gate gone. A torn poster lay half-soaked in a puddle, the other half stained with mud, the words for "smart fridge" barely legible. Not a soul here—not even a bird.

"Ten minutes until we're due," Lu said. "We wait."

Yan hummed, eyes downcast. A few ants crawled in the dirt ahead. She walked over, crouched, and silently watched them, like a person with autism.

Lu Mingqiu was now certain: something was wrong with this woman. "You spacing out? In a bad mood?" she asked.

"Your question is flawed. I'm an emotionally deficient lunatic—I don't get moods," Yan said flatly.

That was bad. Lu deliberated, then stepped softly to her side, crouching as well. "You're just a normal person with a few quirks. You said that yourself. Remember?"

Yan stared at her for a while, her dark eyes void of emotion. For a second, Lu entertained the thought of detonating the chip, but she suppressed it. The woman didn't suddenly snap; instead, she said slowly, "Do you have parents?"

What a question. Who was born without parents? Artificial womb technology hadn't advanced that far. Clearly not literal.

Lu thought about it. "My mother... was the epitome of the current ideal omega: beautiful, delicate, compliant with family arranged, sent to the head of the Bolov family as his mistress. Her head was full of romantic fantasies. When the first wife passed, she thought she'd become the official wife, but reality disappointed: he married another widow.

"She cried for days, then forgave him. She was only a minor family's daughter, unable to bring any advantage to the Bolovs. It wasn't Bolov's fault—the problem was with her, her own ineptitude. How could she blame him for choosing someone more capable?"

Yan said, "Her way of thinking is odd."

Lu gave a soft laugh. "You're the first to say that." She went on, "I was taken into the family at seven and learned I had ten siblings. Our father appeared only at monthly academic checks. After his second wife died, he remarried again—still not my mother, nor any of ours."

"So I have parents. It's just that they're the same as not having them."

"You're really pitiful," Yan said softly. A strange sympathy surfaced in her eyes, mist-like on the sea, dissolving with the first wind. "You're really pitiful," she repeated.

"When you grow up in such a family, you get used to it. It's not about pity. At least I'm well fed and clothed, received the top education, can't fault the material side," Lu said, half-mockingly. "Compared to those wanderers, I'm lucky."

"Do you think of them?" Yan asked.

"Who?"

"Your parents."

"Yes. I often think about them, but not in a sentimental way," Lu said. "Mostly, I wonder how to deal with my father, and sympathize with my mother, even if she doesn't think her life is bad."

"...I dreamed of them last night," Yan's voice was like a nervous squirrel, ready to flee at the slightest sound, or moss dripping with water in a dark forest, clinging to jagged black rocks. "Dreamed my father held me, bought me ice cream." Her voice trailed off. "It's strange. Five years, and I've never dreamed of them before."

Lu was silent. The other didn't need a response. And she was lost in confusion at the information embedded in those words.

The head of the Yan family was hardly a warm father—indeed, the patriarchs of these conglomerant families were all templates of indifference and betrayal, as if stamped on an assembly line. The notion of holding a child in one's arms was as absurd as the wildest joke; at least a joke could be real, but this never could.

Five years. The singled-out timestamp had obvious significance. Lu racked her mind, but nothing came. If asked when Yan was abandoned by her family, one would point to her first academic check.

The roar of a motorcycle approached, and Lu put the mystery aside—the person they were waiting for had arrived.

Good news: the heart-to-heart had some effect. Yan stood up, a look crossing her face.

Both knew it was an act, but the outward result mattered: she was willing to appear normal.

Lu felt a twinge of strange emotion. She'd never guessed she'd one day give a damn about a lunatic's mental health.

Atmore sat in front, driving; behind him sat Harper. Unlike in the video call, she wasn't provocatively dressed this time. Her lips were still painted red, her honey-colored skin like wheat in sunlight, robust and vibrant. Her cat-like eyes swept over them. "You're early. So talk. Best not hide anything—I know this isn't simple. If you don't lay it all out, I'm not walking into blind danger."

"We're here for Dr. Sera. You've seen the news," Lu Mingqiu began.

"No wonder everything's so strict lately," Harper cursed, a colorful slang."You're seeing him, but not to chat, right?"

Lu smiled, saying nothing.

The perfected version of the consciousness-separation serum had been developed, and the news had caused an uproar, but many such as Harper weren't particularly thrilled. She knew the corporate playbook: the price would never fit a commoner. They'd have to buy the old version while the company fleeced them.

Harper's face showed obvious conflict, but after a moment, she looked at them, eyes burning like freshly quenched steel. "I'll do it." A corner of her mouth lifted. "Never happier than to make trouble for the company's dogs."

Atmore glanced at her as if something crossed his mind, but didn't voice it. Harper shot him a glare. "This isn't the place. Let's talk at his place."

"Hey, why my place..." Atmore muttered, but Harper raised her hand, and he quickly put both hands up in surrender. "Fine! Mine's perfect—made for discussing business!"

Yan Xianchuan said nothing throughout. She was like a shadow, a bodyguard; whatever Lu said, she would do.

The motorcycle led, with Lu's car following. The destination was Atmore's apartment.

His clothes were moderately expensive, a minor brand, and he clearly kept up appearances, even wearing cologne. Not someone who'd live in a slum.

It was a two-bedroom unit, relatively tidy; no clutter of clothes on the couch, though the coffee table was littered with beer and cola cans.

Yan Xianchuan, in a display of practicality, grabbed a can of cola and a box of cookies, then sat quietly chewing.

"When do we move?" Harper asked.

"Sooner the better," Lu said.

"Warren Tower has seventy floors. I live on forty-two. Dr. Sera's floor, I don't know, but definitely above mine. Every hallway has four cameras, front and back plus one in each stairwell—basically no blind spots in the public areas." Harper drew a quick rectangle and made marks on it with simple, evocative strokes.

"I can get you into the building as guests. My registration is as a pleasure worker; bringing clients home is common." She said it without a hint of discomfort, then looked them over. "But you'll need clean IDs to register, and you'll have to act the part."

She lifted her chin. "I mean that awkward, embarrassed, want-to-die-of-shame expression." She winked, teasing. "Since I'm also the one cracking the whip."

"You'll need a hacker to cover the surveillance, or security's going to notice two suspicious types wandering around."

"We need to know where the surveillance room is," Lu said without changing expression.

"Fifth floor," Harper said. "Have a hacker? If not, I know someone."

"We know one," Lu said. "No concerns there."

"After grabbing the doc, we need a safe extraction route—" Harper began, but Lu cut her off.

"We're not grabbing her."

"What? Not grabbing? Just a chat?" Harper clearly didn't believe it but said nothing more. "Still need an extraction route." She nudged Atmore. "Your turn. Don't dawdle."

"The company has its own security forces, and if things leak, search teams will show up," Atmore said, still all smiles. "So you'd better stock up on weapons, so you're not caught empty-handed when it turns into a shootout. And if you get surrounded and can't escape? I'll be blunt: I won't risk certain death to rescue you."

Yan Xianchuan crunched through her cookies, unaware what the man was on about.