Noon sunlight spilled onto the door curtain, passing through the bead strings to form dazzling beams of light in the air.
What phenomenon was this again? Oh right, the Daliyuan effect.
Asa sat in the shop, bored, playing an online game from this world.
Since the 2077 World didn't have an internet that connected everyone globally, this was just a card game playable within Night City: Sheriff Kill.
The character controlled by his opponent was the greatest detective of the 19th century, Sherlock Holmes, who possessed a god-tier skill that allowed him to treat red cards as "Kill" cards.
Meanwhile, Asa controlled a 21st-century nobody who could draw through 80 cards in a single turn—a simple enough ability.
Unsurprisingly, the round ended quickly, with the settlement screen showing the opponent's "kind" regards to the wealthy.
Asa looked at the screen with little interest. Though they say a divination shop can feed you for six months after one sale, it had been three days, and the only customer was a guy who called himself Prophet Garry, preaching nearby.
The man wore clothes that looked like trash bags and reeked of a foul stench.
This fellow was delusional, claiming everything in the world was a conspiracy by lizard people from Alpha Centauri, including Arasaka, Militech, and that humans were alien test subjects—all sorts of nonsense.
But when he came to Asa door, Asa still received him.
For no other reason than in the original game, this guy had a side quest that started inexplicably and ended even more mysteriously.
"Humanity is on the brink of destruction, and you are the only Savior."
Upon seeing Asa for the first time, the homeless man collapsed to the ground in tears.
Good grief, Asa couldn't bear such a heavy title.
That title belonged only to certain people; at least until he changed the whole world, he couldn't take on such a burden.
Calming the man's emotions with a mental suggestion, Asa told him to take a seat while he sat behind the divination table, the purple ambient lights casting a mysterious silhouette in the darkness.
"First, please do not call me the Savior of humanity. Second, what is it you wish to ask?"
Lurking in the shadows, Asa rested his chin on his hands, elbows on the table, looking at the customer who didn't have a single cent on him.
"Please, you must save all of humanity. The final war is approaching, and only you, a visitor from another world, can do it."
What is this guy talking about?
The key was what he meant by "another world."
Asa gaze turned slightly dangerous. He first used Mind Control to put Prophet Garry into standby mode, then followed up with a riskier Mind Magic: Psychological Perception—essentially mind reading.
A moment later, Asa couldn't help but laugh. It turned out the guy saw his Eastern features and face with no traces of Cyberware modification and imagined him as a Savior from the East.
As for the so-called Alpha Centauri lizard people conspiracy and the final war, it was all because a signal receiver in one of his Cyberware implants was malfunctioning, causing him to pick up broadcasts from the "More Supernatural News Station."
That's it?
Asa was deeply disappointed.
In the original game, this guy might have been linked to the rogue AIs beyond the Blackwall, but after personally examining him, Asa concluded: it was just a rumor.
Despite his disappointment, Asa fixed the malfunctioning Cyberware on the man's body.
Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, as a brand-new skill appeared in his skill list:
[Ripperdoc (Novice): Because of your understanding of the human body and Cyberware devices, combined with your fine manipulation skills, you can serve as an assistant doctor in a Ripperdoc clinic.]
It was a good start; at least Asa didn't have to seek out other Ripperdocs to learn their methods and techniques.
Ending his reminiscence, Asa checked the time; it was time to close up for the day.
Today's revenue was still zero. There had been no news from that Militech agent for several days, and Asa no longer held out hope for Militech to find Lucy's whereabouts.
If Arasaka couldn't find her, how could Militech?
Ding, ding, ding.
The wind chimes at the door rang, and a three-hundred-pound black man walked in, swaying his head.
...
Dexter DeShawn, the old fat pig of Pacifica.
Today was a good day. Dexter was looking for fun in Kabuki, but on the way back, for some reason, he suddenly saw two shops open diagonally across from each other:
Misty's Esoterica—the name sounded too sissy;
Old Dad Divination Shop—now that sounded decent.
Maneuvering between the Voodoo Boys and the Animals in Pacifica, Dexter's performance as a Fixer hadn't been ideal.
