After sleeping for less than three hours, the alarm clock rang.
Carlos got up with a heavy head, dressed, threw his bags and suitcase into the car, and drove to the Precinct.
On the day shift patrol, Frank noticed his lack of energy and, unusually, didn't tease him too much, taking over most of the public interaction himself.
"Didn't sleep well last night?" Frank asked casually after handling a neighborhood noise complaint.
"A bit of insomnia," Carlos muttered, rubbing his temples.
"I thought you were up all night playing with Sarah," Frank teased.
Carlos laughed and gave him the middle finger in response.
In truth, he was focusing what little attention he had on the car radio, listening for any reports regarding the Art District, a Fire, or a homicide.
However, the morning passed peacefully. The dispatch center had no information related to it, as if everything that happened at the Warehouse last night—including the Fire he set himself—was just an illusion.
Carlos felt something was wrong. Even if the Fire wasn't big, four people were dead, one of whom was dressed as a ninja. Although he had removed the contraband, many traces remained. If anyone nearby had reported it, it would definitely be a major case; it couldn't be this quiet.
He already had a faint suspicion. He had only pocketed the dirty money as per the system's requirement, but someone high up in the NYPD or some official agency had taken hush money!
Thinking this way, Carlos suddenly felt enlightened. At noon, he took the initiative to buy Frank a cup of coffee and even chatted with him about his idea of moving.
He was just a dirty Police officer who stole from criminals, not one who colluded with gangs for bribes. Although he hadn't been very conflicted to begin with, he was now even less bothered by the fact that last night's events had vanished without a sound.
It was a good thing someone was covering for him. The other party wasn't the Police or the FBI, so they wouldn't investigate him openly. The chance of being discovered was nearly Zero—what was there to worry about!
That night, Carlos brought his clothes and luggage back upstairs and slept in the apartment for one night.
But by noon the next day, he had rented a townhouse in a middle-class Brooklyn neighborhood. The house wasn't large—a typical U.S. style small villa, two stories with a half-story attic, essentially two and a half floors, and a very small Underground Room. It had White wooden exterior walls and a small lawn in front.
It was very similar to the living environment he had envied in his past life. No neighbors above or below, only neighbors to the left and right, with independent entrances and private spaces. It was countless times better than his moldy apartment. More importantly, the environment was quiet and offered good privacy, which was more favorable for his nightly "activities."
The only downside was that it was much smaller than the villas in his memory, but for one person, it was spacious enough.
He made another trip that night to move his other belongings, leaving a few pieces of clothing behind; he didn't intend to cancel the lease on the apartment.
He would stay low for a few days; in the future, the apartment could serve as a safe house.
Normally, a move should warrant a housewarming party, but Carlos didn't know many people at the Precinct, and he didn't want to contact his former community college classmates frequently. Combined with his increasingly low-profile habits, he simply acted as if nothing had happened.
On the third working day, during the lunch break, Sarah asked to meet him that evening.
"My aunt gave me two opera tickets for Lincoln Center," Sarah said over the phone with a hint of helplessness. "I know you don't like this, but it's a waste to let them go. Accompany me, and we can grab something to eat on the East Side afterward."
Carlos indeed had no interest in opera, but he did want to go—not for the opera, but to take a look at the Art District while passing by.
"Okay, see you tonight."
After work, Carlos went home to change into a casual suit, picked up Sarah, and drove toward Manhattan.
While passing near Brooklyn Bridge Park, Carlos said, "Let's take a detour; it doesn't seem as congested this way."
Sarah, who was touching up her makeup, gave an "mm-hmm" and didn't mind.
Beside the Art District.
The car slowed down. Carlos's gaze swept toward the alley behind the Old Bookstore. His newly acquired Dynamic Vision allowed him to clearly capture the dim details in the distance without having to stop.
The Warehouse was still there.
But unlike before, the factory building's walls showed blackened traces of being scorched by Fire. Several windows were broken and roughly boarded up with wood. Overall, it looked exactly like a dilapidated site after a minor Fire.
However, there was no Police tape around the Warehouse, and not even many passersby spared it a curious glance. It stood there quietly, as if forgotten by the entire World.
Carlos's heart grew a bit heavy, but he quickly recovered.
After all, it involved The Hand. Even if the NYPD opened a case, it would be taken over by S.H.I.E.L.D., the agency specialized in supernatural phenomena—oh, wait, the Snake-S.H.I.E.L.D.
"What are you looking at?" Sarah followed his gaze. "Oh, I heard there was a small Fire there, probably old wiring or something. It shouldn't be a big deal."
"Yeah."
Carlos responded, withdrew his gaze, and stepped on the gas, merging the car into the flow of traffic.
It seemed there were still some rumors in the Precinct, but they had been covered up internally.
The Water in this World is very deep, and he had already stepped one foot in.
The only good news was that he could now see more clearly.
The first day off.
Carlos took the initiative to ask Sarah out, but not for a date; they went to a furniture store.
