Enforcer Manual
Chapter 36: This is a shady place, isn’t it?_1

Chapter 36: Chapter 36: This is a shady place, isn’t it?_1

That night, at the Polar Star Bar, Area Seventeen.

The colorful magic ball lights, music, so loud that you can no longer identify the melody, and the people forgetting themselves while dancing in the dance floor. For everyone there, it was a place where they could forget all their troubles and just feel their existence. Once you step through the entrance, nothing beyond it matters any more.

If you’re unable to fully let go here, the bar has something else to offer.

For instance, the white pills that can only be bought in the Black Market.

How does the old saying go?

Just one pill, and you’ll be flying like an immortal.

At that very moment, the drug peddlers had already locked onto their target for the night.

A short-haired woman, drunk at the bar, with an unusually large suitcase next to her. Her eyes were glazed over, cheeks flushed; it was clear she’d had too much to drink.

These clues were enough for the veteran drug peddlers to infer her essential information.

An out-of-towner, more than likely a stowaway.

That’s what Area Seventeen was like, located by the border. Those inside are always thinking about finding fortunes outside, while people from the "outside" are desperate to get in.

But what’s the point of getting in?

Without legal status, unable to find a place to live, dragging a heavy suitcase around, wandering the streets.

The drug peddlers, seemed to understand the short-haired woman’s predicament with just one glance—her dream of surviving in Area Seventeen shattered, she had come here with her suitcase and dwindling cash.

Because, the Polar Star Bar can always make you forget everything troubling.

"You say you want a drink?"

The short-haired woman’s gaze drifted to the black suitcase beside her, "No, no, you’re not of age to drink yet."

Talking to a suitcase, is she hallucinating already?

The drug peddler couldn’t help but wear a wicked smile on his face, the woman was practically radiating vulnerability like a Big Fat Sheep.

She didn’t seem wealthy, so her face was likely natural. If they promoted her as such, she might lure many high-end clients if they took her to the nightclub.

He didn’t know why these wealthy people were so into "natural" faces, but as long as it brought him money, he preferred them to have as many quirks as possible.

Sensing the opportunity, the drug peddler sat next to the short-haired woman, ordered two strong drinks from the bartender and, when the woman wasn’t looking, he crushed the pill into powder and dropped it into one of the drinks.

The bartender, who had witnessed everything, did not intervene; instead, he shot the drug peddler a cunning glance.

The patrons at the bar, noticing the drug peddler’s arrival, hurriedly drank up and left this place of potential trouble.

"You look troubled, miss," he began his rehearsed spiel, which was usually quite effective on newcomers to Area Seventeen.

"Come, let me buy you a drink," he nudged the spiked drink to her.

"Tha-thank you, but I’ve had enough for the day."

The short-haired woman turned her head towards him, and smiled. As their eyes met, the usually savvy drug peddler felt a jolt. The fiery gaze caught him off guard, and his heart missed a beat.

A real catch!

That’s all that was left in the drug peddler’s mind.

If he were to introduce her to the nightclub scene, he’d make a killing!

"I feel sick, I need to go —"

Due to the alcohol, the short-haired woman slurred her words. Although she said she wanted to go, her eyelids began to droop as she stared blankly at the drink the drug peddler had handed her.

The drug peddler signaled the bartender with his eyes; the latter quickly caught on and handed over the tablet displaying the woman’s drinking bill.

It wasn’t their first time collaborating like this.

"One, ten, hundred, thousand, ten thousand... hmm..."

The woman counted the numbers on the account. After a while, she seemed to realize what those numbers represented, "This, this can’t be right, I didn’t order this many drinks."

"Miss, the two drinks you ordered earlier are high-quality stuff that can only be bought in the Black Market. Besides, the bill is generated by our sophisticated system, how can there be a mistake?"

"You must be mistaken, I, I never ordered this."

"Miss, you wouldn’t be trying to shrug off your bill, would you?"

The bartender’s eyes darkened. He knew that a single glance would cut to the bone of those who had "smuggled in from the outside world", "This is the seventeenth district."

"Don’t get worked up, I think this beautiful lady is here for the first time."

The drug dealer quickly assumed the role of a peacemaker, saying, "Like this, I’ll help her cover the cost of her drinks."

"Really? You’re such a good guy."

"You might not know, but in the seventeenth district if you don’t have money, it’s hard to get by."

The drug dealer paid the bill ostentatiously and casually put his arm around the short-haired woman’s bare shoulder, lightly squeezing it to appreciate the delicate feel of her skin.

"I happen to know of a place where the salary is not bad, it will definitely allow you to lead a decent life in the seventeenth district."

"No, no need, I have other things to do."

"There’s no harm in just checking it out."

He wasn’t going to let such a big fat sheep slip away from under his nose, "Be a good girl, finish your drink and come with me, I promise your life will change tomorrow."

"I really don’t need it."

The short-haired woman looked troubled.

However, the drug dealer had no intention of releasing his grip. Instead, he tightened it, "Trust me..."

"I’ve said no!"

The short-haired woman suddenly raised her voice. The dancing patrons were jolted back to reality, casting inquisitive glances towards the bar area.

The drug dealer’s face changes, he didn’t want to cause too much stir. Ever since the Law Enforcers in the seventeenth district had a change in management, their level of survival had greatly suppressed.

If she wouldn’t listen to reason he had no choice but to get tough.

He gave the bartender another glance. This time, however, the bartender did not respond. Instead, he retreated a step in fear, pointing at the drug dealer’s arm, trying to scream but to no avail.

The drug dealer followed the bartender’s gaze and saw a flat object. It was as if it had been crushed by a huge force, becoming flat as an A4 sheet of paper.

The drug dealer realized what the object was when an intense pain surged into his brain.

It was his own arm.

Instinctively, he opened his mouth wide, but before he could scream, an empty glass was thrust into his mouth, shattering several of his teeth.

Tears mixed with blood flowed down his face, and only broken pleas for mercy could be heard from his mouth.

"I’ll pay you back."

The short-haired woman flicked the flat arm of the man away just like dealing with trash. His arm was already limp, swaying in front of her like a thin strip of paper.

She reached into her clothes and pulled out not money, but a poster with her photo.

One, ten, hundred, thousand, ten thousand, hundred thousand, million.

The drug dealer automatically started counting the long string of numbers underneath the photo.

"Wanted:"

"Phine-Arnhem"

"One hundred seventy-three million watts."

"Dead or Alive"

The drug dealer watched in horror as the poster was pressed against his face.

The short-haired woman’s voice, tinged with the smell of alcohol, pierced through from the other side of the poster.

"Is this enough?"