The Voodoo Boys saw him as a traitor to black people, and the Animals... well, the Animals only cared about muscle, while DeShawn was all fat.
So, after having his fun, DeShawn decided to try and get rid of his bad luck.
Don't think that in the highly advanced 2077 World, people no longer believed in gods. Wrong—they believed in Cyber Gods.
Anyway, after choosing between the two shops, DeShawn honestly picked the one with the cooler-sounding name, Old Dad Divination Shop, and walked in.
Asa recognized the fat black man the moment he stepped inside:
Black, dreadlocks, sunglasses, exaggerated gold Cyberware, and a stomach that was almost bigger than Ryoko's.
With such a distinct and prominent image, how could Asa not recognize him?
"Holy crap, isn't this the black-skinned fat Jesus from the game?"
"Are you 'Old Man'?"
However, Dexter regretted it as soon as he entered. Why was a young man sitting inside?
In the divination business, the biggest fear is youth. The more eccentric and closer to the grave an old man looks, the higher his credibility.
A young man? He didn't just download a divination tutorial from the net and open a shop, did he?
But after careful observation, DeShawn dismissed the thought. To be a Fixer, the most important thing is to have a sharp eye.
At first glance, DeShawn felt the young man before him was unfathomable and had an extraordinary aura. Even after seeing his eye-catching physique and outfit, the young man's gaze remained calm.
Most importantly, he was a natural human, which was a big deal.
Of course, the room was filled with skulls, holy grails, water basins, scarecrows, and such, which further solidified his suspicion.
"I am 'Old Man.' I assume you've come for the sake of your future."
"Badass. How did you guess?"
Asa smiled without a word and made a "please" gesture:
"Please, take a seat in front."
Open for three days and nearing closing time, he finally caught a wealthy client.
The 300-pound fat black man finally settled in front of Asa counter. The cheap chair Asa had bought immediately became overburdened, letting out a screeching wail.
"Right, you'll need to pay compensation for damaging shop property."
Asa expression didn't change as he honestly reminded him.
"Do you think I'll stiff you on the chair money? Just get started."
The big fat black man urged.
"Good."
Asa turned on the ambient lights and asked:
"Where would you like to start?"
"Aren't you the diviner? Why are you asking me that?" Dexter questioned the shopkeeper's professionalism.
"Don't be so aggressive, n***a."
"You motherf—!"
As a Fixer, the thing Dexter could least tolerate was people joking about his skin color; he was about to explode.
Yet with one look from the shopkeeper, he inexplicably calmed down.
Mental suggestion—really useful, isn't it?
"Then let's start with your name."
Asa brought over a black notebook with its cover wrapped, then a black pen, and handed them both to Dexter:
"Please write down a word. Anything will do."
The big fat black man was quite accepting of a divination ritual so different from the Voodoo Boys'; perhaps it was some mysterious sorcery from the East.
He took the notebook and pen, didn't even look at the cover, and after a brief thought, wrote the word "dog."
"That's a well-chosen word."
Asa said, taking the notebook and pen, and wrote a name after "dog"—Dexter DeShawn.
"What the fuck?"
The big fat black man's eyes widened.
"This should be your name."
The young divination shopkeeper asked.
"You fucking know who I am, don't you?"
"Wrong." Asa shook his head:
"The word 'dog' refers to a canine. In Eastern languages, a dog has the duty of guarding a gate, but it also carries the connotation of a 'lackey.' By writing 'dog,' it means you long for a lackey loyal to you."
"So what the fuck does that have to do with my name?"
The other guy had written his name after he wrote the word without even looking; he clearly knew him.
The big fat black man thought it was reasonable. As one of the top Fixers in Pacifica, his fame was widespread; it was logical it would reach Kabuki.
"You'd better explain, or else..."
There was a hint of impatience in the fat man's voice.
Just then, a tall, burly black man suddenly appeared at the door of Asa shop. He peered inside and asked:
"Boss, what's up?"
The shop's lighting was dim; the lackey could only confirm his boss's position by the light reflecting off his gold Cyberware.