"What! You moved to a new house! OMG!" In the store, Sarah was wondering why Carlos had brought her here, but upon hearing his explanation, she immediately jumped on him in excitement.
Her excited appearance left Carlos between laughter and tears.
"Please, I'm the one moving, not you!"
Uh... not necessarily.
Sure enough, Sarah hugged Carlos and whispered in his ear, "I'm staying at your place tonight!"
"OK!" Carlos smiled and patted Sarah's backside, signaling her to get down. "I'll grill steak for you tonight."
"I'll bring a bottle of red wine—no, two bottles."
...The night was deep but not quiet; after the wine, they finally rested.
Sarah came to her senses and suddenly remembered something. "Did you know? Jesse, the one who took your first time, is dead. I saw a few reports yesterday; they say it was a gang cleaning out a snitch."
Carlos felt a jolt when he first heard it, but after listening, he raised his hand and gave her a playful slap. "You startled me. That thieving junkie? He should have died long ago."
Sarah sighed. "Yeah, I used to think he was pitiable, barely surviving by stealing worthless things, but over time, how could he just stop at stealing?"
Carlos recalled Jesse's previous suspicious behavior and couldn't help but say, "When a poor person becomes a junkie, there's a high probability they'll lose everything. There are gangs around his place; he might even deal to support his habit. You can't resist that stuff."
Sarah nodded. "There was a boy in our high school who secretly drugged a girl. Later, that girl got AIDS. I heard it was because she had orgies every day just to get that stuff for free."
Carlos shook his head. "Unfortunately, you can't even ban that stuff anymore; some places are even starting to legalize it."
Sarah looked up in surprise. "That stuff can be legalized?"
Carlos thought of how contraband would spiral out of control in the future U.S. and chuckled. "Mm-hmm, starting with protecting their privacy, ha!"
Sarah found it hard to believe. "My God, if that's really the case, I'm starting to feel like I'm doing something righteous."
Carlos teased, "Not so boring anymore?"
Sarah's face slumped. "Still boring."
Carlos couldn't help but laugh.
On the second day off, near noon, sunlight filtered through the gaps in the blinds.
Carlos stretched as he woke up in the master bedroom of his new home; Sarah had already left.
He got up, showered, and changed into an old T-shirt and cargo pants; there were many things to do today.
In the kitchen, he brewed coffee and settled his brunch with milk and cereal.
After the meal, he made a shopping list: pliers, a screwdriver set, a grinder, saw blades, goggles, work gloves, and... angle iron, bolts, and a workbench.
In the original Underground Room, there was an electric drill and common hardware left by the previous tenant, which saved him some time.
In the afternoon, he drove to a nearby hardware store.
After selecting his items, the male clerk scanned the products at the checkout and remarked casually, "Looking at the tools you've chosen, this isn't for ordinary repairs. If you're doing firearm modifications, I suggest going to a professional shop; we don't carry certain parts here."
Carlos looked up; the clerk's expression was calm, seemingly without any intent to probe.
"It's not a gun," Carlos shook his head. "Just making some little gadgets."
It was just a silencer, so it really wasn't a gun, but this thing was even more illegal, so it was better not to say anything.
"That's good then." The clerk put the tools into a paper bag. "Some customers think they can modify guns themselves, only to end up breaking parts or even hurting themselves. It's best to leave professional matters to professional people."
Carlos paid in cash and took the bag. "Thanks."
After returning home, he moved the tools to the Underground Room.
The space in the Underground Room was low, with a ceiling only two meters high. The floor was concrete, a faint smell of dampness came from the walls, and several cardboard boxes were piled in the corner, yet to be organized.
Carlos first assembled the workbench, building the frame with angle iron, laying down pre-measured wooden boards, and securing them with bolts. The workbench was one and a half meters long, eighty centimeters wide, and reached his waist—enough to hold tools and materials. Next was a simple shelf for storing tools and parts. Finally, he installed an LED work light above the workbench, providing bright and even light. Once the other tools and materials were sorted and placed, a basic workshop was ready.
In the evening, after dinner, Carlos entered the Underground Room, put on his goggles and gloves, and began his first project: a silencing device for the desert eagle.
The homemade soda can silencer from last time had limited effectiveness and broke after continuous firing; he needed a more reliable design.
He took the desert eagle pistol out of the system space, placed it on the workbench, measured the outer diameter of the barrel, and then looked up silencer schematics online.
He didn't need perfect silencing, just something that could effectively reduce the gunshot noise.
With several sections of stainless steel pipe ready, he selected one with an inner diameter slightly larger than the outer diameter of the desert eagle's barrel. After repeated measurements, he chose one and started working. He carefully cut a fifteen-centimeter length with a cutting saw, fixed it in a vise, and began drilling. He drilled several rows of small holes into the pipe wall to form expansion chambers, which is the basic structure of a simple silencer. The drill bit ground against the metal, making a sharp sound as fine metal shavings drifted into the air. Carlos kept the speed low, spraying Water occasionally to cool it down.
