-S-sure, sir, how much do you want? - The man's face seemed to be somewhere between trying to smile and not cry at the same time.
-How much is your life worth? - Ringo's voice had changed, now it sounded deeper and lower.
-50,000, I can give you 50,000. - The man stuttered as he spoke quickly, but his eyes burned with resentment and pain.
-All of it or just die. - Ringo spoke calmly, looking around while holding his breath, wanting to quickly get out of that shit-smelling place.
The clearly furious man tried to avoid a frown, but when Ringo pointed a gun he'd taken from one of the dead men at him, still without looking at him, and with the other hand taking a handkerchief from his pocket and placing it over his nose, the man smiled happily again. - Yes, sir, wait a moment.
The shitting man, walking uncomfortably, went to the wall to open a safe on a painting and quickly removed its contents. There was 100,000 in cash, along with some jewelry and deeds.
Ringo took the jewelry and money, then looked at the man. - Is that all?
-Yes, sir, that's all. - The man nodded quickly.
-Really? And the gap bellow your chair? - Ringo turned to look at him and pointed lightly at the underside of the chair with the gun. The man stopped, turning white. He wanted to open his mouth, but a shot rang out, blowing a hole in his head.
His body fell noisily. At the very least, he didn't shit himself after he died, but before.
This must be some kind of conquest among the dead, right? But from what he remembers of this world, souls don't have a good ending here.
Ringo shook his head and spoke, his voice muffled by the scarf. -I was really going to spare you. You could spread my name, but... I don't like being lied to.
Ringo, tired of the fetid place, after all, it wasn't just the boss who had shit himself, but this is something very common among corpses, the smell of shit, urine and blood was horrible to his sharp sense of smell, so he went to the man's chair and ripped off a piece of board, revealing a second safe secured by concrete. He sharpened his nails, dug his hand into the metal of the safe door, and pulled hard.
Inside, he found 600,000 in bills, plus jewelry and deeds, as well as some personal belongings like some photos, account books, etc.
He only took the money and jewelry, then packed a backpack and put the loot in it along with all the weapons he could carry, leaving quickly afterward.
Whistling emotionlessly, he threw a grenade into the gas duct and ran quickly.
He didn't worry about fingerprints or anything like that, he had already erased his own fingerprints. Of course, the explosion would wipe out anything that was left.
Hearing the loud explosion behind him, he finally left the camp while watching it burn.
Nodding in satisfaction, he hummed "Hotel California" as he grabbed a car and tossed his bag into the passenger seat before driving away.
He drove to the Fabian branch and got out calmly.
He didn't have a VIP card, but so what? The moment he entered, he clearly released his aura. If anyone dared to prevent a Super from seeing the manager, especially a clearly strong Super, they would probably be a fool.
A pretty blonde woman, with a short haircut, wearing a well-pressed professional suit approached, still trembling, but Ringo had to say the woman had good mental faculties; she managed to approach even with him releasing his aura.
He held back his aura, and the woman seemed to be breathing easier, though her expression was solemn and frightened. - S-sir, what can I do for you today?
-Let me see your manager. - Ringo said calmly.
The woman nodded quickly, content to pass the buck, soon Ringo was standing in front of a middle-aged man in a suit smoking a cigar and looking at him without interest. -Releasing your aura here like that isn't very friendly...
-I want a pass to the blood pact society. - Ringo didn't bother with formalities. Wasn't Han Xiao the one who needed support, mobility? He can fly. Concealment? He can transform. Equipment? He's the equipment itself. So he had no interest in this company's goodwill.
The man narrowed his eyes and said. -30,000.
Ringo looked at him and smiled, but said nothing. He took the money and tossed it to him. He took it and counted it calmly, almost as if trying to make him wait.
No, Ringo was sure he wanted to make him wait.
Ringo didn't care. His mentality was improving over time. He was evolving again, adapting to the world around him. He no longer needed to be crazy, he was free. Now he needed to be resilient.
-It'll take three days. You can go back... - The man began to say calmly.
But Ringo's eyes grew dangerous. He completely forgot his previous thought, and the mad smile reappeared on his mouth. The hidden aura was released without reserve, and his mouth opened slightly, halfway between a smile and a preparation to use his sonic ability, ready to blast the man to smithereens.
The man broke out in a cold sweat. He could feel it. He himself was a Super E Grade, but Ringo's aura was even heavier than some veterans he knew. He knew his next words would determine whether he lived or died. He could sense that the man in front of him wasn't concerned about the consequences, his aura was filled with madness and violence.
-Three hours. Please wait three hours. - He finally squeezed out the words with difficulty, his back drenched in sweat.
He saw that Ringo was easy to talk to and thought about making things a little harder for him to vent his irritation at Ringo's rudeness, but now...
