Natasha looked around in confusion, then felt something wasn't right with her body. Her whole body felt indescribably light, as if she had just had a custom high-end spa treatment, stripping away a thousand pounds of burden.
No, a spa wouldn't have this effect. She clenched her fists, feeling better than ever—except the clothes she was wearing were strange.
"What is this... a bunny girl?" Natasha looked down at her body and found herself wearing the uniform she had received earlier, holding a metal tray in her hand.
Even worse, a large bundle of green dollar bills was stuffed into the open chest of her uniform, mostly in twenty-dollar denominations. Natasha took a quick glance and could even see a hundred-dollar bill.
Which rich man's foolish son came here to throw money around?
Natasha was still in a daze, but her caution as an agent made her alertly observe her surroundings. The environment in the bar was chaotic; the dance floor was packed with men and women venting their energy, and the air was thick with alcohol, hormones, and the smell of second-hand weed.
'Strange, what was I just doing?' Natasha frowned, unable to recall her recent memories. Her memory stopped at the moment she got the bunny girl uniform and entered the locker room.
Looking at the tips stuffed into the crevices of her outfit, had she really been working diligently as a waitress?
"Hey, Satana, a customer is rushing their order, get over here!" A bartender nearby shouted. Natasha realized belatedly that he was calling her. Her excellent skills as a Level 7 agent allowed her to enter character instantly; she smiled and moved toward the bartender, extracting the information she wanted in just a few sentences.
The result was bad; she had actually been working here until now. The pseudonym she used was the foolish name 'Satana'—she might as well have been called Santana.
The situation was eerie; this vampire stronghold was definitely not simple. Natasha decided to retreat for now and return to South America to carry out her long-term mission.
Compared to the weirdness here, the little green boy in South America was undoubtedly much easier to deal with; she just needed to offer her 'love' and broad-mindedness.
Finding an excuse to return to the locker room, Natasha found an even worse situation—where was her uniform?
For a dignified Level 7 agent to lose her personal uniform during a mission... this plot sounded more reasonable for P-site, but Natasha only felt her skin crawl. Her heart rate quickened, and she just wanted to escape this place immediately.
Since her uniform was gone, she had to find a more ordinary set of clothes. The locker room had individual stalls for each person; Natasha easily picked someone else's lock. She silently apologized to the owner of the locker and left the bar wearing a school uniform set.
Hell's Kitchen at night was several times more dangerous than during the day. It was fine near the bar, as there were vampire guards on duty; the gangs of Hell's Kitchen knew better than to cause trouble there. Once away from the bar's vicinity, the probability of a young woman walking alone being attacked was one hundred percent.
Natasha walked through the dark alley wrapped in the clothes. This school uniform was the largest size she could find, but it still felt small on her. The skirt seemed to have been deliberately shortened by the girl who owned it; as the night wind blew, a chill set in.
Several Black punks whistled as they appeared in front of Natasha. When she stopped, two more Black men emerged from the shadows behind her.
"Hey pretty girl, isn't it cold wearing so little? Why don't you come home with us and warm up?"
"The boss is right, exercise to keep warm, hahaha!"
The night gave them dark skin, and they used this natural optical camouflage to rob people. Several Black men spoke crudely in the shadows; others could only see rows of white teeth.
Natasha sneered in her heart. Although surrounded by a group of Black men with ill intentions, she wasn't worried at all, let alone concerned about being 'filled up'.
'As if. I can't handle those vampires, but I can't handle you guys?'
She scanned the group, judging their positions and distances, silently calculating the order of attack. Suddenly, she saw a familiar figure at the entrance of the alley and let out a soft sigh.
"Hey, you lot." Nick Fury, wearing an eyepatch and dressed like a pirate, appeared at the alley entrance, pointing his gun at them. "If you don't want holes in your backs, you'd better stand still."
"What the hell? Kid, do you know who our boss is—"
Bang!
After the gunshot, the punk who wanted to talk tough and reach for a knife trembled all over. The bullet flew past his cheek; he could even feel the heat from the bullet.
Several punks immediately raised their hands in a French military salute, their movements practiced and standard, clearly having done it many times.
Natasha quickly approached Nick Fury and, under the disappointed gazes of the punks, got into a black Chevrolet Suburban.
Nick Fury glared at the group and reached out to pull open the driver's door.
"Hey man!" the punk leader shouted, unwilling to give up. "We could totally follow the old traditions of the homeland. Good things should be shared. Trust me, those white girls say no, but they actually love it."
"Yeah, yeah," the Black man next to him agreed. "The laws of the ancestors cannot be changed."
Nick Fury's already dark face turned even darker. It was because of these pest-like compatriots that the status of Black people here was so low, reduced to being synonyms for robbery, rape, and murder.
