Johny thought about the Colonel and this strange encounter, or rather an assassination attempt. If not for a bit of luck and the Colonel's foresight, which he had considered quite weird at the time, he would've already met his brothers in the afterlife. Part of him had been wishing exactly that for quite a while now, ever since life had lost its meaning for him. He had neither a sense of purpose nor any feeling of belonging to something greater. His life had turned into a routine existence, devoid of any thrill or excitement. And yet this was something that Space Commandos struggled with in general. On top of that, he was the one who had also lost all of his brothers-in-arms in a meaningless mission, as it turned out.

Another part of him, however—the Space Commando part—was urging him to fight back and get to the bottom of what had happened. And finally, he needed to teach these bastards a lesson about not ruining one's evening and destroying nice bars; there weren't that many to come by anyway. So, it seemed, the unfortunate murder attempt had turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as far as Johny was concerned.

His ride would take about 30 minutes or so, and since there was absolutely nothing else to do in the car hovering on autopilot other than either to stare at the boring industrial city skyline or to watch some free TV shows flooded with annoying ads, he decided to break down everything that had just happened to him. "So, Mr Space Commando, a.k.a. Special Infiltration Unit," Johny said out loud, even though nobody could hear him, "it's about time you reactivated your dormant brain trained specifically for this sort of action." He continued talking to himself, as sometimes it would help him think clearly when laying down ideas.

"First, the three mercenaries clearly targeted you specifically. There was no mistake here—you were the one and only target, Johny. The explosion was just for show and a cover-up. Fortunately for you, the mercs weren't Space Commandos or similarly trained elite units; otherwise, you would've already been molecularised, and that would've been the end of your story. Be that as it may, they were definitely pros, had seen quite a bit of real combat—not this VR crap—and knew what they were doing. Most likely, they were regular marines who, after discharge, decided to continue their careers in sensitive assignments—let's call it that way," he thought.

"Second, they had a prototype weapon not available to the regular army yet, or even to Space Commandos." Johny hadn't followed up regularly with the latest updates in the military weapons sector, but every now and then he would check the news feed, just in case. There weren't any official announcements, other than promising developments and the money being spent on it... and some of it, of course, getting into the right pockets of the right people. But that's how it always was. As they say, don't hate the players, hate the game.

"Last but not least, the murder attempt was organised either by someone who had a grudge against him, which was extremely unlikely as all the enemies he had made were already dead, or there was some other plot involving someone very powerful. And he still needed to figure out who was who and what was what." He then sat silently in the car, with his eyes closed, trying to understand everything... but there were too many pieces of the puzzle he had no knowledge of to make a full picture. Johny decided that it wasn't time yet, and he needed to focus on the most pressing issues.

He was on his way to get his gear, most of it quite illegal for an ordinary citizen like him. And then he would contact the Colonel; maybe the latter could point Johny in the right direction. Despite his age, the Colonel's wisdom and critical-thinking skills never ceased to amaze Johny and everyone who knew him. The car ride was about to finish, and he stopped a few blocks away from his hideout. Never take the first route, and never bring a tail. He had broken his first rule today—there wasn't any choice. He decided not to disappoint the second rule with his poor performance.

He passed by an entire block of flats, which were all 3D-printed: grey and boring but functional, easy and cheap to build. All buildings looked alike. They always made Johny feel somehow a bit depressed. He had grown up in similar blocks. And albeit his childhood was not bad in comparison to others, he had seen his share of pain, broken dreams, and hopeless day-to-day existence in these "workers only" districts, with a few middle managers looking like they had made it (they hadn't). Nowadays, however, the big corporations had finally learnt how to keep their populace more or less satisfied—happy would sound exaggerated—providing them with okayish healthcare, social services, and, of course, cheap entertainment. Yet it was nothing compared to the upper middle, let alone the upper class, living a hassle-free and luxurious life.

This dull and monotonous district was a perfect opportunity for him to blend in with workers rushing home or to bars. For once, he was grateful for his home planet being so uninspiring, for lack of a better term. Thankfully, his secret hideout was located in an extra storage area where people kept their stuff they thought they would need but, in reality, never really did. It would just rot there, and they would pay another monthly subscription. This was modern life on subscription, and most folks out there couldn't escape it. The majority accepted it. Not everyone had the aptitude to become a Space Commando. But then, Johny thought, he was still here, just not working because he was 'unluckily lucky' with his discharge and pension.

Johny finally reached his hideout. He looked at the camera ID, pressed his finger to verify the fingerprint, and then entered the code. As he always said to his mates, it was better to be paranoid and alive. A sad smile crossed his face as he went inside.