First Arrival in New York

New York, the Big Apple.

Traffic streamed through the bustling city. Neon lights flickered on one by one in the early spring dusk, turning the whole street into a glittering city that never slept.

This should have been a season of birdsong and flowers, but the streets held no trace of spring. The air reeked of industrial wastewater mixed with car exhaust and a decadent scent woven from money and desire.

Well-dressed white patrons came and went from luxury hotels and karaoke clubs beneath the neon lights. At their elegant entrances, waitresses dressed as bunny girls greeted every valued guest with bright smiles, their ample breasts straining against their outfits.

Whenever they bowed, their cleavage seemed ready to burst free. Passersby kept looking back, their eyes flashing with admiration, greed, lust, or numb indifference.

This was what Russell saw: a "city of freedom" built on wealth, power, and desire.

He sat behind the wheel, lightly tapping the steering wheel with his fingers. Through the window, he saw more than surface splendor. He saw the city for what it was.

Counting the memories of his former self, he had spent long enough in that underground base to learn one thing: beneath every gleaming surface lay a deeper darkness.

Laura sat in the back seat, her eyes sweeping warily over the crowds outside.

Her hands rested naturally on her knees, but a close look would have revealed the occasional twitch of her knuckles.

It was a sign that her steel claws were about to emerge, a reflex born of living in danger for so long. It was rather like a cat's natural reaction to unfamiliar surroundings.

To her, these glamorous crowds were no different from the guards at the underground base. Every one of them was a potential threat.

Felicity, in the front passenger seat, was different. She leaned against the window, gazing curiously at the neon lights and the scantily clad waitresses, something complicated flickering in her eyes.

She had been imprisoned for less time than Laura and still retained some memories of the outside world: the warmth of home, her parents' smiles, and the little moments of ordinary life.

But as she looked at this unfamiliar city, what she felt most was bewilderment.

"Is this... the outside world?" she asked softly, uncertainty in her voice.

Russell did not answer. He only shook his head and started the engine. The red SUV slowly left the city center behind, heading toward its shadowy side, where there were no cameras or dazzling neon lights.

Half an hour later, the scenery began to change.

The towering office buildings and luxury hotels faded in the rearview mirror, replaced by low, dilapidated buildings. Their walls were mottled, their windows broken, and faded clothes hung from washing lines. The streets grew narrow and crowded, riddled with potholes and strewn with garbage.

A glance down the dark alleys between the buildings revealed patches of dried black blood, gleaming strangely beneath the dim streetlights.

From deeper within came the faint, piercing screams of a woman and the dull crack of gunfire muffled by a suppressor. The sounds echoed between the buildings, then vanished into the night.

Laura's fingers twitched, her claws nearly springing out on reflex. Felicity instinctively edged closer to Russell, as though that might make her feel safer.

Russell kept driving, his expression blank.

Darkness often hid behind the light. Even so-called "free America" harbored boundless evil and madness.

This was a home for the forgotten, a refuge for the poor, and a lawless haven where gangsters, drug dealers, and murderers roamed free. Anyone who underestimated this place would pay in blood.

Beep! Beep!

Russell sounded the horn and pulled up outside a clothing store.

Twenty minutes later, he had changed into a new outfit, nothing too flashy.

An ordinary gray hoodie, a pair of jeans, and durable sneakers cost him fifty dollars in all. No identification was required; the shopkeeper had beamed the moment he saw the cash in Russell's hand.

The two girls had changed into clothes that fit them, too, and the three of them left under the store manager's fawning smile.

After a simple dinner, they went to a rather dubious real estate agency.

Russell had asked the food vendor about it while they ate. According to the vendor, the agency was reasonably trustworthy.

"Trustworthy" meant they did not ask for American identification or a credit history to rent a place.

In short, as long as you had money, everything was negotiable.

The agency's storefront was unremarkable, wedged between a pawnshop and a bar that looked anything but respectable.

When they pushed open the glass door, they found the room thick with smoke. Several men in cheap suits were playing cards around a table.

At the sight of them, one white man with greasy long hair rose lazily and looked Russell up and down, then eyed the two girls behind him.

"Looking to rent?" he asked without much interest, his gaze lingering on Felicity for an extra second.

"Yes," Russell answered briefly.

The conversation that followed was simple.

The agent pointed to a blurry photograph on the wall. He said it showed an apartment of a little over seventy square meters, fully furnished and ready to move into. The rent was three thousand dollars a month, payable in advance.

Russell stared at the photograph, whose blurred image revealed no details at all, then at the agent, whose face might as well have said I'm here to rip you off. He nearly wanted to tear the whole den apart with Telekinesis.

Three thousand dollars? For a dump in this neighborhood? That's robbery.

He "sold" the SUV he had stolen to the agency for ten thousand dollars. Calling it a sale was generous; he had traded the car of dubious origin for credit and prepaid three months' rent.

The agent grinned from ear to ear, clearly convinced he had made a killing.

Russell smiled too. He had lost nothing, since he had found a thick stack of cash in someone's drawer in the back room.

Half an hour later, a white man named Victor Marshall led them into a dark alley behind the agency.

Behind them, the agent let out a shriek like a pig being slaughtered. "Who the fuck stole my money?"

The deeper they went into the alley, the more decrepit the buildings became. Graffiti and gang symbols covered the walls. In the dark corners, alongside scarlet bloodstains, they occasionally spotted unidentifiable severed limbs. Some belonged to rats; others were... larger.

Russell glanced at them but said nothing.

Laura's eyes grew colder, and her hands clenched and relaxed. Felicity kept her head down, trying not to look at any of it as she followed close behind Russell.

Victor, meanwhile, paid those traces of violence no mind. He walked steadily onward, his expression as casual as if he were strolling through his own backyard.

