Bang!
Hearing the gunshot, Mike grumbled irritably, "It's the middle of the day! Can't a guy get some sleep?!"
He rolled over and hugged the soft body beside him.
"Mike! Mike!"
Jennifer shook Mike's shoulder forcefully, a little flustered.
"Who is this?"
A delicate yet unfamiliar face. Mike was slightly stunned.
Fortunately, it wasn't the first time he'd experienced such a scene. Mike showed a charming smile and asked softly, "What's wrong, baby?"
Last night, the bar, a ninety-point beauty, flirting, rolling in the sheets—Mike tried to recall, but still couldn't remember the beauty's name.
Don't panic!
It doesn't matter if you don't remember. "Darling," "baby," "sweetheart," "strawberry"... all were "correct answers."
Having lived two lives, Mike applied these tricks with ease.
Of course, the key was still being handsome.
Jennifer's heart pounded like a drum, her waterfall-like golden hair spread out, and she said, "Someone's shooting downstairs."
"Shooting, huh..." Mike said, "This is Hell's Kitchen. It's normal."
Free United States, gunfights every day.
What's more, in Hell's Kitchen, known as the "Criminal's Playground," the ammunition consumed daily could support an arms dealer.
"Forget it, I'll go down and take a look."
The gunshots felt like they were coming from downstairs, and downstairs was the small supermarket Mike owned.
Mike put on his clothes and went downstairs. The supermarket's glass door was open, but no one was in sight.
A few seconds later, an enraged Old Earle walked in, carrying a Remington shotgun.
Old Earle, the supermarket's only employee, was a white-haired black old man.
"Someone robbed us?" Mike frowned.
"No, a few Big Foot Gang bastards. When I saw them, I couldn't help but..."
Old Earle choked up, a look of shame on his face.
Regardless of the reason, his actions had undoubtedly brought trouble to Mike.
"Big Foot Gang? The one that's been making waves recently?" Mike wasn't afraid of trouble, he just didn't like unexplained trouble.
"Yes." Old Earle nodded.
"Alright, tell me, the reason for shooting." Mike lit a cigarette.
You have a story, I have a cigarette.
"There's a father and daughter in the community. The father's name is Benjamin, a damned junkie and drug dealer. The daughter's name is Chloe, simply a little Angel descended to Earth."
"Benjamin helped the Big Foot Gang distribute goods, but he swallowed the Big Foot Gang's goods, overdosed, and died, leaving only his daughter Chloe. The Big Foot Gang took Chloe, and Chloe is so small, so smart, so sensible..."
As he spoke, Old Earle wept tears.
Mike was silent.
Chloe's fate would undoubtedly be tragic: child labor for drug production, a toy for rich people with special fetishes, live organ harvesting...
Old Earle pulled a small packet from his pocket and peeled open layers of waterproof packaging.
It was a stack of colorful old banknotes.
Old Earle placed the banknotes on the table and pushed them in front of Mike.
He had worked at Mike's supermarket for nearly a year, and no one had collected protection money. Aside from a few instances of theft and robbery at the very beginning, the supermarket was incredibly safe.
And usually, the next day, the bosses of the thieves and robbers would personally come to apologize and compensate for the losses, with an attitude so humble it shocked Old Earle.
"Is this still Hell's Kitchen?" Old Earle voiced a deep question.
"They're actually quite reasonable." Mike sighed.
If it weren't for those big brothers leaning on crutches, wearing casts, and having black eyes and bruised faces, Old Earle would have almost believed Mike's nonsense.
From then on, Old Earle knew that the supermarket was just a front; the boss operated a jack-of-all-trades shop, solving all sorts of problems.
"Boss, save Chloe, please, she's just a child. This is all my savings. I know it's not enough, but..."
Old Earle said, choked with emotion.
The banknotes looked like a lot, but they were all small denominations. A thick stack, but not more than three thousand U.S. dollars.
"You've saved this money for a long time, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"Is it worth it?"
"Yes!"
Old Earle was unwavering. A white ball of glowing energy floated above his head.
