Five Minutes to Go from a Bald Nouveau Riche to a Suit-Clad Killer

Finally, after lowering that damned Hover Motorcycle to a safe height, Sing Sing breathed a sigh of relief.

The few minutes of vertical takeoff experience he just had almost brought him to see his deceased great-grandfather in person.

"Damn it, where's the tutorial I was promised? It's hell difficulty right off the bat?"

He rolled off the motorcycle, cursing, and as soon as his feet touched the ground, he felt an itch on his stomach.

Looking down, I saw gel dripping down my waistband from the crack in my silicone belly that had been blasted open by the stun gun.

It was a big, sticky blob, looking like melted cheese.

Sing Sing reached out and tugged at it, but the more he pulled, the stickier it became. The stuff stretched into long strands and splattered onto the back of his hand with a "splat".

"Holy crap! What kind of junk is this! A Le, you just wait, I'll make you taste this silicone later!"

After peeling the entire fake belly off his body, he stood shirtless in the wasteland, his belly still covered with gel residue, which he tried to rub off with his hands for a long time, but the more he rubbed, the more messy it became.

After another ten minutes or so, Old Zhou, who had finally cleaned himself up, removed the hood and all his disguise.

Only then did he take out Jiang Si's specially made three-piece black suit from the Mini Dimensional Box.

The white shirt was pressed crisply, a burgundy tie was draped over it, and he wore a black vest, black trousers, and even leather shoes.

When he put on the shirt, there was still some gel stuck to the collar. He rubbed it hard and finally managed to rub it off in crumbs.

He wore a black vest, a suit jacket, and leather shoes.

Sing Sing pulled a Fedora hat out of the Dimension Box and put it on his head, then put on brown sunglasses.

I looked at myself in the mirror reflecting Hover Motorcycle, and hey, now I look more like a human.

"This is the right way for me, Zhou, to be!"

There was a small problem when I was collecting the motorcycles.

The opening of the Mini Dimensional Box is only the size of a palm, while the Hover Motorcycle is a full two meters long; it seems impossible to fit it in.

Sing Sing tried to turn the motorcycle sideways and try to squeeze it in, but the handlebars got stuck at the edge of the opening, and he couldn't go in or back out.

"Damn it! Didn't that old Da Vinci say this broken box could hold anything?"

He gripped the box with his left hand and held the motorcycle with his right, muttering to himself as he shoved it inside:

"Get in there! I refuse to believe you can't even take in this piece of junk..."

A crisp snapping sound.

The handlebars broke.

Sing Sing hesitated for three seconds, looked at the half-broken handlebar in his hand, and finally forced the car in.

After packing up his gear, Sing Sing squatted down and pondered the route.

According to information obtained from Old Feng Sichuan Cuisine, the abandoned air force base is located about twelve miles south-southwest of Interstate 80.

This salt flat is as flat as a pancake, making it difficult to find cover.

Fortunately, it was already getting dark, and the setting sun was turning the entire salt plain a dark gold color, significantly reducing visibility.

Sing Sing slowed down and rode forward on another Hover Motorcycle.

Soon, a fence of barbed wire and several old buildings came into view in the distance.

Destination: the abandoned air force base.

Having learned from the first experience, folding up the motorcycle this time was much easier. After successfully folding it up, Sing Sing lay down behind a raised salt mound and peeked out.

Inside the area enclosed by barbed wire, three heavy trucks were parked, and several people in overalls were busy moving things out.

Six fully armed men stood at the entrance of the air-raid shelter.

Old Zhou felt that the guy at the very front looked familiar no matter how he looked at him, and after thinking about it carefully...

Hey!

Isn't this the bald guy from Chapter Six whom I stabbed with a two-yuan fruit knife?

What a coincidence!

They are changing shifts right now.

Three mercenaries who had just finished their shift were handing over duties to the three who were taking over. The bald guy slammed his gun into the ground.

"This shift is so frustrating! There's no signal at all, and the selfies my girlfriend sent just won't load!"

The black guy who took over shrugged and cursed.

A tall, thin mercenary next to him lit a cigarette. "Alright, alright, enough nonsense. The boss said everyone must leave by tonight. We can get the final payment after we finish our last shift."

The bald guy spat. "Final payment? The promised $20,000 bonus is nowhere to be seen!"

Believe it or not, I believe it.

After the six men finished their shift, the three who were off duty carried their guns and walked towards the truck, while the remaining three stood guard at the entrance.

Two dim searchlights were mounted above the cave entrance, but they weren't lit yet.

What is infiltration?

In textbooks, infiltration is described as avoiding the Sentry's line of sight, cutting off surveillance cameras, and silently penetrating enemy territory...

But in Director Zhou's practical philosophy, logic has always been simple and brutal:

If you knock out all the breathing witnesses, no one in the world will know he was here.

This is what you call the most authentic assassin-level silent infiltration.

Sing Sing, who was lying behind the salt mound, pushed up his brown sunglasses.

Several laborers were huffing and puffing as they carried metal boxes into the truck bed, while the bald guy at the entrance of the air-raid shelter was still cursing into his cell phone, which had no signal.

If we wait any longer, those bastards will even rip out all the underground cables and sell them for scrap metal.

By then, what good will it do for Miss Sinister to investigate?

What will I bring back to explain to Wang Pangzi?

