My Main Profession is Being an Assassin

By afternoon, New York's media circles had completely exploded.

Especially certain groups.

"Shocking: NYPD Engages in Violent Law Enforcement Again."

"Police Beat Civilians Without Cause."

"Two Innocent Citizens Severely Injured, Hospital Issues Critical Condition Warnings."

"Questioning..."

When these sensational headlines were paired with photos of one black and one white person lying down and groaning, the effect was incredibly powerful.

It was four o'clock in the afternoon.

Below the NYPD building, a group of people of African descent had already secured prime positions. They even had banners ready, and their slogans were being chanted in unison.

On this matter, no racial group could compete with these people.

People of African descent might not be prompt with their work, or even their meals, but when it came to protests and demonstrations, they would treat even the slightest spark like a nuclear bomb.

It was clear that the mastermind behind this was well-prepared, with a whole playbook ready.

Occupying almost the entire police plaza beneath the NYPD building, the people of African descent chanted slogans accusing the NYPD of corruption and harboring a murderer, demanding the immediate arrest of Lake.

Chief Burt had summoned a large group of NYPD officials for a meeting.

"Ring ring!"

"Hello."

"It's me."

"I know, I'm not going to buy a leave request anymore."

"There's inside information, a thousand dollars."

"...Alright."

"A lawyer just came to see these two people."

"...Why are you helping me?"

"I don't like dark skin; it's a bit scary to look at at night."

"..."

Lake listened to the dial tone from the phone, blinked, and a scene flashed through his mind based on that statement: the pitch-black night suddenly revealing two rows of pearly white...

It really was a bit scary.

Lake got out of bed, rubbed his temples, and walked into the bathroom.

Half an hour later.

When Lake emerged from the underground parking garage of Starlight Tower, he was still wearing his gold-rimmed glasses.

He looked up at the sky.

The sun was setting.

Sigh!

Lake had originally planned to sleep soundly until evening and then go to the hospital to finish off the black and white pair, but it seemed his plans couldn't keep up with the changes.

It seemed the person hiding behind the scenes didn't even intend to give him a night's rest.

Lake shook his head with a tut.

It was obvious that the person hiding behind the black and white duo was clearly intending to ruin Lake completely, without a moment's pause.

Was this meant to socially kill me?

What kind of hatred or grievance could this be?

Fortunately.

This guy wasn't very smart.

Lake hailed a taxi, gave the address of New Amsterdam Hospital, and thought this to himself.

He thought, instead of finding a lawyer to deal with Lake for this black and white pair, it would have been better to just find a killer to quietly take care of these two people. That way, not only could Lake be framed for accidental homicide, but his own involvement could also be completely hidden.

What a shame...

This guy's IQ isn't quite up to par.

I'm going there right now to chop up these two. Without the witnesses, let's see what other moves you have.

A cold glint flashed in Lake's eyes.

If he finds out who this person hiding behind the scenes is, Lake guarantees he'll wish he was never born.

Soon.

New Amsterdam Hospital arrived.

New Amsterdam Hospital was currently swarmed by a large contingent of reporters and media outlets, all undoubtedly waiting for news from inside.

Ideally, they hoped for word of a fatal outcome for the Black and White duo, a story of severe injuries leading to death.

The New York media thrived on chaos; the more disorder, the more coverage they'd get, and the higher their bonuses and commissions would be.

He walked straight ahead.

Lake, his gold-rimmed glasses removed, stood in the hospital's first-floor lobby, staring at the two police officers guarding the elevator doors, a frown creasing his brow.

Good intentions leading to bad outcomes.

These two officers were definitely sent by the NYPD. Simply put, the last thing the NYPD wanted was for the Black and White duo to die. Whether they intended to protect Lake or not, their presence was a given.

If they're alive, everything's negotiable.

If they're dead, the newly appointed Mayor will likely have something to say.

Too bad...

They're as good as dead, if I have anything to say about it.

Lake glanced at the guarding officers, then bypassed the elevator, heading towards the first-floor restroom.

Guarding the elevator means I can't get up?

As someone like Lake, a killer, a mere hospital, even a sealed room, is no obstacle.

"Bang!"

"Who's there?"

"Thump!"

"..."

Lake kicked open the restroom door and knocked out the young doctor in the white coat, who was about to unbutton his pants, with a single hand chop. He then turned, closed the door, and began stripping the doctor.

Two minutes later.

Wearing the white coat, Lake emerged from the restroom. He gave a slight smile to a patient about to enter, then placed the "Under Maintenance" sign he'd taken from the men's room entrance in front of the door, gesturing for the patient to use the adjacent women's restroom.

The patient pointed to the women's restroom behind him, looking at Lake as if asking, Is that okay?

Lake shrugged, as if to say, Why wouldn't it be?

The patient nodded, clutched his stomach, and hurried inside.

Three!

Two!

One!

"Ah!" A sharp female scream echoed from the women's restroom. The officers by the elevator exchanged glances, then brushed past Lake and headed towards the restroom.

Soon.

Lake entered the elevator.

The elevator ascended.

Three minutes later.

Lake politely asked people to make way and then stepped out of the elevator.

This floor wasn't the ICU.

The ICU was on the floor above. While it wasn't impossible to reach the ICU directly via elevator at this moment, it would be absolutely impossible to get inside.

That was because there would undoubtedly be NYPD officers stationed there as well. Stealing a white coat might allow one to impersonate a doctor and move freely within departments, but relying on a white coat to get into the ICU was wishful thinking.

That was the stuff of movies.

Lake's primary reason for grabbing the white coat was to avoid getting blood on himself when he killed people later.

After all, Lake appeared wealthy but was actually quite poor. His apartment was a gift, and his car was a five-year-old used model. Only his custom-tailored suit looked presentable.

With just this one custom suit, Lake harbored a simple dream: to fill his wardrobe with all sorts of custom suits once he could freely use a gacha system.

He entered the adjacent stairwell, climbed one floor, and turned a corner, immediately spotting a special access door for medical personnel leading to the ICU.

12138!

Lake, wearing leather gloves, directly entered the code he had purchased with a gold coin from The Continental Hotel when he left Starlight Tower.

With a ding.

The red light on the electronic lock instantly turned green.

He opened the door.

A nurse who happened to be passing by frowned as she saw Lake entering through the small door. "Huh, which department are you from? I don't know..."

Lake pointed his pistol at the nurse, observing the sudden look of terror on her face, and smiled. "It's alright, you can call out. If you call out, I promise I won't kill you."

As the words fell.

Ah!!!!

A high-pitched scream, rivaling that of a famous Russian tenor, instantly erupted from the spot, echoing throughout the entire ICU floor. The nurse in front of him dropped the files in her hands, bent her arms, and shouted with all her might, "Assassin!"