Colorado's Local Flavor

Chapter 3: Colorado's Local Flavor

About fifteen minutes later, two police cars pulled up outside the hospital, one after the other. A squad of fully armed officers rushed inside, covering one another as they went—no gunshots, no fighting. But just minutes later, several terrified newcomers were led out of the hospital by the police and shoved into the patrol cars.

"Worthless."

Si Ming sat in a fast-food restaurant across from the hospital, stuffing a steaming-hot burger and juice into his mouth. After spending so long in another world, what he missed most was all the food back on Earth. These high-calorie fast foods could also help him build up energy in the shortest time possible.

He watched the police cars drive away and shook his head slightly. At first, he had thought these newcomers would at least be able to handle such a basic problem—persuade the officers who had come to investigate, or at the very least keep them occupied inside the hospital. That might at least have improved the hospital's security.

They could have taken hostages, barricaded themselves on an upper floor, or even secured the evacuation helicopter. Anything would have been better. Yet five newcomers and two veterans had managed only this?

Hopeless.

He took the last bite of his food.

Four of the newcomers had been taken away by the police, including the bespectacled student who had explained the plot. It was hard to say whether they hadn't managed to escape or had gone to the police station hoping for more comprehensive protection. But given how much they valued their reward points, and how little courage they had, it was safe to assume that the police would only need to question them a little before they spilled all their secrets.

But what good would that do? They had only six hours to complete the main objective, and the Xenomorph would leave the sewers in no more than three. Forget the United States in 2007—even in China in 2025, there was no way a specialized suppression force could be mobilized and deployed in that short a time.

Maybe it could make the cordon around the town tighter. And maybe the nuclear bomb that fell from the sky at dawn would have a larger yield?

It didn't matter.

Si Ming paid the bill—he could afford to because, amid the crowds, he had naturally spotted a pickpocket who was "working." By the time the police arrived, the short white man making his living on the side had already slipped away from the alley near the restaurant. He had no idea that the money he'd found in his pocket had already changed hands.

He walked at a brisk pace.

Si Ming followed at an unhurried distance, along the route he had taken once before.

When he had taken the money from the man's pocket, he had left behind a wisp of Night Battle Qi as compensation. Until that wisp faded, he could clearly sense the pickpocket's path and current location.

There were three ways to use Battle Qi—three that he had figured out.

The first was to circulate Battle Qi within the body, through the limbs and organs. This heightened his awareness of his own physical condition, while greatly boosting his strength, stamina, and senses.

The second was to make Battle Qi manifest as a shadowy aura that covered his body. It gave him protection equivalent to modern composite armor, while also concealing his figure, masking his presence, heartbeat, and even his very existence. The closer it got to night, the more powerful this ability became.

The third was Battle Qi Release: projecting it outward as a ranged attack. It could also lie dormant as a mark in a chosen object—metal, perhaps, or flesh. The former could make weapons sharper and more agile; the latter could leave a mark on a living creature to make it easier to track, or be detonated at the right moment.

The three techniques didn't interfere with one another when used. But the amount of Battle Qi in his body was limited. Focusing on one area meant the other two would be weaker.

Fortunately, his physique was more than enough.

Even without activating Battle Qi or enhancing himself, his strength and reflexes far surpassed those of ordinary people here.

Then, onward.

He crossed the dim streets and passed through the narrow alleys between buildings. Before long, a faint, sour stench began to hang in the air. Soon, a small gang hideout beneath a bridge came into view.

A few men were gathered there, smoking. The pickpocket was arguing loudly with them, patting his pockets. The instant Si Ming stepped out of the shadows, the man naturally raised a finger and pointed at his face.

"That's him! He bumped into me just now and stole the money I worked so hard to get!"

That wasn't entirely wrong.

The American gangsters of 2007 sneered and grabbed the steel pipes, crowbars, and pliers at their feet. Then they strode forward.

"Buddy, you picked a real bad time to get lost—"

Si Ming raised the samurai sword in his hand.

The sword was sturdy. It wasn't made of steel, but some kind of lightweight, matte material. It might have had a monomolecular edge. It was undoubtedly a Main God creation, and its quality was guaranteed.

But he didn't need to use it here—not unsheathed. He only had to swing it like a club with precision. The gang member charging at the front took the hit squarely in the abdomen, doubled over, and clutched his stomach in pain.

"Guh—" He crumpled to the ground.

Si Ming turned slightly and dodged the second man's swing with the steel pipe. He stepped forward, crossed past him, and jabbed the sheathed sword behind him with a natural motion. He heard ribs crack.

