Chapter 127. Cheif Argo
Doctor Naehr stared down at the hamburger in his hand like it had personally insulted his genius.
It was supposed to be a "double bacon gourmet supreme" or something with at least five adjectives on the label. But as he chewed it, the bun felt like sponge, the meat like cardboard, and the pickles—well, what sort of masochist put soggy pickles in a scientific mind’s lunch?
He chewed mechanically, staring into the air with dead eyes. Around him, the underground city buzzed with life, steam rising from grills, flashing lights from stalls, and people selling everything from tech to turmeric. He stood in a shadowed alley, still wearing his long lab coat like a badge of mad power and mild theatricality.
"Disgusting," he muttered, spitting a bit of lettuce out with dramatic flair.
He was just about to toss the hamburger into a nearby trash can when his sharp, dark eyes spotted someone sitting by the wall.
That beggar again.
The same filthy, smelly, suspiciously symmetrical beggar from the day before—the one who’d brought him food to the lab. Something about him was... off. Not that Doctor Naehr was particularly good at reading people. His talents leaned more toward rewriting genomes and laughing maniacally in dim lighting. But still...
There he was again. Same ragged outfit. Same hunched pose. But this time, the "beggar" was just sitting there with a crusty paper cup and looking very much like he’d given up on life.
Doctor Naehr tilted his head.
Something stirred in his stomach. Not hunger. He was sure of that. No, this was something... weirder.
"Why," he said to himself slowly, "do I feel... intrigued?"
Across the street, in a half-crumbling building, three officers and one communications tech were watching through high-grade binoculars.