Are you taking Utah table salt that's air-freighted back?

Sing Sing shrank back and slid across the ground.

The first to suffer were the three unlucky guys who were wandering around the heavy truck area after work.

The tall, thin man had just put a cigarette in his mouth and was touching his lighter when a cold wind swept across the back of his neck.

Before he could turn around, the back of Director Zhou's Pig Butchering Knife struck the back of his head.

Before the guy could even roll his eyes up, he plummeted straight to the ground.

With lightning-fast reflexes, Sing Sing stepped forward with his left toe, catching the other person's chest without alerting the two people three meters away.

The black guy had just noticed that a shadow was missing beside him when he turned his head and found a strong right hand pressed against his throat, two fingers digging and twisting in the other's collarbone.

The big guy didn't even utter a sound before half his body went numb on the spot.

By the time the last mercenary realized what was happening, Sing Sing had already moved to the front of him and even straightened the collar of his bulletproof vest.

The mercenary's pupils dilated in shock. Sing Sing grabbed the mercenary's wrist with his left hand and twisted it downwards, while his right elbow pressed against the mercenary's chin from below.

Sing Sing casually stripped away all three tactical vests and three fully loaded automatic rifles, and then took the unlit Marlboro from the tall, thin man and tucked it behind his ear.

Next up were the three regular soldiers at the entrance of the air-raid shelter.

Old Zhou didn't hide anything, directly showing his face and striking a pose, one hand in his trouser pocket, the brim of his hat pulled down.

His dashing demeanor made it impossible for the three men on the post to ignore him.

"Halt! Who goes there?!"

Hands behind your head! Kneel down!

The bald guy at the front rattled his gun, cursing, "Which blind fool came here looking for death..."

Just then, the two dim searchlights above the air-raid shelter were switched on and lit up.

The blinding yellow light pierced through the twilight, shining obliquely on the man walking towards them.

He wore a sharp, tailored black bulletproof suit, a burgundy tie, sunglasses that reflected a cold light, and unshaven stubble on his chin.

He was twirling a small gadget in his right hand.

It was a cheap fruit knife with a blade less than eight centimeters long and the words "two yuan" faintly printed on the plastic handle.

The bald guy froze on the spot.

Several months later.

This scene!

This angle!

This damn two-dollar plastic-handled murder weapon!

Even the fancy hand gestures for spinning the knife are exactly the same!

The bald man's chest suddenly convulsed violently.

Back in that dead-end alley in New York, Manhattan, it was this two-dollar bargain from a street vendor that bounced twice off a concrete wall and a metal trash can before, as if it had eyes, piercing his chest muscle with a soft "plop!"

Half a centimeter off!

The attending physician, holding the CT report, told him that God had given him at least ten more lives. If the tip of that knife had been pushed forward just two millimeters, he would have been sent to the underworld to stand guard for the Yama of Hell!

I have nightmares every night. There are no demons or Mutants in my dreams, only a spinning "two-yuan" red-handled fruit knife!

"Two... two pieces..."

The mercenary next to him turned to look at him, puzzled. "Captain? Two pieces what? What code are you chanting?"

"Two dollars... Yama... It's him! It's him!!"

"Shoot! Shoot him dead! Shoot him now!!"

Baldy completely broke down, screaming hysterically at his companions while he himself stumbled backward, tripping on the concrete embankment of the air-raid shelter and falling to the ground with a thud.

The other two mercenaries, though confused about what had gotten into their captain, still maintained their professionalism and immediately pulled the trigger.

"With that kind of reaction speed? Go home and raise pigs."

Two seconds later, Sing Sing squatted down in front of the bald guy.

"We're all experiencing life for the first time, how come you're so inexperienced?"

The bald guy leaned against the wall, his hands protecting the spot where he had been stabbed, tears and snot streaming down his face.

"No... don't kill me! Brother! Sir! Grandpa! I'm just a worker! I'm just trying to make a living!"

"You've ended up in Utah just trying to make a living?"

Sing Sing's smile faded, and a sharp glint appeared in his eyes.

"What's inside? Where is the truck headed? Is that woman in the black dress with the diamond-shaped birthmark on her forehead inside?"

"No... she's not here! The Lady left last week!"

The bald guy spat it out like beans pouring from a bamboo tube, afraid that if he hesitated even half a second, the red-handled knife would plunge back into his chest.

"What they're transporting is... experimental subjects! And high-purity gene serum and brainwave amplifiers collected over the past few decades!"

"The main force will withdraw tonight; all supplies must be transferred to a secret underground well in New Mexico!"

"Inside... there are only two people in white coats cleaning up the core data, and a few Mutants locked in the cryogenic chambers at the bottom!"

"Very good, your attitude is commendable, the organization will consider leniency."

Sing Sing stood up and patted the wrinkles on the hem of his suit jacket.

The bald guy felt like he'd been granted a pardon. Trembling, he tried to get up and say thank you, "Th-thank you, sir..."

"Don't mention it, we're all working people."

Sing Sing Chow grinned, and his right palm shot out like lightning, delivering a karate chop to the bald man's vagus nerve on the side of his neck.

The bald guy's eyes rolled back, and he fainted.

"Perfect."

Director Zhou swaggered over the "roadblocks" on the ground, preparing to enter the air-raid shelter.

As long as no one sees it, how can this not be considered a textbook example of a perfect infiltration?