BIOLOGICAL SUPERCOMPUTER SYSTEM

Alexander reached the notorious inn, a place that bore the stains of countless past encounters.

The inn was a hodgepodge of crooked beams and weathered wood, its facade scarred by time and neglect. Its dimly lit interior was filled with a motley crew of patrons that were there since the previous night, each one more rough looking than the last.

The air was thick with the scent of stale ale already this early, unwashed bodies, and a hint of danger.

Walking in, Alexander made his way to the counter. He slid onto a worn-out stool, its leather cover cracked and faded from years of use.

The bartender, a gruff man with a scar running down his face, grunted in acknowledgment of his order. A plate of greasy eggs and a mug of a cheap beverage were soon placed in front of him.

As he ate, Alexander tuned into the surrounding conversations. The inn was abuzz with whispers and murmurs, stories being exchanged over half-empty mugs. One conversation, in particular, caught his attention.

A group of mercenaries huddled in a corner were talking about recent killings. Alexander was confident his master knew what he was doing and what he said.

Luckily, what Erik did was true. People talked about the killings. It was natural that was scaring everyone there, with people wondering when the killer would start targeting other powers.

Their voices were low, their expressions grim as they spoke of victims with shapeshifting brain crystal powers.

"Have you heard?" One of the mercenaries, a burly man with a grizzled beard, leaned in closer to his companions. His voice was a low growl, barely audible over the din of the inn.

"Heard what?" Another mercenary, a woman with icy eyes, asked, her tone indifferent.

"About the killings," the first mercenary said, his gaze darting around the room as if expecting danger to materialize at any moment.

The woman raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. "The shapeshifters' killings?"

"Yeah, I heard they stopped for the moment." The man's voice dropped lower, "but I think this is only temporary. Whoever is doing this must be a psycho. I bet they will resume soon."

As the man's words filtered through the low hum of conversation, a surge of anger welled up within Alexander. His grip on the mug tightened, the knuckles turning white. The comment, so casually thrown, was a gross oversimplification of the complex situation at hand. Besides, he didn't like they talked badly about Erik.

He thought, his mind seething at the label. It was far from the truth, and it stung more than he cared to admit.

But Alexander knew better than to react. He kept his face impassive, his eyes focused on the remnants of his breakfast. He took a slow sip of his beverage, using the moment to rein in his emotions. His mission required discretion, not an outburst.

A third mercenary, a lean man with a hawk-like gaze, scoffed. "Nah. I don't think the killer will do this for long."

"You are too naïve then," the first mercenary said, shaking his head. "If you do these things, you must have a knack for it. Otherwise it makes little sense." A ripple of unease spread through the group.

"Who's doing it?" The woman asked, her voice barely a whisper.

The first mercenary shrugged, his face grim. "No one knows. But whoever they are, they're dangerous, and the guards can't really find out."

Everyone knew that those with such abilities were common, and their sudden deaths were a cause for concern, as many people could be targets.

Alexander continued to eat, his expression nonchalant as he listened. He knew that every piece of information could be vital.

***

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, June found himself in a different place. This was another gathering place for mercenaries, but the atmosphere here was different.

This establishment, a bustling tavern with a polished facade, was frequented by a different breed of mercenaries. They were not criminals or outlaws, but individuals who lived by their skills and wits, simply doing their job under the city's harsh realities.

They weren't rolling in riches, but at least they could spring for a meal in a place where the décor didn't scream 'inspired by the atmosphere of a public restroom.'

The tavern was alive with the sound of clinking glasses and hearty laughter. The patrons were a diverse mix of individuals, from grizzled veterans sharing war stories to young hopefuls eager to make their mark.

Despite their varied backgrounds, they all shared a common trait: they liked to drink.

June made his way through the crowd, his presence barely causing a ripple. He was just another face in the crowd, another mercenary starting his day. He approached the counter, where a friendly barmaid with a warm smile greeted him.

"Morning," she said, her voice carrying over the din. "What can I get you?" ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ Noᴠᴇꜰɪre.nᴇt

"Bread and cheese, please," June said, his tone polite. He ordered that, along with a mug of hot tea. Not the most appropriate combination, but June loved tea and cheese.

As he waited for his food, he scanned the room, his eyes taking in the scene.

Like Alexander, June knew how useful listening to the drunken was. He listened to the surrounding conversations, his ears picking up on the subtle nuances and undertones.

Although he was in a distinct part of the city, he was still playing the same dangerous game as the other clones.

Amidst the chatter, a particular discussion caught his attention. A group of mercenaries were talking about an unusual incident that had occurred earlier in the morning.

"Did you see it?" One of the mercenaries, a man with a weathered face and piercing eyes, asked his friends. His voice held an edge of unease.

"See what?" Another mercenary, a young woman with fiery red hair, said.

"The message," the first mercenary explained, "All TV shows and programs got interrupted this morning. There was this weird logo, and a muffled voice..."

He trailed off, his brow furrowed in confusion. The others leaned in closer, their interest piqued.

"The voice mentioned someone named Max. It said he won't be able to hide for long. That 'they' were coming for him."

"Who's Max?" the woman asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"And who are 'they'?" Another mercenary chimed in, his tone skeptical.

The first mercenary shrugged. "Wish I knew. But whoever they are, they've got the entire city on edge."

June listened to the conversation, his mind working overtime.

<That was a really genius move, Master. >

Erik made sure everyone knew what was going on, and who the target was to make people compelled to talk about this.