The bicycle sped through the narrow alleys of the Jamaica Community.
Darnell's thick legs pumped like pistons, the chain clattering rapidly as the tires bounced over the uneven road.
But he rode fast and steadily, like a tireless bull.
Lin An sat on the back, one hand on Darnell's shoulder and the other gripping the seat.
The sirens behind them were rapidly fading into the distance.
It wasn't that the police cars couldn't catch up; they'd never spotted Darnell... Bullet Screen comments floated in front of Lin An, and a Crow perched at the scene, providing him with real-time information.
Even so, Darnell pedaled into a narrow alley. The bike squeezed between two trash cans, its handlebars nearly scraping the wall.
Then they took another alley, turned again, and ducked through another passage, shaking off any police cars that might be following them.
Darnell knew this neighborhood like the refrigerator in his own home... He could find anything in it with his eyes closed.
"Bro!"
Darnell's voice came from up ahead, barely containing his excitement.
"Did you see that? Did you see it?!"
He looked back while riding and nearly hit a utility pole. He swerved sharply, and the bike wobbled.
"That bag of money, a whole bag, all U.S. dollars!"
Lin An murmured, "Yeah."
"When I opened it just now, my eyes nearly popped out!"
Darnell's voice rose higher and higher, his words coming so fast he sounded like he was rapping.
"Do you know how many cars I've searched? That SUV, under the back seat—I was just looking to see if there were any guns or bullets... Then I pulled, and there was a bag! Heavy as hell! I opened it..."
He took a deep breath, as if savoring the moment all over again.
"Green, all green, bro. That's the most beautiful color I've ever seen."
The Bullet Screen comments refreshed rapidly.
[This Black guy's over the moon]
[Who wouldn't be excited? Three hundred to four hundred thousand dollars. He'd be lucky to make half that after years of looting]
[The question is, how much will he get?]
[Streamer, don't rush to split the money. Splitting it might not be a good idea]
[That money came from gang members' cars. If Ni Ge suddenly gets rich, people will start watching him, and then people will die]
[Right, don't rush to count the cash. Let's review that fight first]
[Review, review]
[I'll start. Old Soldier Never Die is seriously strong. He held out alone for so long]
[He could've lasted longer. The main problem was that he had no cover. That position was way too exposed]
[It couldn't be helped. He was the only one of the five with experience. If he didn't step up, who would?]
[Arcade Gun God did pretty well too. He hit that tall, skinny guy]
[New York Veteran Driver and Nightclub Security were basically cannon fodder. They got shot as soon as they rushed out]
[Even cannon fodder is useful; at least they fired back. Don't get me started on College Student. He died without firing a shot. What a waste of a spot]
[That's not fair. Old Soldier Never Die couldn't have held out without them drawing fire]
[Besides, they were using fully automatic Glocks. Those things aren't meant for precision. They're meant to spray bullets]
[Even spraying bullets depends on where you aim. With the way they were firing, hitting one out of ten would've been impressive]
[In the end, they just weren't prepared enough]
[Right, their equipment was terrible]
[Five Glocks and not a single long gun. The other side had a shotgun and submachine guns]
[Not one of the five had any protective gear. Next time, bring me along. I'll tip a few bulletproof vests, armor plates, and helmets. It'll be more fun that way]
[I'll order a heavy-duty bulletproof vest set on Taobao first. I'll tip it once it arrives]
[You can tip protective gear, but what about weapons?]
[The streamer has weapons. He collected plenty: the Crips' MAC-11, a Smith & Wesson, a revolver, a Double-barreled Shotgun, the Rainstorm Gang's Glock 17, a Ruger P89, and that other shotgun]
[Can those guns still be used?]
[They can, but they've all been fired, so they've got ballistic evidence]
[So what? The streamer isn't in the United States leaving fingerprints]
[Ballistic evidence isn't fingerprints. It comes from the rifling inside the barrel. Every gun has its own ballistic signature, so the police can match the casings and figure out which gun was fired]
[So if the streamer uses those guns to shoot someone, the police will know it was the same gun as before]
[Exactly, so those guns can't be used a second time]
[The shotgun's fine. It has a smoothbore barrel, so it's hard to identify the ballistic signature. Using it twice shouldn't be a problem]
[Don't take the risk. The odds might be low, but if it's serious enough for the New York police to investigate closely, they can still get useful information from the casings]
[If the guns can't be used twice, why collect them?]
