Though he had been on the straight and narrow for years, Scott had not lost the skills he had picked up in his youth.
After all, stealing had been one of the ways he had made a living in Hell's Kitchen. It was like riding a bicycle—once learned, it became muscle memory, impossible to forget.
The mansion's lavish interior was much as he had expected. Valuable objects were everywhere: antique silverware, beautiful foreign vases, paintings he could not make heads or tails of, and more. Scott could barely take it all in.
But he remained fairly calm. Once he had made up his mind to do this, his legs stopped trembling and his hands stopped shaking. All he wanted was to get some money to take back and treat Cassie.
He knew the iron rule of burglary: without an accomplice, the most important thing was knowing one's carrying limit and the capacity of one's vehicle.
He could not just haul off a giant LCD television and toss in a double-door refrigerator while he was at it. That was simply unrealistic.
An adult man could generally maintain normal mobility while carrying twenty-five kilograms, with little impact on running or jumping. A four-door family sedan, including the back seats, passenger seat, and trunk, only had around three to four cubic meters of storage space, and that space was fragmented.
Besides, today's circumstances were unusual. He also had to hide here from alien bugs that could attack at any moment, so he had plenty of time to select what to take, ensuring it was easy to carry while being as valuable as possible.
If Scott had any flaw, it was that he liked talking to himself.
He had grown up in a bad environment, endured crushing pressure in life, and even spent time