Dear Heroes, I really am a Villain-Chapter 60: Expedition Team meeting

After that, Switch asked Maximilian a few more questions regarding the team—what kind of members he needed, and whether he would sponsor the weapons and ammunition for the expedition. Maximilian agreed to sponsor it, as he had an entire armory of guns at his disposal.

With the details finalized, Switch requested a day to gather the team for the expedition.

— Evening - Rust Gate Bar — fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

After Maximilian left, Switch contacted all her acquaintances and asked them to meet her at the private booth inside the bar.

Four people responded to her call. They were now seated in the booth, drinks of various kinds on the table for their enjoyment.

"So? You called us here, is this about a new job?" asked a man with tribal tattoos running down from his cheek across his body. He wore armor made from mutated beast hide.

He was Honiahaka, a Wildwalker from the Fang Trader Enclave. A recon specialist, wilderness survivalist, and camouflage expert, Honiahaka usually worked through official UEC channels.

"That’s right," another woman chimed in. She wore a sleek, black single-visor mask. "Is this an escort mission? Hunting? Or just scavenging?"

"Just scavenging?" scoffed a man who looked more like a frail salaryman than a merc. "Radio, don’t forget, last time we went scavenging, we ran into those Wildwalkers from the warrior-type enclave who were after the same site. If it hadn’t been for Honia, we might not have made it back alive."

"Blame Switch," Radio, the masked woman, replied snidely. "She’s the one who provoked them."

"Couldn’t be helped. We needed that piece of tech, it’s the client’s request remember?" Switch retorted, crossing her arms.

"When you’re done arguing, call me," another man of East Asian descent said in annoyance, standing up from his seat.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down. Just a friendly spat," Honiahaka said with a wry smile. "Sit back down. Isn’t this your first job in this line of work?"

"That’s right," Switch cut in sharply. "Like Honia said, you seem to look down on our work. I only asked Honia to find us a capable fighter. If you don’t want to do this job with us, then get the f*ck out. No one here is going to put up with your ego. There are plenty of fighters on the market."

The man gritted his teeth in frustration but sat down again. He was wearing a white male qipao with a flame and dragon pattern on the back.

Had Maximilian been there, he would have recognized the man instantly. It was none other than Dragon Fist.

The reason Dragon Fist was here was because he had been put on probation after the Chinatown incident. Normally, he would have continued working as a hero without causing further trouble. However, thanks to his family pulling strings behind the scenes, he was temporarily transferred to the UEC Expedition Center to reduce his probation period.

During probation, all hero achievements were used to calculate the probation score. Rather than slowly accumulating points through typical hero work, his family decided to place him in the Expedition Center.

Why? Because in the Expedition Center, any successful expedition, such as uncovering a major alien war wreckage or discovering alien tech. it would result in significantly higher scores than hero work. That, in turn, would drastically reduce his probation time.

After a brief moment, everyone calmed down and listened. Honiahaka appeared to be the leader of the group—the one who held everyone together.

"Okay, Switch. Tell us, what kind of job is it this time? Hope it’s not some scumbag who wants us to be bait for a Leviathan-class mutated beast," Honiahaka said with a bit of humor.

"This time... I think it depends on our luck once we head out," Switch replied with a sweet smile.

"Why’s that?" Radio asked, and the frail-looking man rubbed his chin, intrigued.

"It’s because the client wants us to escort him to Sector A-7 in Old Manhattan," Switch replied.

"Shit..." Honiahaka muttered, leaning back into his seat. He clutched his head, visibly distressed. "You do know that place is inside Iron Tusk Tribe territory, right?"

"Great... another suicide mission. Just what we needed," Radio said sarcastically.

"Sector A-7? Why the hell does the client want to go there? Doesn’t he know how dangerous it is? We could just escort merchants back and forth from the Pacifica City-State on the West Coast, and that’s way safer than this trip," The frail man added, exasperated.

"I already warned the client about the risks, but he was determined to go," said Switch.