[To let viewers redeem them, obviously. Viewers can spend points on items in the System Store, and they're not firing guns in the real world, so ballistic evidence doesn't matter to them]
[Makes sense]
[Wait, he's not making money off the difference. Viewers tip items to get points, then spend the points to redeem items, and he gets the tips]
[The streamer really is the clever one]
[All right, quit going off topic. Let's get back to tactics]
[I think the biggest problem was coordination]
[All five of them were fighting on their own. There was no teamwork at all]
[Old Soldier Never Die wanted to coordinate, but he couldn't get the others to follow his lead]
[Arcade Gun God was all right. He understood the orders, but he was slow to follow them]
[Of the other three, two were reckless and one was a coward]
[Recklessness is closer to courage than cowardice is]
[The five of them might be able to handle street punks, but they'd be doomed against a trained force]
[So they need to train]
[How? There's no training ground]
[Real combat is the best training]
[Next time, don't throw together a group at the last minute. Pick people beforehand and assign them roles]
[Right. They need an assault man, a machine gunner, and a sniper]
[A sniper? With the junk guns we have, hitting someone from fifty meters away would be a miracle]
[Then don't think that far ahead. Work on close-range coordination first. We just need heavily armored assault men]
[I think information is the most important thing]
[Right, the information from the Bullet Screen was crucial. Without us calling out enemy positions, the streamer would've been riddled with bullets]
[Our calls were pretty good this time, but we could be more specific]
[For example?]
[We could mark each enemy's position in advance, as well as the locations of cover and the best angles to shoot from]
[And the escape route. The streamer was a little slow to retreat after dealing with the Crips. He nearly got spotted by the Rainstorm Gang]
[True. When he got to the side yard of the Church, the Rainstorm Gang's fat guy was already looking that way]
[Good thing he ducked fast]
[Next time, remember to shoot and move. Don't stay in one place for more than five seconds]
[Also, they took too long to clear the scene. Three minutes is enough time for the police to show up several times over]
[The battlefield was small this time, and the bodies were close together. It'll take longer next time if the battlefield's bigger]
[So someone needs to keep watch]
[Have Darnell do it?]
[Let us handle it. We can have a few Crows keep watch from nearby rooftops]
[True. Next time, pick a few people to act as lookouts]
[Anyone willing?]
[Of course. Don't think you're wasting your tip points. If the streamer dies, the Live Stream Store platform will be gone too]
[Oh, right. What happened to the five bullet-riddled test subjects? Why are they gone?]
[I exchanged them]
[You son of a bitch. You're a monster. You didn't leave even one test subject for me]
Darnell kept talking.
"Bro, did you see that bald guy back there? The one from the Rainstorm Gang, with all those chains around his neck? When he stood up, I thought he was about to charge, but then you..."
Amid Darnell's nonstop chatter, the bicycle turned into the last alley. The gray, two-story brick building of the Abandoned Furniture Factory appeared at the end of the street.
Moonlight fell on the front wall, where the red paint had peeled away. Two metal roll-up doors looked like tightly shut mouths, sealed with notices from the bank. The notices had faded to white, and their corners fluttered gently in the night breeze.
Darnell slowed down. The bicycle tires rolled over broken glass and dead branches, making faint crunching sounds.
"Bro, how do you think Old Joe and the others did with the work?"
"We'll see when we get there,"
Lin An said.
The alley grew narrower, the buildings on either side rising like tall walls and cutting the moonlight into a thin strip.
Darnell turned into the narrow alley along the side of the factory... It was barely wide enough for one person to squeeze through sideways. Discarded planks and cardboard boxes had been piled at the entrance, hiding the passage behind them from anyone who wasn't looking closely.
Darnell parked the bicycle at the alley entrance and locked it.
Lin An carried the travel bag as the two of them walked deeper into the alley, one behind the other.
Bullet Screen comments floated in front of Lin An.
[Someone up ahead]
A rectangular box appeared in the air, marking the person's position.
Lin An's footsteps slowed slightly. He looked toward the end of the alley, at the shadows beside the gray metal door.
"Allen."
"It's me, Boss."
Someone emerged from the darkness. It was Allen.
He leaned on two wooden crutches, unsteady on his feet, but kept his back straight. His right hand wasn't on a crutch; it hung at his side, his fingertips just a few centimeters from the small of his back.
Lin An noticed something tucked behind his waist, concealed by the hem of his jacket. He couldn't make it out.
But Lin An knew what it was... a Glock pistol.
"You're keeping watch here?"
"Yes. Old Joe said we couldn't use the front entrance. The bank sealed the roll-up door, and he hung something on it."
"What did he hang?"
"A trap,"
Allen answered quietly.
"A trap that'll go off if the door is opened."
[This cripple's pretty good]
[Where he crouched earlier, anyone at the alley entrance couldn't see him, but he could see the entrance]
[Once a soldier, always a soldier]
Allen stepped aside, making room for Lin An to reach the gray metal door.