"Wait outside." The big fat black man stared intensely at Asa.
Oh? Bringing threats now?
Asa decided to up the ante:
"See, impatient again. Don't get excited, Mr. DeShawn."
Asa took a basin from the shelf behind him, filled it with fresh water. This time, he was going to show some real stuff.
Using 2077 World technology in the resident evil world, and using Wizarding World spells in the 2077 World—it's all about diversity.
"This is called the Mirror of Prophecy. Through this basin, you can briefly see a fragment of your future. I need you to drop a single drop of your blood into it, and I will use my power to divine."
"Just one drop of blood? That's it?"
Seeing the shop owner's nonchalant attitude, even after being threatened, he still seemed perfectly at ease, which added a bit more credibility.
Mysterious and supernatural things happened quite often in Pacifica. After all, it was the gathering place for the Voodoo Boys. These guys practiced Voodoo while believing in Cyber Gods and eternal life, all while being netrunners. Many legends circulated there.
"Of course, a single drop of blood is enough."
Asa didn't say the rest: predicting one's own future comes with a price. Before a prophecy is made, the future is just a phantom. But once you see the future, fate will ensure it happens, even if you try your hardest to prevent it.
That's why sorcerers generally don't divine their own futures—another piece of advice from Tissaia.
Uh, but that's the price of magic; Asa could be exempt, but only within the Wizarding World.
The big fat black man decided to give the diviner one more chance. He bit his finger and let a drop of blood fall.
Asa watched the blood drop into the basin, then added several alchemy ingredients from the Wizarding World: Serpent's Fang and Succubus Core.
Then he closed his eyes, ancient syllables spilling from his mouth.
Dexter DeShawn felt a chill run through him, as if something had permanently left his body. Before he could process it, the calm surface of the water began to ripple inexplicably, and mottled colors started to form.
Rendering shaders...
A moment later, the image slowly unfolded.
"Is this real?"
At just the first glance, Dexter DeShawn was panting, instantly losing his composure.
Seeing his future self in the image—the famous Fixer of Pacifica, never lacking lackeys, his account full of money, laughing loudly with the black female leader of the Voodoo Boys by his side.
"Holy shit, it's a miracle!"
But before Dexter DeShawn could rejoice over his future success, the scene shifted to gunfire, data turbulence, and finally, his own corpse lying in a pile of trash in a junkyard?
"What the fuck is this?"
Dexter DeShawn was both shocked and furious. Seeing his future self doing well made him happy, but seeing a tragic end immediately soured his mood.
Yet he forgot the empty promises he often sold to those young punks:
"Would you rather live your life as a nobody, or go down in a blaze of glory? Even if it's only for a few minutes."
This scene perfectly mirrored his catchphrase: famous in Pacifica, but soon dead in a trash heap.
This must be a fucking holographic projection! The big fat black man angrily overturned the basin.
"Is it a holographic projection? You think you can play me and I'll just believe it?"
"You're welcome to take the basin apart and see for yourself. That'll be 50,000 Eurodollars, sir." Asa calmly took out the bill.
Right, it must be a holographic projection.
Hearing the 50,000 Eurodollars price tag, Dexter became even more certain of his suspicion:
"Nice one, kid. Trying to run a scam on me."
He swung his fist and smashed the basin, but even when he picked up the shards, it was just an ordinary ceramic basin.
The big fat black man looked at the ceiling; was there any projection equipment?
Then how?
Despite the heat, Dexter's hands and feet were cold, and he was trembling, wishing it were a projection.
Basin + 5,000. 55,000 Eurodollars.
Asa added another line.
"The future is not irreversible. But if you persist like this, then that future will certainly come to pass."
Pay 50,000 Eurodollars just to get a chance to change the future, or just trash this scam shop?
He firmly believed this was just a holographic projection, a trap set by this shop. But what about that sudden intuition?
Before entering this shop, he wouldn't have believed he'd end up here himself.
And being shot in the head and dying in a junkyard... Dexter could never accept such a future:
"Master, what should I do?"
The big fat black man finally decided to back down.
"Payment first, please."