The air in the warehouse went silent for a moment.
The fat man had drawn his gun halfway, but his hand froze at his waist as he stared fixedly at Chen Mo.
"Takeout?" The man in the baseball cap twitched at the corner of his mouth. "What do you take us Bloods for, kid? Delivery guys?"
The bald boss stood in front of the couch and shook the blue vial in his hand. The liquid inside gave off an unnatural blue glow under the lights.
Even the woman tied to the chair was dumbfounded.
A moment ago, she had thought she was finished tonight.
The next, an Asian guy who looked like he was out buying a Coke walked in carrying a gun and announced that he was there to pick up his takeout.
What normal person could make sense of that?
The man in the baseball cap steeled himself and spoke. "You want food, brother? There's money on the table. Take it and get out, and don't go looking for trouble."
Chen Mo glanced at the cash on the table.
There was a lot.
At least it was a lot more promising than the seventeen dollars he'd started with in his pocket.
But the hunger in his stomach didn't care about dollars. It was fixated on the little vial in the bald man's hand, like a starving man who hadn't eaten in three days spotting meat fresh from the pan. It nearly yanked away Chen Mo's reason.
Chen Mo raised his gun, aiming not at anyone, but at the drug in the bald man's hand.
"Let's put the money aside for now. I've got a technical question."
The bald man's eyelid twitched. "What?"
Chen Mo looked perfectly serious. "Is this stuff ripe?"
Everyone in the warehouse was at a loss.
The man in the baseball cap froze for a moment, and a ridiculous thought flashed through his mind.
Is this kid high?
Kidnapping, extortion, black-market deals, guns drawn.
Shouldn't a normal person be asking who the boss was, where the goods came from, and how the money would be split?
And this guy opened by asking if the drug was ripe?
What kind of hellish cooking show is this?
The bald boss's face darkened, and his fingers slowly tightened around the vial. "Do you know what this is?"
"Roughly." Chen Mo shrugged. "A blue drink that can make people stronger, or possibly turn them into abstract art."
At those words, the fat man's expression visibly changed.
The man in the baseball cap dropped the act too, his right hand darting toward his waist.
But Chen Mo was faster than either of them.
He lifted his foot and kicked the handgun on the floor straight at the man in the baseball cap. It struck his ankle, making him stumble. Before he could regain his balance, Chen Mo had charged up to him and slammed his shoulder into his chest.
Thud.
The man in the baseball cap flew backward, knocking over a row of shelves. Wine bottles and cardboard boxes clattered to the floor.
The fat man finally drew his gun.
He had barely raised the muzzle when the gun in Chen Mo's hand flew out and struck him squarely in the forehead.
Smack.
The fat man dropped on the spot.
Chen Mo looked down at him, a little surprised himself.
"Pretty good throw."
The bald boss was startled, but he quickly recovered and raised his hand to stuff the vial into his pocket.
Chen Mo's gaze turned cold.
The hunger in his stomach erupted in an instant.
Chen Mo's mouth twitched. "Buddy, I haven't picked up my order yet, and you're already trying to run?"
The bald boss cursed, grabbed a wine bottle off the table, and hurled it at the woman.
Chen Mo caught it by the neck, flipped his wrist, and sent it flying back.
The bald boss dodged to the side.
The bottle smashed against the wall, scattering glass across the floor.
The woman squeezed her eyes shut in fright, her shoulders trembling uncontrollably.
Chen Mo casually tore the tape off her wrists, moving as quickly as if he were opening a package.
"Can you walk?"
The woman's lips were pale. "Yes..."
"Get out through the back door. Hurry."
The woman looked at Chen Mo, her eyes full of shock and suspicion.
"What about you?"
Chen Mo turned to look at the fat man, who had climbed back to his feet, and the bald boss, who was holding a shotgun.
"I'm going to talk food safety with them."
As soon as he finished speaking, the fat man fired.
Chen Mo dodged sideways.
Bang, bang, bang.
Three gunshots rang out through the warehouse.
The woman screamed and stumbled toward the back door.
Chen Mo shifted his shoulder. The first shot grazed his hoodie, the second hit his left arm, and the third burrowed into his side.
It hurt.
It really hurt.
Chen Mo's face darkened.
"Fuck, I don't even get basic bulletproofing?"
The fat man froze, then went wild with delight. "He can be hurt! Kill him!"
The bald boss's eyes were full of vicious intent as he raised his shotgun with a sinister laugh.
"Kid! You're dead!"
Chen Mo glanced down at his side.
His clothes were torn, and blood was pouring out.
But the next second, the edges of the wound began to wriggle.
Muscle fibers like tiny black-and-red worms rapidly meshed together, forcibly squeezing the bullet out.
Plop.
The bullet fell to the floor.
The fat man's smile froze on his face.
The bald boss's pupils contracted sharply.
"A superhuman?"
Chen Mo moved his left arm, the pain making his mouth twitch again.
The bullet could be squeezed out.
The way he healed looked familiar too.
But the question was, when had Blacklight ever been this weak?
