Mike arrived at the garage and lifted a section of the floor, revealing the entrance to the basement.
This was Mike's secret base, where he stored firearms, ammunition, and other contraband.
"When will the spatial ring be ready?" Mike muttered, thinking of the European emperor.
The "Illusion Manifestation" system was based on the knowledge of Mike II, so anything materialized from the Soul Fruit was unusual.
There were ordinary items like sharp katanas, vampire cloaks, ANBU masks, and handcrafted wooden sandals…
…but also rare items like enchanted cards, magical scrolls, explosive talismans, and life-restoring potions.
The system came with its own storage space, but it could only hold system items and had a mere one cubic meter of capacity—far from enough. That's why Mike needed a secret base.
He cleared out unused items from the system space to make room, then stored pistols, submachine guns, grenades, magazines, katanas, daggers, ropes, and more.
"Most of these you won't need now, so don't worry about them. Better to have them unused than find yourself without when it matters."
By the time he returned to the supermarket from the underground base, night had fallen.
Patrolling officers were now on high alert, sizing everyone up as if they were gang members. After midnight, Hell's Kitchen became a playground for criminals. Unless a call came in, the police wouldn't leave the station—the night was just as dangerous for them.
Old Earl winked at Mike. "Boss, the blonde girl left. She left this message for you."
Mike took the tissue from Earl. Printed on it was a phone number and a seductive lip print, suggesting Jennifer had been extremely pleased with Mike's "vigorous service" and wanted another round.
"What's her name?" Mike muttered, saving Jennifer's number. He was pleased with her as well—beautiful, fit, polite, and skilled. Perfect in every way.
"By the way, Earl, want anything to eat tonight?" Mike asked.
"No, thanks," Earl shook his head.
"Then you'll work overtime tonight," Mike said, leaving the reason unsaid.
"Got it," Earl nodded thoughtfully.
"And don't go home tonight. Stay at the supermarket. Lock all doors and windows once closed. No matter what you hear, don't open them." Mike explained.
"Ah…" Earl understood—Mike had something to handle tonight.
After giving instructions, Mike left for Old Zhou's Restaurant.
"One Yangzhou fried rice and one beef pho to go," Mike ordered smoothly.
"Sure," Zhou's son, Xiao Zhou, said with a sincere smile.
Mike's presence improved the safety of the block—most people here were grateful.
Sitting down, Mike sent a message to Jennifer:
[Sweetheart, did you get home safely?]
[Yes, I did.]
[You were sleeping so soundly, I didn't wake you. I had to leave quickly when you went, sorry.]
[Mike, you're such a gentleman. (￣3￣)づ]
Mike froze. Gentleman? Where was the gentleman part? Clearly, it was all about looks… (｀・ω・´)
They chatted happily for a while and arranged to meet again. Soon, Xiao Zhou returned with the packed order, and Mike paid and left.
Two figures emerged from the kitchen: a plump older man, Old Li, and a young, sharp-looking woman with short hair.
The woman was Li Qianhuan, a member of the X-Men, primarily operating in Los Angeles. She carried advanced devices capable of remotely detecting X genes.
"Not a mutant," she said, looking at the results, a little disappointed. The X-Men were already short-handed.
Unbeknownst to Mike, he had already caught Li Qianhuan's attention. Returning to the supermarket, Mike gave Earl the beef pho and enjoyed the Yangzhou fried rice himself.
To suit American tastes, Mili's Chinese dishes were often sweet and spicy, though "special" meant authentic flavor.
After dinner, Mike and Earl talked briefly. Later, Mike went upstairs to plan the night's operation.
The plan was simple—the simpler, the less chance of mistakes. How complicated could dealing with a small gang be?
After a short nap to regain energy, Mike woke near midnight, took a cold shower, and put on black attire suitable for nighttime activities.
Finally, Mike retrieved a special card from the system space—an Possession Card.
The card was roughly the size of a playing card, depicting a tall man with a sinister glare and no eyebrows—Momochi Zabuza.
[Character: Momochi Zabuza]
[Type: Possession Card]
[Usage Fee: $10,000/hour (any partial hour counts as one full hour)]
[Note 1: Nicknamed "Kirito Kirito," second-generation user of the Executioner's Blade. Skilled in underwater escapes and silent assassination.]
[Note 2: Card does not include the Executioner's Blade—collect separately.]
"Use card."
Mike placed the card between his legs, concentrating. The card transformed into a light point, sending a strange energy coursing through his limbs and bones. He moaned softly in pleasure.
"This… is power. No wonder humans crave it. Feels amazing."
Ding!
A notification interrupted him: the bank would automatically deduct $10,000.
Mike: o(｀w´*)o
Not only did Earl not have $20,000, but after the card fees and system commission, how much would remain? Only $1,000.
All the day's hard work had gone to serving the system.
Mike leaped out the window, moving silently across rooftops and walls. He wore a half-face mask for caution.
Hell's Kitchen had almost no outdoor surveillance; any installed cameras would be destroyed within an hour anyway.
Located on Manhattan's west side along the Hudson River, Hell's Kitchen had many small docks.
The Bigfoot Gang had a stronghold at one warehouse. The building was five meters tall, steel-framed, covering thousands of square meters.
A few minutes later, Mike reached the roof. The warehouse was brightly lit and divided into four zones.
The east zone housed the gang's members for living and leisure—a pungent, fishy stench typical of drug dens.
The south zone was a meth lab, with chemical equipment everywhere. Half-naked, gas-mask-wearing workers labored under the watch of two armed men.
The west zone contained cages holding men, women, and children of all races. They had paid smugglers to enter the U.S., only to be imprisoned by the gang for extortion.
Some who paid were freed. Others, who didn't, were forced into labor in the drug lab with grueling conditions—some would die before repaying their "debt."
Attractive men and women were often exploited sexually.
The north zone stored weapons, packaged drugs, and miscellaneous goods.
A container caught Mike's attention.
Though closed, he could smell a strong metallic scent from the rooftop—a sensitivity perhaps linked to the top ninja, Momochi Zabuza.
Concentrating his chakra in his feet, Mike moved silently along the wall.
The container's door was half-open, with a plastic curtain.
Even normally calm Mike's blood boiled at the sight inside.
On a stainless steel bed lay a man, gutted alive, his face twisted in pain and fear. His intestines had been removed without anesthesia.
This was a West Zone worker who died from overwork. The Bigfoot Gang euphemistically called it "resource utilization."
Two people in white coats stood inside.
"You… are…"
"Hey…"
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