An hour later, three neat rows of small holes appeared on the stainless steel pipe.
Next was the internal filling of the silencer. He used two types: a layer of high-temperature resistant steel wool and a layer of fiberglass insulation cotton. These materials could slow down the expansion of gunpowder gases and reduce the blast sound. He rolled the materials into a cylinder and carefully stuffed them into the stainless steel pipe, ensuring they wouldn't obstruct the bullet's path.
Finally, there was the connection part, which was also the most difficult part.
Because he didn't want to modify threads directly onto the desert eagle's muzzle, he could only make a clamp out of steel plate, lined with a rubber pad to grip the desert eagle's barrel. The clamp connected to the stainless steel pipe via threads.
Two hours later, the silencer was basically finished.
Although it still looked crude, the structure was solid and it could be attached and detached.
It just couldn't be as cool as in the movies, where someone pulls out a silencer, raises the gun, aligns it, and finishes the installation with a few twists. His handmade silencer required fixing the clamp and the silencer tube separately. Carlos attached the silencer and raised the gun to aim at the far wall of the Underground Room; the feel was much better than the soda can from last time.
He didn't dare test it here. Even with a silencer, he estimated that in such a quiet residential area at night, neighbors would still hear the gunshot.
He tried to put the desert eagle back into the system space without removing the silencer, and it worked!
Oh ho!
Carlos weighed the silencer in his hand and grinned.
This is quite convenient! Unfortunately, it doesn't work the other way around; he can't have the silencer automatically attached when he takes the gun out.
He placed the silencer separately in a drawer.
He cleaned up the scene, swept away the metal shavings, and put the tools back in their places.
With some free time, Carlos sat on his new sofa, his mind repeatedly going over the Warehouse, Jesse, The Hand... A week had passed since the Warehouse incident, and he felt the "heat" should have died down, so he wanted to go check on the situation.
At nine o'clock in the evening, the sky had turned completely dark.
Carlos changed into deep gray sportswear and a black coat, put on an ordinary blue baseball cap, and wore a pair of plain glasses to slightly alter his facial profile. He also applied some dark foundation to his face and added a small patch of beard.
After checking the door and window alarms, he drove out.
He stopped at a bus station several blocks away and took the night bus to Jesse's apartment area. This time, he chose to get off at a stop two blocks away and took a detour to approach from the side and rear.
At 9:40 PM, he stood on the roof of a five-story old apartment building. This building was located diagonally behind Jesse's apartment building, separated by a stretch of low Warehouses, with a straight-line distance of about eighty meters. The position was hidden but offered an excellent view, allowing him to clearly see the third-floor windows and the back alley of Jesse's apartment building.
Carlos lay behind the low wall at the edge of the roof, exposing only his eyes.
The Dynamic Vision skill made the distant details clearer. The window of Jesse's room showed the flickering light of a TV screen; a new tenant must have moved in. Some other windows were lit while others were dark; the whole building looked peaceful, no different from the other old apartment buildings around it.
He observed for twenty minutes. During that time, three people entered or exited the apartment building, all looking like ordinary residents with nothing unusual about them.
Then, he noticed what seemed to be a tiny specular reflection on the windowsill of the third-floor corridor of the apartment building.
A camera!
Carlos reacted immediately.
Someone was monitoring this place!
Carlos, who had originally intended to give up, regained his patience and searched carefully.
Soon, his gaze fixed on the shadow of a trash can at the corner where two small alleys met behind Jesse's apartment building. That shadow was slightly deeper than the surroundings, and its shape was unnatural.
Carlos held his breath and concentrated his attention.
Dynamic Vision allowed him to distinguish subtle changes in light and shadow. There was an area within the shadow where, although the edges were blurred, he could vaguely see a crouching human figure.
Someone was there, motionless!
After another ten minutes, the shadow moved slightly, as if adjusting its posture.
If Carlos hadn't been staring with full concentration, it would have been almost impossible to detect.
A Ninja?
Carlos couldn't be sure, but this extremely stealthy method was definitely not the style of an ordinary gang member.
It seemed someone suspected that Jesse, the "newcomer," had leaked information about the "Warehouse." In a dealer's network, an untrusted newcomer, even if just a peripheral member, could only end up being eliminated.
The cold wind on the roof made Carlos shiver, but he remained still.
Midnight had passed, the lights on the third floor of Jesse's apartment building went out, and the TV light in the room also disappeared; the residents had likely gone to sleep.
The shadow at the corner of the alley was still there.
After another twenty minutes, the shadow finally moved. Instead of standing up, it moved slowly against the wall, sliding into another alley like liquid and disappearing into the darkness.
The entire process was silent; if Carlos hadn't been staring the whole time, he might have even thought that shadow had never existed.
Carlos lay on the roof for another fifteen minutes to confirm the person hadn't returned before slowly getting up, backing away, and leaving the edge of the roof.