"Something like that." Chen Mo looked at them. "Though my after-sales service seems a little better than Vought International's."
The fat man swallowed.
Just now, he had thought the guy in front of him was a lunatic looking to get himself killed.
Now, looking at him again, this guy was plainly a lunatic looking for a good time.
Chen Mo moved.
The concrete beneath his feet gave a dull thud, and he was right in front of the fat man. The fat man had just started to fire when Chen Mo seized his wrist, followed by a sharp, grating crack.
With a crack, the fat man's hand was crushed, and his gun fell to the floor.
The fat man opened his mouth to scream, but Chen Mo punched him in the jaw, cutting the sound off instantly.
His two-hundred-plus-pound body went as limp as a sack of flour and collapsed on the spot.
The bald boss's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
"What the hell are you?"
Chen Mo turned to look at him, a surprisingly serious expression on his face.
"An undocumented immigrant."
"Die!"
The bald boss raised his shotgun.
Chen Mo snatched an iron tray off the table and held it in front of himself.
Boom.
The shotgun blast hit the tray, instantly deforming the metal. Pellets tore open the flesh on Chen Mo's arm.
Chen Mo sucked in a sharp breath from the pain.
"Damn, the great equalizer, huh?"
The bald boss took the opportunity to fling the blue drug to the side, then turned and ran.
You've got to be kidding me.
Even a shotgun couldn't kill him.
The goods, the woman, his men-he could leave them all behind.
Staying alive was what mattered.
Chen Mo caught the vial.
It was ice-cold, and the blue liquid inside swayed gently. The hunger in his stomach nearly dragged his wrist over, forcing him to pour the stuff into his mouth on the spot.
But he held back.
If he ate it now, at most he'd find out how delicious it was.
But with the bald man alive, he could ask where the goods came from.
Finding the source was more important.
The bald boss had already reached the warehouse's side door and was fumbling to pull it open. There was an alley outside, and once he reached it, he could drive off immediately. As long as he got away, he could notify the buyer and the people above him to deal with this Asian kid.
This Asian kid was far too abnormal.
The bald boss had just pulled the door open when a hand reached out from behind him and pressed against it.
Creak.
The iron door was forced shut again.
The bald boss's back was instantly soaked with sweat.
Chen Mo's voice sounded beside his ear. "Why run? I'm not a traffic cop. I'm not going to give you a ticket."
The bald boss spun around, thrusting the shotgun's muzzle at Chen Mo's chest.
Chen Mo grabbed the barrel with his left hand and twisted it aside.
Boom.
Plaster burst from the wall.
He seized the bald man's wrist with his right hand and bent it back, sending the shotgun to the floor.
The bald boss grunted, his face turning pale.
"Don't kill me. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you."
Chen Mo pulled out the vial of blue drug.
"This. Where did you get it?"
The bald boss panted. "I don't know the source. I'm only responsible for receiving the goods."
Chen Mo tightened his grip.
The bald boss's face changed with pain, and he immediately changed his answer. "I really don't know the source, but I know the drop point. There's another shipment tonight, at the Gray Whale Parking Lot on the back street, section B, midnight. Someone there is in charge of distributing the goods."
Chen Mo looked at him.
"Who's in charge?"
"Marlow, nicknamed Pharmacist." The bald boss's voice trembled. "I heard he used to do dirty work for a big company. Later, he went out on his own and got into the black market."
Chen Mo frowned.
Pharmacist?
I never heard of him in the original show.
"Which big company?"
"I don't know." The bald boss was so anxious he was nearly in tears. "I've told you everything I know. Let me go, and I swear to God I won't come after you!"
Chen Mo smiled.
"Why does that sound like the kind of thing an elementary schooler says before lying in wait for someone after school?"
The muscles in the bald boss's face twitched.
"You can't kill me. You don't know who's behind me."
Chen Mo nodded.
"Right. That's why I want to find out."
As soon as he finished speaking, he placed his hand on the bald boss's shoulder.
A strange impulse emerged from his palm.
It wasn't simply strength.
It was more like a dormant switch deep inside his body had been awakened by the scent of the blue drug.
Black-and-red filaments crept out from between his fingers and touched the bald boss's skin.
The bald boss froze, then let out an inhuman scream.
"What is this? Get it off me, get it off!"
Even Chen Mo was startled.
Holy shit.
It really is Blacklight?
But it's way too weak. Is it because I played a pirated copy?
Black-and-red filaments spread rapidly, burrowing into the bald boss's flesh like hungry vines.
The bald boss's body convulsed violently, and his voice quickly became slurred.
The next second, images slammed into Chen Mo's mind.
A dim underground parking garage.
A blue case of chemicals.
A man wearing sunglasses.
A refrigerated container with the Vought logo covered by black tape.
And a failed test subject curled up in an iron cage, its skin cracked, indistinct wails coming from its mouth.
Backstreet, Gray Whale Parking Lot, Section B, starting at midnight.
Pharmacist Marlow.
And a sentence that came up again and again.
"Failures have their price, too."