The night was as dark as ink. In the distance, the Manhattan skyline shimmered through the smog like a mirage.
Inside the chop shop surrounded by high walls, several high-power industrial incandescent lamps bathed the massive workshop in a ghastly white light.
Pneumatic wrenches chattered away, removing lug nuts.
Acetylene torches shrieked as they sliced through metal, spitting blue flames.
The background noise to all of this was a radio perched on an oil drum, blaring 50 Cent's "Candy Shop" at full volume.
The heavy bass rhythm, dripping with sexual innuendo and street vibes, felt both absurd and perfectly fitting for this workshop filled with male hormones and illicit dealings.
It formed a chaotic industrial symphony.
On the hydraulic lift in the center of the workshop, a Porsche Cayenne—which should have been as elegant as a Black Panther under the moonlight—had now been reduced to a disemboweled corpse.
"Move it, you bunch of unweaned losers."
A roar drowned out the noise of the pneumatic wrenches.
On the iron-railed corridor on the second floor sat a man who looked like he might crush his chair.
He was as burly as a brown bear that had just crawled out of the Siberian permafrost, wearing a well-tailored black suit. His bald head, covered in hideous old scars, glistened under the incandescent lights.
Kirill.
A mid-level manager under Viggo Tarasov, responsible for handling stolen cars in the Queens area.
A thick gold chain hung around his neck, and on the skin not covered by his collar, half of a menacing Orthodox Cross tattoo was visible—a badge of honor from the years he spent in a Russia prison.
"Boss Viggo wants the inventory list for this batch tonight. If you slowpokes delay the shipment, I'll chop off your fingers one by one and feed them to the dogs!"
Kirill held a thick cigar, his fierce, greedy eyes flickering through the haze of smoke.
The mechanics below shuddered, and their work speed visibly increased.
They knew Kirill never joked.
"Boss, there's something in the car's lining."
A mechanic below straightened his back, holding a black velvet pouch in his hand, shouting as if presenting a treasure.
Kirill narrowed his eyes, crushed his half-smoked expensive cigar, strode down the stairs, and snatched the black velvet pouch.
It felt slightly heavy—not like drugs.
He roughly pulled the drawstring and dumped the contents out.
A round metal object landed in his palm.
It was a heavy gold coin.
One side was embossed with a blooming rose and a Cross, while the other side was engraved with an ancient and imposing Latin motto.
"Ex Unitas Vires"—Strength through unity.
The craftsmanship was exquisite; every line seemed to contain a sense of some ancient covenant.
This was definitely not any currency in circulation, nor was it some ordinary antique gold coin for collectors.
"Damn it, whose car did that brat steal?"
Kirill examined the gold coin and began cursing wildly in Russia, his voice laced with unconcealable panic.
As a key member of Viggo's crew, he had been fortunate enough to touch the edge of that World.
He knew what this gold coin represented.
It was a pass, the common currency of that underground World.
Anyone possessing this kind of gold coin was either an honored guest of the neutral zone known as The Continental, or one of the top-tier assassins belonging to the High Table.
A black Porsche hiding this kind of gold coin...
A name that struck terror into the hearts of all, a codename that had almost become a bedtime horror story for the Russia mafia, instantly struck Kirill's mind.
"Boogeyman!"
The man who could kill three people in a bar with a single pencil.
Cold sweat instantly broke out on his bald forehead, gathering into pea-sized droplets that trickled down his cheeks.
Kirill felt like he wasn't holding a gold coin, but a red-hot iron, yet he dared not drop it.
He jerked his head up and roared at his bewildered underlings, his voice cracking and shrill from extreme terror.
"Damn it, quick, stop—no, don't stop! Tear the car apart completely! Use the cutters to chop it into pieces—don't even leave a single screw behind!"
"Boss, this..."
"Shut up! Do as I say!"
Kirill was like a Beast trapped in a cage, waving his arms frantically.
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