At this moment, lines of text appeared in Mike's mind—
[Old Earle's Commission: Rescue Orphan Chloe]
[Commission: 20000 U.S. dollars (System takes 90% after deducting fees)]
[Task Description: Rescue orphan Chloe from the Big Foot Gang and hand her over to Old Earle.]
After the system's commission, Mike would receive at most two thousand U.S. dollars. In other words, this job would be a loss.
In Old Earle's anxious gaze, Mike sighed, "Alright, I'll take this job."
As soon as he finished speaking, the white glowing energy ball floated in front of Mike and merged into his brow.
System prompt: [Soul Energy +1]
Now, no more pretending, it's time to lay it all out!
Mike was a transmigrator. After twenty-four years of reincarnation, when he discovered he was in Marvel, he was completely bewildered.
Well, since he was here, he might as well make the best of it. The worst that could happen was the Universe's population getting snapped away with a single finger.
Mike obediently studied step by step until he received his admission letter to Princeton University, and his golden finger arrived unexpectedly.
The golden finger appeared to be a mercenary system, but in reality, it was about accumulating ten [Soul Energy] to synthesize [Soul Fruit], ultimately leading to [Fantasy Manifestation].
Additionally, Soul Energy had the effect of strengthening the body. Currently, Mike's physical fitness was no weaker than Captain America after injecting the Super Soldier Serum.
"Boss, boss..." Old Earle saw Mike's distraction and said, "Is this commission troubling you?"
"Oh, no."
Mike came back to his senses and said, "I was just thinking of something. By the way, do you need to sign a contract or get a receipt?"
Old Earle waved his hands repeatedly: "No, no."
Mike added, "Also, no matter the outcome, the commission fee is non-refundable."
Old Earle said, "I understand, rules."
Mike took out his encrypted phone, not avoiding Old Earle, and dialed the number saved as [Fat Jerry].
Connected.
"Mike, long time no talk. I thought you forgot Fat Jerry, I'm so sad," a greasy voice came from the phone.
Mike: "Speak like a human."
Jerry: "You're still the same, I..."
Mike hung up the phone expressionlessly.
A few seconds later.
Mike's phone rang. He pressed the answer button, and Fat Jerry's helpless voice came from the other end: "Alright, tell me, who's going to have a bad day?"
"Do you know the Big Foot Gang?"
"Yes, they've been very active lately, impossible not to know."
"The usual, send the intel and fees to my email."
"Okay, as for the fees, a five percent discount." Fat Jerry looked pained.
Mike quipped, "Heh, a discount... a once-in-a-lifetime event."
Fat Jerry indignantly said, "Those scumbags have no bottom line. Going to Hell is too good for them!"
After hanging up, Mike explained to Old Earle, "Fat Jerry is an intelligence broker. He's greedy, but his reputation has always been good."
After reassuring Old Earle, Mike went upstairs.
Jennifer was lying on her side, the silk duvet slipped to one side, revealing her astonishing curves.
Looking horizontally, it's a mountain range; from the side, a peak. Near and far, high and low, each different.
Mike swallowed, and with great willpower, shifted his gaze. He opened his computer and clicked on his email.
Fat Jerry's efficiency was as high as ever; the intelligence had been sent.
After carefully reading the intelligence, Mike gained a new understanding of the Big Foot Gang: two words, 'beasts.' No wonder even Fat Jerry couldn't stand it.
The Big Foot Gang was originally just a small, unknown gang in Hell's Kitchen until they hooked up with an Irish crime syndicate.
"Magenta?"
An image of an Irishman appeared in Mike's mind: dreadlocks, gold teeth, a frivolous and crazy laugh.
The Irish had a strong presence in Hell's Kitchen, on par with Italian, Russian, Yugoslav, Mexican, Japanese, Chinese, Vietnamese, and native U.S. crime syndicates.
Tsk tsk, just one administrative district of Manhattan, gathering notorious crime syndicates from all over the World.
My heart aches for the residents of Hell's Kitchen for a second.