He focused his thoughts on the black seed, and the system displayed: Seed of Chaos — Chaos breeds order, order gives birth to life, and life creates miracles.
Well, that explanation was about as useful as no explanation at all; Mike couldn't make heads or tails of it. So he decided to just leave it for now; it was in his consciousness space anyway.
Mike loaded a pile of things into his system space: food, daily necessities, tools, weapons... If the space hadn't been so small, he would have tried to cram a motorcycle or a car in there.
"How do I upgrade the system space? It's only one cubic meter; it's really inconvenient."
Actually, what Mike truly wanted wasn't to store vehicles, though that would certainly be convenient. However, compared to convenience, he more desired to, in the future, when negotiations went sour, "whoosh" a nuclear bomb out of his system space.
"Hmm, now that I think about it, I need to figure out a way to get a nuclear bomb."
That scene… just thinking about it made him drool.
By then, several hours had passed since the bounty was posted, and no assassins had launched an attack yet. It wasn't that no assassins had arrived nearby; rather, there were too many, and they ended up checking each other—to kill Mike, they had to prevent others from killing him first, forming a delicate balance.
Mike was preparing to leave. If this place became a battlefield, Skye would only find a pile of ruins when she returned.
Mike opened the door and threw out an old piece of clothing.
Bang…
Several gunshots rang out, and the clothes fluttered left and right, remaining suspended in the air for quite a while.
Suddenly, several blood splatters erupted from nearby rooftops and apartments. It wasn't Mike's doing; rather, firing their weapons exposed their positions, and those who reacted slowly were immediately killed by other assassins.
The street fell into an eerie silence.
The ambushing assassins fell into thought: "If the target runs out, should we shoot? If we hit the target, we'll probably be killed by others and have money but no life to spend it…."
At that moment, the supermarket door opened, and Mike walked out boldly. For a moment, no one fired.
Of course, Mike had used Zoro's possession card, with his Observation Haki fully open, remaining on guard.
S.H.I.E.L.D. Operations Command Center.
Fury, Maria Hill, Coulson, Natasha, and Clint, a group of S.H.I.E.L.D. core members, were gathered together.
Simmons and Fitz operated their instruments while excitedly sneaking glances at these legendary S.H.I.E.L.D. figures.
"Curly-haired boy, if you keep peeking, I'll gouge out your eyes and shove them into your rear end, understand?" Fury was in a bad mood, under immense work pressure; his hair was thinning, but he hadn't grown stronger.
"Okay, okay…" Fitz was so intimidated by Fury's "overbearing aura" that he was incoherent.
"I mean, you can look openly, and if you have a notebook, you can even bring it over for us to sign."
"R-really?" Fitz's eyes widened.
Fury slapped his forehead: "Can't you tell? Is the sarcasm in my tone not high enough? Do I need to hold up a sign that says 'Sarcasm'?"
Good-natured Coulson: "Director My Lord, can you please not bully the New Police Officer who just graduated from S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy?"
Fury glared: "You actually brought a New Police Officer to such an important occasion?"
Coulson said: "Fitz and Simmons did an excellent job with the analysis on Mike." He added in his mind, "They're just too bookish and not suited for fieldwork."
Coulson leaned over to Black Widow and whispered, "What's wrong with Fury? He's so irritable."
Black Widow pouted: "I don't know, maybe he's been under a lot of pressure lately."
The satellite footage, processed by computer, was incredibly clear; zoomed in, blackheads and pimples were perfectly visible.
"Why hasn't it started yet?" Fury asked, "Do assassins line up and yield to each other, or is it dinner time, and they're having supper first?"
Clint analyzed: "The bounty is too high, and there's too little public information on Mike. The assassins are being very cautious."
No sooner had he finished speaking than Mike threw out his clothes, followed by the sight of assassins blasting each other's heads.
Clint said: "See, that's what happens when you act rashly."
Next, Mike strolled casually onto the street.
Fury rubbed his eyes: "Is he crazy, exposing himself like that in an open space?"
"Fury…" Coulson: "I mentioned it in my report; Mike can block heavy sniper rifle bullets. Regular bullets probably won't work."
"Cough, cough…" Fury's face turned red. He had indeed seen it in the report, but he was in such a bad mood… Fortunately, his face was dark, so the slight blush wouldn't be visible even with a magnifying glass.
"Report!" Fitz suddenly exclaimed.
"What's the situation?"
"Just now, the target sent a signal—it's the target's real-time location information."
Fury and Coulson exchanged glances, sharing the same question: "What is Mike trying to do?"
"Is he calling for help? No, that's not right; he refused S.H.I.E.L.D.'s assistance… Perhaps Mike belongs to some mysterious organization, and that mysterious organization has many people like Mike. No, maybe Mike is just a super humanoid weapon manufactured on an assembly line, and the mysterious organization's goal is…" Coulson imagined a history of Earth's destruction, scaring himself into a cold sweat.
Fitz raised his hand.
Fury said impatiently: "You don't have to raise your hand like a student…"
"Yes, yes." Fitz said: "Tracking shows the information was sent from an intelligence broker listed as an observation target by S.H.I.E.L.D. The intelligence broker just sent the real-time information to several people, and several transfers appeared in his account. So I thought… did the target sell his real-time location information? Haha… that's too absurd, impossible, right?"
Fury: "…"
Coulson: "…"
Black Widow: "…"
Clint: "…"
Although it sounded absurd, these four recalled Mike's occasionally erratic way of doing things and felt that this might actually be the truth.
Only Hill remained serious throughout, out of place with the others.
Mike walked forward, beckoning as if inviting the assassins to follow.
He encountered a heavily pregnant woman with difficulty walking; she moved a bit slowly, occasionally stopping to lean on the railing.
A student couple chatted and laughed.
A young mother was scolding her son, who wore a baseball cap.
A professional man in a shirt and tie, carrying a briefcase in one hand, was making a serious phone call.
A decadent middle-aged beggar sat by the roadside, with a top hat for money and a cardboard sign in front of him. The sign read: "Disabled Veteran with Lower Limb Injuries."
In the middle of the road was a thug wearing a gold chain; his hand was in his pocket, his expression tense, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Finally, they're here." Mike smiled faintly, and Senbonzakura, without its Shikai activated, drew a large arc with a single slash.
One slash.
The pregnant woman clutched her stomach; her clothes were cut open, revealing cotton stuffing used for disguise, which gradually turned red with blood.
The student couple embraced each other, their guns only half-drawn from beneath their clothes, blood gushing from their throats.
The professional elite's briefcase was broken, and a submachine gun fell out diagonally. His phone was pointed at Mike; it was a tool disguised as a phone that could fire arrows. Mike's blade tip pierced his heart.
The thug pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Mike.
"You're just a fool hired by the assassins to distract me. Trust me… if you shoot, you'll be the one to die. Die, or run, choose for yourself?"
"Ah ah ah!"
The thug suddenly threw away his pistol and ran wildly back the way he came.
Mike tilted his head and smiled at the beggar: "What about you? What's your choice?"
"I…" The beggar, who seemed to have been scared silly by the slaughter, returned to normal, "I think being a beggar has fixed working hours, and there are many kind fools, so the income is good. It's a promising career, much better than being an assassin."
The "disabled veteran with lower limb injuries" stood up nimbly, walked a distance back, then turned and bowed, thanking Mike for sparing his life.
Mike didn't kill him, not out of mercy, but simply because he hadn't made a move.
All of the above, except for the thug, were professional assassins.