As soon as he said this, Ringo swallowed all his aura back, and his face returned to normal. He nodded calmly as he left the room and went to wait in the reception area.
The man wiped away the cold sweat and tried to calm his still-shaking hands, to no avail. - Fuck, I almost died just now. - He muttered softly.
For a moment, the man wanted revenge, but thinking about this kind of lunatic, especially joining an organization of assassins, if this guy didn't die, he would be the one. He knew nothing about the man, so he preferred not to take the risk. He could only sigh and let it go, expediting his membership process.
Ringo, on the other hand, calmly drank the coffee that was brought to him, his backpack at his side and his leg crossed over the other in a comfortable position. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander as he waited.
His first thought was the waste of time; everything seemed like a waste of time to him.
He wanted to get stronger, he wanted Hila, and he wanted... his mind wandered to that hazy figure from his dreams, making his eyebrows twitch slightly, but other than that, he seemed to desire nothing.
He felt like it shouldn't be like this. He could have fun, go to a bar, pick up a girl, eat some junk food, play cards... that would have made him ecstatic before, the freedom to leave home and act like a normal guy, but none of that excited him now. He sighed and took a cigar from his pocket.
After achieving active evolution, he could now cancel his immunity to tobacco. He even canceled the addiction itself, but the effect could be felt again, each time like the first time, each puff a total sensation. It took a little energy, but it was the kind of thing a man without a hobby could appreciate.
Tobacco was one of the few luxuries he could afford in his last life, something equally horrific for his fragile health, but which he maintained as a form of protest, like a middle finger to God.
Besides that, he felt his body adjusting to its new form, so his current appearance wouldn't just be a physical change, but his true appearance.
Subconsciously, he didn't see himself as the original Ringo, nor as his past self. He saw himself as both, a fusion. The former self was dead, the current self was alive in a new body. So he, who took traits from his former self and his current self, created this new form. He resolved to adopt it permanently. His subconscious understood this, and now he was moving toward that goal.
His power was broken like this. His interest could make him the most beautiful man on earth, just like a tentacled creature that would make a Japanese man hard, but he wouldn't do either, not because he couldn't, but because he didn't want to.
Pretty or ugly, it didn't matter. He wanted to be both his past and his present. His desire wasn't like those protagonists who cry when they realize where they were. No, he had a family before, but he was never truly happy there. He missed his friends and family, but he knew they would forget him, and their lives would be better without having to care for him all the time.
To be honest, after everything he'd been through, his sense of loss was long gone.
Humans are adaptable, especially him, who can evolve.
His previous life was fraught with fragility, not just albinism. He had diabetes and osteoporosis. He lived with difficulty, couldn't play with other children, couldn't play sports, his diet was extremely restricted, and he lived indoors most of his life, his family always surrounding him, as if he were going to break.
Even something like smoking, he had to do in secret, his brother smuggling a few cigarettes to him from time to time.
He understood the reason and didn't resent it, but that didn't change the fact that now he had a new life, one where he could claim for himself what he always longed for: freedom!
No more physical therapy, no more medication, no more constant care...
So no, Ringo didn't have that typical tragic protagonist's desire to return home or a generic plot device of not progressing because he missed home. What he felt, though it was distant and vague, he wouldn't trade his current life for a chance to return, ever. This was his new reality, and he accepted it.
Perhaps because he understood the weakness he felt, he could feel the desire coursing through his veins, the desire for evolution, for progress, to become stronger, so strong that nothing could harm him.
He chuckled lightly, mocking himself, as he took a deep drag on his cigar. Normally, he would be coughing up his guts trying to inhale the smoke of a cigar, let alone doing so deeply, but he was placed in a room filled with carbon dioxide by Lin Wei Xian, he could now smoke an Opala exhaust without coughing.
The attendant brought him an ashtray and he politely thanked her, quite unlike the maniac he'd seemed moments before, continuing to smoke while he thought. Two hours and fifty-two minutes later, he received a coin from the receptionist, along with the location, a place called the Hotel Vitória.
He took a deep drag on his cigar, which was already ending. The lobby already smelled strongly of tobacco, but no one dared stop him to point out something like a "smoking area", if there even was one.
He tossed the cigar butt into the ashtray and grabbed his backpack, walking unhurriedly away. He had to walk several blocks, but he simply walked calmly, seemingly indifferent, but inside he was satisfied. No one knew the joy of being able to walk peacefully down the street until lost it. Upon reaching the large building, one of the largest he'd seen in this city, he whistled in amazement, quickly counting, and noticed it had 43 floors.
He looked at it and the architectural style reminded him of the Continental from John Wick, he felt that the author might have been inspired by it when he created the Dark Net.