Logistics Warehouse

Jite had fallen to the ground. He had just climbed back up and was about to spit out a few threats when he saw Miao Mu walking toward him with a gun.

His face instantly went pale, and a sheen of cold sweat visibly broke out across his forehead.

"Fuck your mother, Jite! Are you tired of living? I've put up with you for a long time! We risk our lives working outside, and you fucking look down on us, even handing out half-worn police uniforms?"

Miao Mu disengaged the revolver's safety and cocked the hammer with his thumb, his face grim and vicious without a trace of a smile.

Jite was so frightened that he nearly started shaking. None of his earlier overbearing swagger remained as he said in a trembling voice:

"It's a misunderstanding, it's all a misunderstanding! I'll get you new clothes, new clothes!" As he spoke, he tried to stand.

Miao Mu slapped him across the face. Jite's clumsy body crashed back to the ground, and he covered his reddened cheek, looking so wronged that he was on the verge of tears.

"I'm only asking two things!"

Miao Mu opened the revolver's cylinder, poured out all the bullets, and placed one round inside.

"First, how much did you make off us becoming probationary officers?"

"Nothing, I... I..." Jite had just tried to argue.

Miao Mu pressed the revolver against his forehead, tossed the bullets in his other hand onto the floor, and sneered. "Russian Roulette. You have five chances to live! First one!"

Click! The trigger was pulled. An empty chamber.

"Ah!!!"

Jite screamed in terror. He was scared—truly scared. This inconspicuous yellow-skinned kid at the police station really dared to pull the trigger. What if...

"I'll talk! I only took half, half! Just one thousand dollars! Really! I didn't make the rest of it!"

Jite was nearly crying. When Jite standing by the door heard that, his anger immediately flared.

Back then, they had even sold blood to scrape together that money. They ate only one meal a day and had worked like beasts until now.

Yet this bastard had taken half their money, while making things difficult for them at every turn and picking at every little fault.

"Fuck you!"

Jerry gritted his teeth in fury, raised his revolver, and pulled the trigger directly at Jim. Empty gun! Even the bullets had been withheld.

"Fuck! There aren't even any bullets in this thing, you—"

Jerry's lips trembled as he stared at the empty gun. Miao Mu hurried over, pushed him toward the doorway, and told him to cool off.

Unlike Miao Mu, whose memories were separated by another layer, Jerry had truly lived through those miserable days.

"Fine, second thing! What gives you the right to withhold our gear?"

Miao Mu's voice was stern. He pressed the revolver hard against Jite's forehead, poking him so painfully that tears streamed down his face.

"I didn't! It's an old rule! When you come to logistics to collect supplies, you can only take half! Guns come without bullets. The chief specifically ordered us to save resources and take less from the department."

"Bullshit! Those goddamn rules don't work on me! Handle things according to regulations, understand?"

"Yes!"

Jite agreed, sweat pouring down his face. Forget following regulations—even if Miao Mu told him to clear out the warehouse, he would have to do it.

"Alright, return the money you made off us before! And replace this gun and the uniforms with new ones according to regulations!"

Miao Mu slapped the revolver heavily against Jite's body. Jite nodded hurriedly, got up, and began rummaging through boxes and cabinets for supplies.

Jerry, standing by the wall, quietly turned around and gave Miao Mu a thumbs-up. Well done!

Miao Mu smiled and waved it off. He stood up and looked around the logistics warehouse. Iron cabinets filled with guns stood all around, along with large storage crates. A row of black bulletproof vests hung along the wall.

The Gotham Police Department emblem, "GCPD," was printed on them.

Miao Mu walked over to see whether he could get a bulletproof vest. Full officers were allowed to apply for one, but the moment he reached out and touched one, his expression changed.

Something was wrong with these bulletproof vests.

When he had attended college in Chicago in his previous life, he had bought a police-grade bulletproof vest off the black market and worn it close to his body. This feel was wrong. There was something wrong with the ballistic material inside.

Miao Mu yanked down a bulletproof vest and tore it apart with force.

Jite, who was rummaging through boxes for new police uniforms, nearly had his heart stop when he saw that. That couldn't be touched carelessly!

With a ripping sound, the bulletproof vest tore open, revealing that the ballistic plate inside was just an ordinary green plastic sheet.

There were even unpolished burrs on it. Forget stopping bullets—this thing could not even stop a child's toy air gun.

Jite watched Miao Mu raise his head, toss aside the vest in his hand, and look at him with murderous eyes.

"Do you have even a shred of conscience? You're selling our brothers' lives! You expect us to wear this and charge into the front lines?"

Miao Mu roared hoarsely and strode forward. Jite was so frightened that he dropped to his knees.

"It wasn't me! It was already like this when I got here! Chief Wei Fei did it, really! If you don't believe me, look at this!"

Jite hurriedly pulled open a cabinet drawer nearby. It was labeled police shotguns, but the drawer itself was empty.

The empty slots showed that it had once held two shotguns, along with matching accessories and equipment.

Miao Mu stopped walking and turned his gaze toward the other cabinets. Jite hurried over and opened every cabinet door and drawer.

The police flash grenades were gone, the smoke grenades were gone, the tear gas grenades were gone, the rifle cabinet was empty, and there were not even any bullets left.

Two-thirds of the supplies in the cabinets were gone. The labels showed other types of police firearms as well—Glock, Beretta, and Smith & Wesson, all top-tier guns.

Yet only a few Colt Lawman pistols remained.

"Phew... Seriously, what's even left in this police department? No wonder Gotham's cops are this pathetic."

Miao Mu complained helplessly. Corruption was not the scariest thing; the scariest thing was people refusing to do their jobs. Wei Fei was truly a fucking bastard.

"Um, there are still two guns here. You can use them."

Jite forced out a smile, took two small hard cases from a nearby police firearm cabinet, and placed them on the desk beside him.

The cases were small, about the size of a book, and black.

Jite quickly opened them. Inside were two pistols. Miao Mu recognized them at a glance: Glock 17s. They were also nine-millimeter caliber, but their standard magazines held fifteen rounds.

Each case also had an extended magazine holding nineteen rounds, a speed loader, and a gun maintenance kit. They were far from ordinary.

Jerry was drawn over by the guns as well. They were much more powerful than the revolver in his hand.

Miao Mu picked one up and tested it. He racked the slide and took a look inside. They were brand-new firearms, and the smell of factory gun oil had not even faded.

"We can't really use these, can we?"

Miao Mu asked hesitantly, looking toward Jite.

Jite hurriedly waved his hands. "No, actually, these guns were issued uniformly by headquarters, but they all... disappeared. I kept these two privately. There's absolutely no problem with you using them."

Miao Mu gripped the Glock 17. There was no way he was putting it down. After hesitating for a moment, he said, "We'll count these as borrowed. I'm taking this gun too. Any problem with that?"

Miao Mu picked up the Lawman revolver beside him as a gesture. Jite hurriedly said, "No problem! Please, help yourselves!"