Gambit's Offer

"So, you're a bureaucratic agent working for the government?"

"You want to capture me and take me to your lab for dissection and research..."

A playing card slipped from between the Gambit's fingers. "Or are you planning to implant a bomb in my head and use me as cannon fodder?"

Sing Sing Chow slapped his forehead, his face filled with disappointment and indignation.

"You kids who grew up under the harsh realities of capitalism, you see everyone as a human trafficker, don't you?"

"China's 749 Bureau Overseas Special Talent Recruitment Office. No slicing, no implantation, no human experimentation. We only do one thing! Provide a place where capable people can sleep peacefully."

Sing Sing grabbed the arm of the Gambit and pulled him to sit down on the sofa, while he took out his rugged phone and opened a photo album.

"Come here, cousin, let me show you what kind of amazing life those United States consider rats are living in China now!"

He clicked on the first video and held the phone screen right up to the Gambit's eyes.

The Gambit's pupils contracted slightly.

The screen shows Riptide.

The guy known for his volatile temper in the Brotherhood was wearing a firefighter's uniform, surrounded by a group of China firefighters around a long table in the cafeteria.

The braised pork in the stainless steel rice bowl in front of me was piled up like a small mountain.

What makes you think I'm not acting?

The Gambit glanced at Sing Sing.

"I'm a professional con artist, buddy. Forging videos is a piece of cake."

"Polaris repairing Rocket engine? Green screen effects, post-production compositing—that kind of high-tech visual only costs around three thousand dollars a day on a Hollywood set."

The Gambit smiled, took out a cigarette from his pocket, and put it in his mouth.

"As for the Toad' receiving an award? Those kinds of extras get two hundred dollars a month including meals at the Los Angeles Screen Actors Guild."

"Then take a look at this." Sing Sing swiped through his phone and brought the screen back to him.

A selfie I posted seven minutes ago.

In the photo, a person is holding up their phone Riptide, with a group of firefighters sitting around a copper pot serving hot pot of mutton in the background.

He forced an extremely awkward peace sign onto his thin face, accompanied by the caption "Happy," a Chinese character he had just learned.

The selfie looks unedited.

The location on WeChat Moments is real-time: China · Beijing ·Special Service Fire and Rescue Brigade General Canteen.

Someone replied in Chinese, "Brother Jie, don't just eat, there's a physical fitness test tomorrow," to which Riptide responded with a long string of angry emojis.

Sing Sing scrolls to the next page.

This photo was taken by Polaris in a cleanroom laboratory.

She wasn't looking at the camera; she was raising her hand to manipulate the magnetism, suspending a bunch of silver-white parts in mid-air for assembly.

"Even if these things are true," Gambit turned off the screen, "What exactly is your government supporting them for?"

What's the point?

Sing Sing slapped his thigh. "That's why I like them – they can get the work done!"

He quickly calculated the accounts on his fingers.

"Riptide currently with the Capital Fire Department. Yesterday, during a chemical plant fire, he single-handedly evacuated all the toxic smoke from three floors in just a few minutes, saving 120 people!"

"Polaris helped the Space City solve three Rocket valve response delay problems. Each valve cost over eight million yuan, directly saving the country 24 million yuan in economic losses!"

"What about the Toad? Do you know what they're called in Guizhou now?" Sing Sing asked, scrolling through his phone's photo album.

"Master Mo of the top ten model workers! The local village secretary offered him cured pork, but he returned half of it because he thought it was too salty."

"For his birthday, the entire construction team chipped in to buy him a 12-inch cake, with five words squeezed onto it in strawberry jam: 'Master Mo is awesome.'"

"That's impossible!"

"This is impossible..."

He repeated it again, pointing to the big red flower on the Toad's chest on the screen.

"With his appearance, no matter what country he's in or what job he does, people will only..."

"All you do is spit and chase after him calling him a monster, right?"

Sing Sing put away his phone, his tone turning serious.

"That's your United States. Where we're from, they look like shoehorns that have come to life?"

"It's alright, as long as you can drill the anchor holes in the cliff face, the union will still give you soybean oil and Fuji apples for the New Year."

The Gambit leaned back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling in silence for a long time.

He looked at the suite he was staying in, which cost three thousand dollars a night, and at the dazzling but cold neon night view of Las Vegas outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He knew better than anyone that even though he slept on a high-quality spring mattress, the slightest unusual footsteps in the hallway outside would send him into a panic, fumbling for the playing cards under his pillow.

He was a wealthy playboy, but he didn't even have a home where he could close his eyes and sleep soundly for eight hours.

The Gambit's voice had somehow become somewhat dry and unsteady.

Even if everything you're saying is true.

"I'm a con artist who cheats at casinos. My ability is to charge objects and create explosions. You can't expect me to work at your casino, can you? Are casinos legal where you are?"

Sing Sing was waiting for this very sentence!

He excitedly snapped his the Snap and pulled out a pre-printed bilingual (Chinese and English) letter of intent for labor cooperation, slamming it onto the coffee table.

"Why go work at a casino? We should leverage your core professional strengths, cousin!"

"You mutant bomb- Mutants can only blow up bank vaults in United States, but where we're from..."

"Our country is currently undertaking massive infrastructure projects everywhere, building roads through mountains and bridges over rivers. The most troublesome part is dealing with those hard rock layers that require directional blasting."

He patted his chest and guaranteed it.

"Why don't you become our specially appointed chief engineer for directional blasting? Your skills don't require explosives or detonators for detonation; it's completely smokeless and low-carbon, in line with national environmental protection policies. You alone are worth two fully staffed blasting teams!"

The Gambit looked at the densely packed clauses in the contract, his gaze lingering on the few lines that mentioned weekends off, paid annual leave, and holiday benefits.

"I have a long criminal record, and the police and the Federal Bureau of Investigation here are watching me."

Sing Sing curled his lip in disdain.

"Where we're from, we value turning over a new leaf and starting anew, and extradition treaties are practically worthless to our talent recruitment office!"

"Once you sign and put your fingerprint on this document, you'll be a key protected talent under the protection of our China's massive infrastructure construction team. Even the King of Heaven himself can't cross provincial or national borders to arrest you."

The Gambit stared at the densely packed terms and conditions, his gaze sweeping back and forth over the lines "accommodation included," "weekends off," and "paid annual leave" three or four times.

He didn't pick up the pen immediately.

As a professional con artist, he began to examine the contracts.

When he sets a trap for someone, he usually hides the pit in inconspicuous places.

He searched for five minutes but found no hidden terms.

There is no term of service, no compensation traps, and no "final interpretation right belongs to this unit".

He remained silent for a long time before raising his head.

What guarantees can you provide that these things are true?

"I've been lying to people for twenty years. What if you're lying to me too?"