Colorado Local Scenery

Chapter 3: Local Colorado Customs

About a quarter of an hour later, two police cars pulled up to the hospital entrance one after the other. A group of heavily armed officers rushed into the hospital, covering one another—there were no gunshots, no combat. But just a few minutes later, several terrified newcomers were escorted out of the hospital by the police and shoved into the patrol cars.

"Trash."

Si Ming sat in the fast-food restaurant across from the hospital, stuffing a steaming burger and juice into his mouth. After spending so long in another world, the thing he missed most was the various foods of Earth. These high-calorie fast-food meals were also capable of accumulating energy in the shortest possible time.

He watched the departing police cars and shook his head slightly—he had initially thought this group of newcomers would at least be able to handle such a basic problem, to persuade these investigating officers, or at the very least, drag out the combatants within the hospital to somehow improve the facility's security.

Even taking hostages and holding the upper floors of the hospital to keep a firm grip on that evacuation helicopter would have been better. Yet, this group of five newcomers plus two veterans had only managed to achieve this?

Hopeless.

He finished the last bite of his food.

There were four newcomers taken away by the police, including the bespectacled student who had explained the plot. It was hard to say whether they failed to escape or if they wanted to seek more comprehensive protection at the police station. Considering this group of newcomers' obsession with reward points and their negligible courage, it was basically certain that the police would only need to press them a few times for them to spill every secret they held.

But what would that accomplish? There were only six hours left until the completion of the main mission, and no more than three hours until the Xenomorph escaped the sewers. Never mind 2007 America; even if it were 2025 China, it would be impossible to complete the mobilization and deployment of professional suppression forces in such a short time.

Perhaps it might make the blockade around the town a bit tighter. Would the nuke that fell from the sky at dawn have a larger yield, then?

It didn't matter.

Si Ming paid the bill—he was able to pay because he had naturally spotted a pickpocket "working" in this crowded place. By now, the small white man who made his living on the fringes had long since slipped away into the alley near the fast-food joint when the police arrived, completely unaware that the haul in his pocket had already changed ownership.

His pace was quite fast.

And Si Ming followed him at a leisurely, unhurried pace along the route he had walked once before.

Because when he took the cash from the man's pocket, he had left a wisp of Night Battle Qi as compensation. Before this wisp of Battle Qi dissipated, the path the pickpocket took, as well as his current position, remained clearly visible in Si Ming's perception.

There were three ways to use Battle Qi—at least, three that he had explored.

The first was Internal Battle Qi, circulating through the limbs and bones. His mastery of his own body's internal state would instantly improve. Strength, stamina, and perception would all increase significantly.

The second was External Battle Qi, manifesting as a dark, gloomy flame covering his entire body. It granted him defense equal to modern plate-chain composite armor while also concealing his figure, masking his aura, heartbeat, and even his presence. The closer it was to night, the more significant this power became.

And the third was Projected Battle Qi, released externally as a long-range lethal method. It could also be used as a mark hidden within designated objects—perhaps metal, perhaps flesh. The former could make weapons sharper and more agile. The latter could leave a mark on living creatures, facilitating tracking. It could also be detonated at the appropriate time.

The three methods did not conflict when used. However, the total amount of Battle Qi in his body was limited. Focusing on one area meant the output in the other two directions would be insufficient.

Fortunately, his constitution was sufficient.

Even without mobilizing Battle Qi or augmenting himself, his strength and reflexes were far superior to the ordinary people here.

Then, forward.

Passing through the dim, long streets and crossing the alleys between buildings, a faint, sour stench gradually emerged in the air. Soon, a small gang stronghold located in a bridge underpass appeared before Si Ming's eyes.

Several people were gathered there, smoking, and the pickpocket was there, patting his pockets and arguing loudly with them. The moment Si Ming stepped out of the shadows, the man naturally raised a finger and pointed at Si Ming's face.

"That's him! That's the guy who bumped into me earlier and stole the money I worked so hard to get!"

It wasn't exactly wrong.

The 2007 American gangsters sneered, picking up steel pipes, crowbars, and repair pliers from nearby, and strode forward.

"Friend, you really picked a bad time to get lost—"

Si Ming raised the katana in his hand.

The blade was very sturdy; the material was not steel but some kind of lightweight matte construction. It had likely undergone molecular edge treatment and undoubtedly belonged to the Main God's production, with guaranteed quality.

But it didn't need to be used here—it didn't need to be unsheathed, only swung precisely like a club. The gang member charging at the front took the brunt of it, his abdomen struck, and he crouched down in pain, clutching his stomach.

"Guh—" He collapsed to the ground.

Si Ming turned slightly, avoiding the second man's steel pipe strike. He moved forward, weaving through their formation. He gave a natural poke behind him with the sheathed katana, and the sound of ribs breaking followed.

