Is Chris the fish to be caught?
A thought popped into John's mind, but he instantly dismissed it—Oulos, sprawled across his back, had given no hint.
He hugged Oulos and sat down.
The sofa's leather was torn, the cotton was blackened, and the tabletop was riddled with bullet holes and strange knife scars.
This place wasn't high-class.
It was messy and cheap.
The customers were all Ghouls, Rift Party members, stowaways, mercenaries teams, and cyberspace hackers, if you looked closely, there were also other intermediaries and corporate dogs.
Whoosh—
Oulos was sipping fizzy water.
She knelt on the sofa, leaning against John's shoulder, with a hint of curiosity in her eyes.
Oulos adapted to this environment even more than John, thoroughly enjoying her current role.
"I have to buy you a drink~"
Old Chris waved his hand to get some alcohol.
He completely ignored Oulos, only focused on befriending John.