"Gah—" The second man hit the ground and couldn't get back up.

The third man slammed on the brakes, but it was already too late. Si Ming lifted a foot and kicked him two meters away. His burly body crashed hard against the wall with a dull thud.

"Wuaaagh—" He opened his mouth and vomited a great deal of liquor, stomach acid, and some other foul-smelling bits of who knew what.

The fourth man was the pickpocket. His raised hand had yet to drop, and he stood frozen in place with a matching look on his face.

"M-misunderstanding... gah!" His face suddenly flushed red as Si Ming grabbed him by the throat and lifted him half a meter off the ground. He raised him higher, then slammed him down hard. Bones cracked, and the man howled.

Four men lay sprawled across the ground. The first, who had suffered the lightest injuries, managed to raise his head. Terror and disbelief filled his face.

"K-KONGFU! Chinese KONGKU!"

That was a sign of the times, too.

Si Ming turned around. The gang member clutching his stomach froze like a frog under a snake's gaze, gritting his teeth and holding his breath.

"I'm looking for a man named Gary. White, around fifty, owns a dog. Where is he?" Gary was the first homeless man in the movie to be impregnated by a Xenomorph in the sewers. The key question now was which part of the city the sewer he was staying in belonged to.

The local gang, of course, could help Si Ming figure that out.

"Gary the homeless guy! I know where he lives! He's in the sewers, with a bunch of other homeless people, outside the Old Waterworks!"

"Good." Si Ming nodded. "Take me—"

He didn't finish.

He suddenly slid backward, the long blade in his hand springing from its sheath. He could see and hear clearly. As the blade flashed, the second man—who had barely managed to get back up and was pulling a pistol from his pants pocket—hadn't even touched the trigger yet!

Shing— The shadowy blade flashed past.

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

The gang member who had lost his hand let out a piglike shriek, only to take a kick from Si Ming that shut him up. His entire jaw shattered, and he passed out.

"Run!" The gang member with the lightest injuries shrieked and tried to escape. His shout immediately turned into a whimpering gasp. Si Ming hurled the unsheathed samurai sword forward. It pierced through the man's flesh and lung like a blade through gauze, pinning him to the wall.

He twitched, perhaps close to death. The two gang members who were still conscious trembled all over, not daring to make even the slightest sound.

"I made a mistake." Si Ming stepped forward and pulled the black, lightweight samurai sword from the dying man's body. Its blade was smooth and clean, not a drop of blood left on it. "I thought that once I got back somewhere I could communicate with people, everyone I met would be someone I could reason with. Unless I faced a mortal threat, I thought I could at least leave them a chance to live."

"But now I see there's not much difference between this place and the other one."

His earlier plan hadn't been well thought out, either. If he went into the sewers now, he might run into the strongest Predalien there. Taking on an enemy of unknown strength while outnumbered was hardly wise. And—

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

He aimed its eye at the two men trembling even more violently. He infused the eye with a little Night Battle Qi. The tomoe in its pupil, which had begun to fade, drew together again and began to spin. At the same time, he sensed some wear on the eye's material.

The wear amounted to about a tenth of its total. From the tomoe-patterned eye, an invisible radiance was released as Battle Qi activated it. It struck the two men, and they immediately let out sharp screams. Their faces and eyes turned pale, a foul stench rose from their pants, and their bodies began to spasm. They could barely draw breath.

They were dead.

They had died of their own fear.

The One-Tomoe Sharingan's basic ability was indeed a fear genjutsu, and Night Battle Qi could forcibly activate it. After all, it was a Main God creation, designed to be versatile.

This was a useful card.

Si Ming's gaze shifted.

He saw a manhole cover on the ground beside the bridge. Among the gang members, one of them had been wielding a crowbar that looked well-used.

Good.

"P-please... spare me..." The dying man pinned to the wall struggled for breath. "Don't kill me... I can still be useful..."

"I won't kill you." Si Ming picked up the crowbar and lifted the manhole cover. Beneath it, as expected, lay the space where the gang lived, along with traces of their presence.

"And you can still be useful, too." He put the cover down and dragged away the corpses and near-corpses.

Xenomorphs needed flesh and large living hosts to impregnate. They were hiding in these sewers, playing cat and mouse with the Yautja while taking the opportunity to expand their species. Until the time was right, they would avoid revealing themselves in human society.

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

And right here, he had the raw materials to make a trap for one.