"Gwah—" The second man face-planted, struggling to rise.

The third man slammed on the brakes, but it was already too late. Si Ming raised a foot and kicked the guy two meters away. His thick body slammed heavily against the wall, emitting a dull thud.

"Waya—" He opened his mouth, vomiting a large amount of alcohol, stomach acid, and some unknown, sour, scattered debris.

The fourth man was the pickpocket; his raised hand hadn't even come down, and he froze in place along with his expression.

"Mis... misunderstanding... Gack!" His face suddenly flushed red because Si Ming had grabbed him by the throat and lifted him half a meter off the ground. He held him high, then slammed him down with force, followed by the sound of cracking bones and a wail.

Four men, sprawled on the ground. The first man, who had the lightest injuries, barely raised his head, his face full of fear and disbelief.

"It, it's KONG FU! Chinese KONG FU!"

That was also a characteristic of this era.

Si Ming turned back—as he looked over, the gangster clutching his stomach froze like a frog stared down by a snake, biting his teeth and holding his breath.

"I'm looking for a man named Gary, white, about fifty years old, who keeps a dog. Where is he?"—Gary was the first homeless man in the movie to be parasitized by a Xenomorph in the sewers. The key question now was which area the sewer he was staying in was located.

And the local snake-like gang could obviously help Si Ming solve this problem.

"Homeless Gary! I know where he lives! He's in the sewers, he lives in the sewers outside the Old Waterworks with several other homeless people!"

"Very good." Si Ming nodded slightly. "Take me—"

He didn't finish.

He suddenly slid backward, and the long sword in his hand had already popped out of its sheath. Because he could see, he could hear clearly. And the moment the long sword slashed out, the second man, who had barely climbed up and was just about to pull a pistol from his pants pocket, hadn't even had time for his finger to touch the trigger!

Sshhh— A dark blade swept past.

The pistol and the hand reaching for it fell to the ground together.

The gangster with the severed hand immediately shrieked like a slaughtered pig, only to be silenced by a kick from Si Ming. His entire jaw was shattered, and he promptly lost consciousness.

"Run!" the least injured gangster screamed, preparing to flee. His roar instantly turned into a wheezing gasp as the unsheathed katana, thrown forward by Si Ming, pierced through his flesh and lung like a piece of gauze, pinning him to the wall.

He twitched, likely on the verge of death. The remaining two conscious gangsters trembled violently, not daring to let out even the slightest whimper.

"I made a mistake." Si Ming stepped forward and pulled the lightweight, black-material katana from the dying gangster. The blade remained smooth and clean, not a single drop of blood clinging to it. "I thought that since I had returned to a place where communication was possible, I would encounter people who could be reasoned with. Unless faced with a lethal threat, I had hoped to leave a path of survival for others."

"But it seems that this side and that side are not so different after all."

His previous plan had been poorly considered. Going down into the sewers now might lead him straight to the most powerful Predalien. Facing a crowd against an opponent of unknown strength was ill-advised. And then—

Si Ming took out the One-Tomoe Sharingan he had removed.

He aimed the eyeball at the two men who were shaking even more violently. He injected a trace of Night Battle Qi into the orb. The next moment, the tomoe pupil, which had begun to dilate, constricted and rotated once more. The material of the eyeball itself showed signs of degradation under his perception.

The loss was about one-tenth. From the tomoe pupil, a formless radiance was released, activated by the Night Battle Qi. It fell upon the remaining two men, who immediately let out a sharp scream. Their faces and eyes turned pale, a foul stench rose from their trousers, and they began to convulse, their breathing stopping entirely.

They were dead.

They had died of their own terror.

The basic ability of the One-Tomoe Sharingan was indeed a fear-based illusion, and it could be forcibly driven by Night Battle Qi. After all, as a product of the Main God, its primary feature was versatility.

This card was still quite useful.

Si Ming's gaze shifted.

He saw a manhole cover on the ground beside the bridge abutment. Among these gangsters, one happened to be wielding a crowbar that clearly saw frequent use.

Very good.

"Spare... spare me..." the dying gangster pinned by the sword gasped with difficulty. "Don't kill me... I'm still useful..."

"I won't kill you, indeed." Si Ming picked up the crowbar and pried open the manhole cover. Beneath it, as expected, lay the living space and traces of these gangsters.

"You are indeed still useful." He lowered the cover, dragging the corpses and the near-corpse along with him.

The Xenomorphs needed flesh and large living hosts for parasitism. They were hiding in these sewers, playing hide-and-seek with the Yautja while taking the opportunity to expand their colony. Before the time was ripe, they would avoid exposing their tracks in human society.

They were hunters, natural-born hunters. But natural-born hunters were also beasts.

And as it happened, there was raw material here to craft a beast-luring trap.