Nick Fury ignored them. The Chevrolet's engine roared, and it drove out of Hell's Kitchen with a rumble.
Several Black men whistled and lowered their hands, joking, "I bet his car was stolen."
His companion had a different opinion. "Wake up, brother, what era is this? Maybe he bought it with his own money. I think they might be OnlyFans creators."
He added regretfully, "I forgot to ask for their handle so I could go follow them. That girl just now was really a knockout."
Inside the car, Nick Fury spoke first. "Tell me, what exactly happened? What situation could make you lose contact for three whole hours? I almost thought you were killed in the line of duty."
"I'm not sure either; the situation is very eerie." Natasha's face was grim. She had checked her body while changing clothes; there were no signs of any intrusion.
Unfortunately, she hadn't managed to obtain any important genetic information from the enemy. She hadn't even seen the enemy's face from start to finish, and her memory was a blur. This was the most bizarre situation she had encountered since starting her career, and she had no leads.
Because there were no clues, Natasha had no answers to Fury's questions, her expression somewhat embarrassed.
Nick Fury stopped talking, realizing the water in this vampire stronghold was very deep, and even a Level 7 agent like Natasha couldn't handle it. After thinking it over, he could only let the vampires resolve it internally.
But the efficiency of vampires had always been low. Those damned immortals had a different sense of time than ordinary people.
Time slowly passed, and another month went by. Even if the vampires were slow to react, they noticed the unusual activity at the Hell's Kitchen blood bank.
The New York branch of the vampires had sent two teams to investigate, both of which were consumed by Makiya as experimental materials. After losing personnel consecutively, the leader of the New York branch was furious and was gathering people to plan a surprise attack; a great battle was imminent.
Meanwhile, Makiya's experiment was finally a complete success.
Most of the 98 experimental subjects were consumed; only twenty low-level vampires were lucky enough to survive until the experiment succeeded.
In the underground lab, twenty vampire men and women were firmly strapped to operating tables. Makiya's clones injected the reagents simultaneously.
The degraded version of the Super Soldier Serum derived from Natasha took effect first. The vampires' fangs receded, and their physical organs were undergoing massive changes. Since this involved the iteration of many bodily tissues, including the digestive system, it was the most painful step. Intense screams echoed one after another in the basement.
With the physical transformation initially complete, Makiya injected the modified gene reagent derived from the demon and ninja. The pinkish-purple reagent flowed through their bodies like a refreshing spring, easing the previous pain. The physical forms of the vampires underwent a massive change; the features of both men and women became soft and beautiful, with everything in the right places.
Due to the influence of some residual vampire genes, pitch-black, slender tails grew from their rears, similar to a bat's but different.
A moment later, the genetic transformation was complete. Twenty delicate beauties appeared on the operating tables, their bodies exuding an indescribable aura of temptation, with pink heart patterns appearing in their pupils.
Of course, the male vampires hadn't changed their sex, but they achieved a "calling a girl a boy" effect, very characteristic of Japan.
With this matter concluded, Makiya no longer intended to stay. He had prepared a grand gift for the vampires, just waiting for the main characters to arrive.
Sending the twenty still-unconscious modified vampires back to their respective rooms, Makiya summoned a large number of clones to pack up various instruments and equipment, beginning to move out.
After all, this blood bank was a public location recorded by various parties; it was not suitable for long-term residence.
Iris had already completed the fund transfer and rented a large area of abandoned factories near the Hudson River in Hell's Kitchen to build Makiya's new home.
As for the high-level modified vampires, including Iris, he only chose five who looked and felt good to use and took them away, leaving all the others at the blood bank.
Makiya kept Iris and the other four because they were useful. Since this world was so inclusive that various techniques, magic, and ninjutsu could be used, Makiya, after organizing his memories, thought of a way to become stronger and intended to try it out.
Since this was a world of freedom and democracy, cultivating and becoming stronger by oneself didn't fit the local characteristics; it certainly had to be others cultivating for him to fit the local national conditions.
The current Makiya army was still not strong enough. Once they encountered a world with true heavyweights, their combat power wouldn't be enough. He didn't want to become a salted fish relying on others, so he planned to contribute his part for all his selves.
Next to the Hudson River, in Makiya's new base.
Makiya sat in a chair, scribbling seriously on paper with a grave expression, unknown what he was doing.
Iris and the others stood obediently to the side, waiting for their master's command. Due to an inexplicable sense of crisis, Iris swallowed hard, knelt down, and crawled under Makiya, intending to perform the Wind Style: Vacuum Suction she had just learned.
"Get up, stop messing around." Makiya pulled Iris up, read the document in his hand one last time, and waved. The document floated in the air and split into five, drifting in front of the five individuals.
"Master, what is this?" Iris asked curiously.
"A magical contract. Don't worry about it too much, just sign your name at the bottom."