It's not that he doesn't see them, Russell thought.

He's just used to them. That jaded indifference was more chilling than the blood on the ground.

After they had walked a little farther, two hostile voices rang out ahead and brought them to a halt.

"Stop right there, you two white pigs!"

"This is a robbery! Hand over everything valuable!"

Three large Black men emerged from the shadows at the alley junction.

One held a sharp knife that glinted in the dim light. Another carried a spiked club marked with what looked like dried blood. The third had empty hands, but the bulge at the back of his waistband made it clear he was carrying a gun.

At the same time, footsteps sounded behind them.

Three more armed Black men blocked their retreat, cruel smiles on their faces.

Six against two. We've got the advantage.

No, six against four. They had counted Laura and Felicity too, though they clearly did not consider the two "little girls" a threat.

"Hand over your money. And those two sweet things..." The leader grinned, showing yellow teeth. "Let us have some fun with them, and we'll let you go."

Laura's gaze turned icy. Her knuckles shifted, and her steel claws were a second away from piercing her skin—

But someone else was faster.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three shots erupted almost at once, deafening in the narrow alley.

At Russell's side, Victor had somehow drawn a pistol. Wisps of smoke still curled from its barrel.

The three men blocking the way dropped before they could react, red blooms spreading across their chests.

The three behind them reacted faster. Seeing that they had picked a fight with someone dangerous, they turned and fled without a word, disappearing into the shadows farther down the alley.

"Pah! Lucky you ran fast!" Victor cursed as he put away his gun. He walked over to the three bodies and crouched to search them with practiced ease. "You must've had a death wish, trying to rob the Blood Wolf Gang!"

He soon pulled a small wad of crumpled bills from them and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he stood and kicked the bodies twice.

"Fuck, that's all you had? It doesn't even cover one of my bullets!"

As a low-ranking member of an underground gang, Victor spent money recklessly and had a gambling habit. He was already deep in debt.

The fifty-odd dollars he had just "earned" was nothing against a gambling debt of over ten thousand dollars. It was not even enough for another round at the casino.

Russell watched, the corner of his mouth twitching.

The Blood Wolf Gang? This is what passes for a member? Then again, in a place like this, perhaps "Blood Wolf Gang" was just an intimidating name for an ordinary street gang.

After that little incident, they encountered no more trouble.

The shadows lurking in the alleys seemed to have learned how dangerous they were. Their path remained clear.

At last, they reached their destination.

It was a standalone, single-story old building with mottled walls and broken windows. A few electrical wires dangled haphazardly beneath the eaves.

The room Russell was renting was on the ground floor. He had chosen it deliberately.

A low floor would make it easier to deal with emergencies.

If something went wrong, he could fight back or escape more easily.

After all, he was nowhere near capable of flying at supersonic speed yet. It never hurt to be cautious.

Victor took out a key and opened the rusted iron door.

Creak—

A powerful, pungent stench of rot hit them, mingled with mold, dampness, and an unidentifiable rank odor.

The room was a wreck. Several moldy cushions lay on a worn-out sofa, and faint dark-red spatters marked the wall.

Russell knew those marks all too well. They were bloodstains, left by heavy bleeding.

"Fully furnished" meant a rusted refrigerator that might not even turn on and an old television that showed nothing but static. "Ready to move into" meant a heap of garbage left by someone in the corner and a thick layer of dust on the floor.

Russell's expression darkened.

"Fully furnished, ready to move into..." he repeated under his breath, then gave a self-mocking laugh. "Clearly, I underestimated the kindness of the American people."

Victor, standing beside the rusted door, noticed his expression. His eyes grew more arrogant, and he made no attempt to explain.

He folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe, but his mind was on something else.

Tch. Three undocumented nobodies. Of course we ripped you off. Go on, fight back. Give me an excuse to make my move!

Truthfully, Victor had been eyeing the tempting wad of dollars Russell carried for some time.

Several thousand dollars. It would be enough to pay off part of his gambling debt, perhaps even give him a chance to win the rest back at the casino.

His boss's orders kept him from doing anything too blatant. But if this white man threw the first punch, that would change things.

It would be self-defense. Even if Victor killed him, the boss would have nothing to say.

Unfortunately, several seconds passed, and all Victor got was a long look from Russell. His gaze was unnervingly calm. Then Russell turned and entered the filthy room.

Laura and Felicity followed in silence.

A flicker of disappointment crossed Victor's mind.

But it lasted only a moment. He shrugged, turned, and soon vanished into the depths of the alley.

Had Russell lost his nerve?

Of course not.

He had gotten the place for nothing, so he might as well use it.

Only when Victor's footsteps had faded completely did Russell slowly exhale.

He turned to the two girls behind him.

Laura stood in a corner, warily examining every part of the room as though calculating the best defensive position in case of an attack.

Her knuckles were still trembling slightly. What that would-be robber had said had clearly left her on the brink of losing control.

Felicity stood by the door with her arms wrapped around herself. As she looked at the mess and the bloodstains on the wall, her face went a little pale.

But she did not complain. She simply took a deep breath and tried to steady herself.

"Let's clean up first," Russell said. "Keep what we can use and throw out the rest."

He needed to settle in as soon as possible, adapt to the city, and learn its rules.

Only then could he take the next step.

As for the bloodstains and the smell of rot...

Russell went into the bathroom and turned on the tap.

Water rushed out, murky and rust-colored. It took a while to run clear.

Half an hour later, he had showered and changed into clean clothes. He sat on the worn sofa in the main room, which was at least clean now.

Felicity and Laura had washed up too and sat quietly nearby.

Russell picked up the remote and pressed the power button.