Lin An went over and pulled it open.
A damp, musty smell mixed with the scent of freshly cut sawdust wafted out. Basement steps descended into the darkness, ending where a dim yellow light glowed.
Darnell followed Lin An. As he passed Allen, he glanced down at the cripple.
Allen looked at him too.
Darnell immediately looked away and hurried to catch up with Lin An.
[LOL, Darnell got scared]
[That cripple's gaze really is scary, like a dead man's]
[Don't say that about him. That's what people who've been to war are like]
At the bottom of the stairs, the whole basement came into view.
An emergency light hung from a pipe overhead, casting a dim yellow glow over the space.
Old Joe stood beside a workbench, a tape measure in hand as he sized up a plank. Danny crouched in the corner, drilling holes into the wall while Michael passed him tools.
Several bags of soundproofing insulation lay on the floor. Some had been opened, with white fibers sticking out. A wooden frame had been partially nailed to the wall, the insulation packed inside it before being covered with boards.
The air reeked of sawdust and glue, making their throats tighten.
When Old Joe saw Lin An, he immediately set down the tape measure and bent at the waist.
"Boss."
Danny and Michael stopped what they were doing at the same time, turned, and respectfully greeted Lin An.
Hector poked his head out from another corner of the basement, his face covered in dust and a wrench in his hand as he inspected the pipes along the wall.
His wife, Maria, followed behind him, holding one child by the hand on either side. Both children stared at Lin An with bright, timid eyes.
Catherine sat on an old sofa in the corner, holding Emily, who had fallen asleep. Several bags of clothes and sleeping bags they'd found in the basement were beside her.
When she saw Lin An come in, she immediately stood up. Her lips moved, but no words came out.
Old Joe hurried over to Lin An and reported on the day's work.
"Boss, half the wooden frames are up. We can fill them with insulation and seal them tomorrow..."
He paused and licked his cracked lips.
"Then, I spent forty-five bucks on gas for the car today."
Lin An glanced at the wooden frames on the wall.
The boards weren't nailed up evenly, but they were sturdy. Soundproofing foam had been stuffed into the gaps between them, and when Lin An pressed it with his hand, it held firm.
"The front rolling door is sealed shut?"
Old Joe nodded.
"Yes. I also hung a bucket of paint and a metal can on the door."
"Good work."
Lin An nodded.
"Can the traps be dismantled?"
"They can."
"Good."
Lin An looked around the basement, then finally turned his gaze to the child in Catherine's arms.
The child was fast asleep, his little face buried against his mother's chest, his breathing steady.
"Thanks for all your hard work today," Lin An said.
"The plan has changed. I have a little more money available now. Tomorrow, take some time to recruit five more people to help you with the work. Then assign two of them to have Miller drive them to the neighboring community with the clothes I gave you, so they can sell them there. And there are flyers, too."
As he spoke, Lin An took out a stack of cleaning-service flyers printed by the viewers, along with three disposable phones, and handed them to Old Joe.
"Have someone distribute the flyers, especially to places like small grocery stores and restaurants. Our cleaning crew charges low rates, so there should be people who need our services. And take these phones and give them to the people going out to work. If anything happens, have them call me. I'll deal with it."
Old Joe nodded vigorously, a faint smile creasing his thin face.
"Yes, Boss."
Lin An thought for a moment, then continued, "But this job isn't the most important thing right now. What matters is that, while recruiting, you try to find as many people with useful skills as possible."
"Boss, could you be more specific about what you're looking for...?" Old Joe asked cautiously.
"People like you, a skilled carpenter, or someone like Allen, who's served in the military... If you can find a pilot, or an aircraft carrier ground crew member, or even a retired university professor... Also, we don't want anyone who uses drugs," Lin An stressed.
"Junkies aren't people anymore. No matter how much they swear they can kick the habit, don't trust them."
"Understood, Boss. I understand," Old Joe said, clearly in agreement.
"Here. This is money for expenses."
As he spoke, Lin An reached into his coat, pulled out a wad of ten- and twenty-dollar bills, and handed it to Old Joe.
The dirty money he'd just obtained was perfect for this. Money from the gangs wouldn't have special dye like banknotes did, so spending it wouldn't risk getting tracked.
For one thing, the gangs didn't have that kind of capability. For another, these small bills had clearly been set aside to spend without attracting the tax authorities' attention.
As long as he didn't spend the wad recklessly or try to buy real estate, such as the Abandoned Furniture Factory beneath their feet, Lin An would face little risk of being exposed.
Old Joe became even more respectful after receiving the money.
The carrot-and-stick approach never went out of fashion, no matter the era or the country.
Before you continue