The seller leading the transaction was a Middle Eastern man dressed in a silver suit, his facial features prominent and unabashed.
John and Oulos found another suspect in subsequent photos, a woman with a tattoo near her eye, her head shaved.
Their facial scans yielded no results.
John's brow furrowed gradually—Black Light had stuffed his prosthetic eye database with a plethora of files; if not even a name surfaced, it meant that in some sense, they didn't exist.
"At least we know their faces, hmm... partly. I'll pass the info to various companies, let those panicked corporate dogs do the digging, haha. With so many enterprises and resources, something's bound to surface."
Oulos flipped a ceramic smoking pipe, seeing no flame, only an indicator light flashing; moments later, a faintly fruity smoke was exhaled.
"Big shots will get moving; they definitely don't want something like a Wandering AI Matrix blowing up under their asses next."