"Heh. How determined?" Radio asked with a sneer.

"Take a look at this." Switch pulled out her tablet and placed it on the table. The screen displayed the full contract.

The group took turns reading it. After a brief silence, Radio let out a whistle.

"Oh my... Just wait for that idiot for three days and we can come back? Even if he dies, we still get paid? And 5 millons at that... How generous of him," Radio said with a smirk.

The frail man smiled too. "Well, that’s easy. We just drop him off, retreat from the area, wait three days, and if he doesn’t return, we leave. No problem."

"That would be easy... but if he survives, our reputation will be dragged through the mud. I won’t do it," Honiahaka said flatly.

"But Honia! This is easy money! Why wouldn’t you—" the frail man started to argue, but Honiahaka looked him dead in the eyes.

"Listen to yourself, Doc. I saved your life in the same kind of situation. You were left for dead by your last team, and now you want to do the same to someone else? Am I wrong about you, Doc? You might be a selfish, condescending, toxic bastard... but you never left anyone behind. What happened to you?" Honiahaka asked, his gaze sharp and unwavering.

"Heh... Typical of a merc," Dragon Fist scoffed in disdain.

"Oh, excuse me? The young master of the Gu family wants to pass probation quickly because he f*cked up, and now he thinks we’re beneath him? Do you remember why you’re even on probation? Because you let a villain loose in Chinatown just so you could boost your fame, and then got beaten down by a nobody. And you are looking at us with disdain?" Switch snapped, her voice full of sarcasm.

Dragon Fist gritted his teeth, and his fist ignited with flame, but—

Click.

The sound of a gun safety disengaging echoed in the booth. Switch had her pistol aimed at Dragon Fist’s head, her eyes sharp.

"Try me, young master. Let’s see if your fist is faster than my bullet," she said coldly, emphasizing "young master" with contempt.

"Enough, Switch," Honiahaka said sternly. He turned to Dragon Fist. "And you too, Mr. Gu. If you want to learn how to work in a team, you’d better shelve that arrogance and stop waving it around like it’s a badge of honor."

Hearing Honiahaka’s words, Switch holstered her weapon with a snort. Dragon Fist, still scowling, lowered his flaming fist.

"So, are you in?" Switch asked.

Honiahaka thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

"I’m okay with it—but the client needs to follow our arrangement. No distractions, no sightseeing. We go in, retreat to a safe place in the area for three days, then head back. No dawdling."

"You don’t need to worry about that, Honia. The client seems like soft meat—he’ll follow our arrangement. I’m sure of it," said Switch.

"Then it’s decided." Honiahaka smiled and turned toward Radio and Doc.

"Radio, Doc, you two prepare the supplies for the expedition. Switch, you gather intel on the UEC patrols. If needed, we’ll follow their patrol routes for safety. I’ll check with my people to see if they’ve set up any hideouts near Sector A and whether there’s a secret safe route we can use," Honiahaka delegated.

"What about me?" Dragon Fist asked.

"You just need to follow us and help when there’s trouble," said Honiahaka.

"Okay... I’ll do that." Dragon Fist nodded.

With clear tasks assigned, everyone in the group left the booth to prepare for the expedition set to begin tomorrow.

— Meanwhile – Outskirts Night Market – Near The Fringe Entrance —

Another day, another round of hard work, and another day of getting fleeced by scumbags. Many times, I wonder... what’s the point of life? To be born into poverty, work endlessly, get every penny stolen by crooks, and die? No hope of improvement, no glimpse of a future.

Still, it’s better than dying out there in the Wildlands. Just last week, my neighbor’s son was eaten by a mutated beast. But even so... if this keeps up, I might start thinking that dying out there is less of a torture than living in this hole.

Just yesterday, a new gang showed up and demanded a protection fee. I had just paid another gang, but I didn’t want my shop wrecked, so I gave in and paid the new one too. I just hope the old gang doesn’t come to collect again, considering I paid them only a few days ago.