Armory, Silver-Black Python Beast.

It was autumn now. The autumn wind carried a chill, teasing the red maple leaves that lined the road on both sides.

Alex stepped outside. The sunlight brought a trace of warmth, falling upon his stern face, softening even the lenses of his glasses. A cool autumn breeze swept toward him, gently lifting his hair, brushing against his skin, and bringing with it a faint ticklish sensation.

His face expressionless, buffeted by the cool autumn wind, his cold features carried him out the door and toward the garage on one side of the front yard.

He didn't feel much about having lightly punched Barry. He felt neither pleasure nor regret.

He felt that what Barry had done warranted having a few ribs broken at the very least. Not crippling Barry, Alex believed, was already treating him more than fairly.

Click.

Pressing the button for the automatic roll-up door, Alex didn't wait for it to fully open before ducking into the garage. He pressed the button again, and the door slowly descended.

Clack.

Alex pressed a button on the wall.

The dark garage suddenly blazed with the light of incandescent bulbs, illuminating the space.

The garage was ten meters long, six meters wide, and four meters high—quite spacious, and it held no car.

In the center, like a display stand under the overhead lights, sat a Lightning LS-218 motorcycle. Its sleek silver-black body exuded a sense of technological metal, flashing like a golden-tech savage beast.

This Lightning LS-218 had been heavily modified by Alex. Its appearance was vastly different now, more technological and radiating a sleek, violent power. The enhanced nitrous burst acceleration booster and most of the other modifications were obscenely expensive. Its top speed even surpassed that of a supercar, reaching 450 kilometers per hour.

That kind of speed was no longer something a human could control. The sheer high-speed updraft alone could send an ordinary person flying. Even a professional motorcycle rider faced immense danger at such speeds.

If he activated the enhanced nitrous burst acceleration booster, it would push things to an even more terrifying level, creating a sensation of the airflow tearing at the body.

Even Alex rarely had occasion to activate the nitrous burst acceleration booster.

Stepping over the Lightning LS-218, Alex unplugged the charger. The Lightning LS-218 was a hybrid of gasoline and electric power, and with the modified nitrous burst acceleration booster added, it was a triple hybrid.

Leaving his beloved bike behind, Alex walked to the far end, pulled up the steel floor panel, and with a light leap, jumped down.

In the darkness, Alex bent his knees slightly to absorb the impact, felt for the light switch on the wall, and with a click, the lights blazed on.

A scene appeared like a circular tunnel leading into a dark passageway ahead.

This basement was quite large, connected to the underground safe room beneath the house. Whether entering the house from outside or escaping from inside during a fight, it was extremely convenient.

Only at the far end, the light didn't reach fully, making it look like an endless tunnel mouth.

On many of the walls hung wire racks, and on those racks hung a dazzling array of firearms.

Colt M1911/M1911A1 pistols, Yarygin "Grach" 6P35 pistols, Browning 1935 Model pistols, CZ75 pistols, HS 2000 pistols, HS 95 pistols, CZ100/101 pistols, Desert Eagles—a dazzling collection of handguns on one side.

On the other side were various automatic rifles: Heckler & Koch G36, Steyr-Mannlicher AUG, Heckler & Koch G3, Tavor assault rifles, AK-47 assault rifles, Heckler & Koch HK 416, M4A1 automatic rifles, and more.

There were also numerous shotguns, sniper rifles, and grenade launchers.

Ammunition was stacked in boxes on one side.

The firearms here were even more complete and powerful than those in an average gun store.

Alex took a silver Desert Eagle from the handgun rack. He pulled the slide, checked that the chamber was empty, then released it and pressed the magazine release, letting the magazine drop into his other hand.

Then, from a box of ammunition on the side, he took out bullets suitable for a .45 caliber firearm and pressed them one by one into the magazine. The bright copper-colored bullets were loaded by his fingers, and with his cold expression, he looked like a ruthless, icy killer.

From another ammunition box, Alex took out some pointed bullets, small high-explosive rounds, and hollow-point bullets filled with liquid—some containing green poison, some with paralytic agents, each marked with different colors for various chemical payloads.

His Desert Eagle had been modified by Bert, allowing it to be adjusted to use all sorts of ammunition Bert had crafted.

Every firearm and every round of ammunition here had been made or modified by Bert and Alex to protect their family.

Seven years ago, after Bert had dismantled a gang, gang members retaliated, nearly putting Aunt Merri in mortal danger. After moving to the relatively safe Alman Residential Area, Bert and Alex had built this arsenal to protect their family.

Unless someone drove a tank straight at them, whether it was a sniper shot from hundreds of meters away or an armed assault on their home, Bert and Alex had no fear. Just the sheer volume of bullets would be enough to make any enemy's heart race.

Sliding the magazine into the gun, Alex pulled the slide to chamber a round, feeling the familiar cold weight in his hand. He nodded, engaged the safety, and tucked the Desert Eagle into the small of his back. He then took two more magazines and concealed them on his person.

Alex's physical strength and skill had reached the peak of human capability, but he never limited himself to just his body and refused to use firearms. On the contrary, he would ruthlessly use anything at his disposal to strike his enemies.

Besides, if he could shoot someone dead, there was no need to use physical strength to defeat them.

Winning, surviving—that was everything.

With his gun ready, Alex swept his gaze over the firearms in the room. Seeing nothing amiss, he turned off the lights and climbed back up the iron ladder. At the top, he pushed open the steel cover.

Back in the garage, he took a black motorcycle helmet hanging on the wall, adjusted the angle slightly, put it on, and flipped down the dark visor. Instantly, his vision was tinted as if he were wearing sunglasses.

Alex pressed the button to open the automatic roll-up door, then mounted his silver-black Lightning motorcycle. He leaned forward slightly, as if mounting a high-speed silver-black beast.

Vroom...

As the roll-up door slowly rose to its full height, Alex rode the silver-black beast, gently twisting the throttle. The tires rolled over the ground, the exhaust roared, and Alex and his silver-black beast shot out of the garage, racing down the road, kicking up a trail of fiery red maple leaves.