In the distant night sky, a streak of gold and white light tore through the darkness, drawing closer with a thunderous dragon's roar.
The gang members guarding the underground warehouse in Brooklyn had no idea that disaster was about to descend on them.
As he flew and searched, the armor's scanner never stopped running. Fuck, that punk knew too little. He didn't even know the exact location. If I'd known, I wouldn't have beaten that boss into a flip phone. Why were my hands so damn quick?
My good mood's gone, just like that. Trafficking people, huh? When I find you, you'd better drop to your knees and apologize at the speed of light, or you're in for a world of pain.
Well, well, you're pretty good at hiding.
The golden streak traced a sharp arc across the night sky, finally hovering above an inconspicuous old factory. The armor's scanner gave a faint beep, and a holographic interface unfolded across his vision. Heat signatures, structural scans, energy readings-the data cascaded past like a waterfall.
"I finally picked up your trail."
The corner of his mouth curled coldly beneath the faceplate.
Below, several dark figures loitered outside the seemingly abandoned warehouse, cigarettes dangling from their mouths. They had no idea that, right above their heads, their great-grandmothers were already waiting to beckon them over.
A plan of action formed in an instant. No nonsense, no warning-for scum like these, any extra steps were a waste.
The gold-and-white armor plummeted like a meteor, only to decelerate an instant before touching down. Its braking engines blasted out scorching air, sending dust billowing across the ground. The sound of its landing rang out like death's funeral knell, making the guards freeze.
"What...?!"
Before the words had faded, the leader's vision blurred, and a phantom had already darted into their midst. A moment later, pain like being struck by a high-speed train exploded in his abdomen. His body doubled over as he flew backward and slammed into the warehouse's rusty iron door with a dull thud, going straight to report to his great-grandmother.
The other two didn't even have time to draw their guns. Two slender stun cables shot from the outsides of the armor's arms, their crackling blue-white arcs wrapping precisely around the men's necks. Unable even to scream, both collapsed to the ground, convulsing violently.
The whole process took less than three seconds. The night wind swept past, leaving only dust drifting slowly to the ground.
"Open up! FBI!" A processed, deep electronic voice issued from the armor's built-in speaker, directed at the warehouse's tightly shut doors.
Frantic crashes and muffled curses came from inside, but the doors didn't budge. Several gun barrels even poked through the gaps, firing wildly.
"Fine! Good! Very good! You fucking dare curse at me, and you dare shoot at me too? The enemy not only refuses to surrender, but dares to return fire!"
His gaze sharpened beneath the faceplate. The armor raised its right arm, dazzling white light gathering in its palm as a high-energy pulse began humming and charging.
"Then I'll tear it down."
Without hesitation, the palm cannon blasted the lock. With a boom, it sent the iron doors and the people behind them flying.
The deafening blast shattered the peace of the night. Fortunately, there was no one nearby. The heavy metal doors weren't simply blown open; violent energy tore a gaping hole through them and the walls around their frame. The metal at the edges glowed red and melted, molten iron dripping down. Those men had already melted together with the iron like candles.
Smoke and dust filled the air.
The armor stepped over the wreckage and entered the warehouse. Under the dim lights, more than a dozen panicked gangsters scrambled for cover and raised their weapons. From deeper inside came the faint sounds of muffled crying and chains scraping.
The scanner instantly locked onto every humanoid target and marked the densely clustered life signs in a compartment at the back-weak and afraid.
Fuck, how many did they kidnap? Are you doing this wholesale? Rage burned calmly in his chest.
"Good evening, scum." The electronic voice echoed through the empty warehouse, its chill undisguised.
A scar-faced man who seemed to be the boss hid behind a shipping container, brandishing a pistol as he screamed, "Open fire! Kill him!"
Bullets poured down like torrential rain, striking the armor in countless sparks and a clattering barrage, yet leaving not a single scratch.
The gold-and-white figure stood unmoving amid the hail of gunfire, then slowly turned to look at the scar-faced boss.
"Are you the one in charge here?" How thoughtful of you. I didn't even have to come looking for you; you jumped out on your own.
The next second, the thrusters on the armor's back and feet erupted. He became an afterimage racing low over the ground, appearing directly before the scar-faced man before any of the guns could track him.
A metal hand closed around his throat and lifted him off the ground.
"Ugh... hand..." The scar-faced man kicked wildly, his face turning a deep purplish red.
"Drop to your knees at the speed of light?" The faceplate nearly touched his face, the electronic voice dripping with mockery. "Looks like you never learned."
"Then it's time for a make-up lesson."
The hand gripping his neck slammed him down!
"Crack!"
It wasn't just his neck, but the heavy iron shipping container he had been hiding behind moments ago. The man's back smashed into its roof, the tremendous impact caving in the entire container. He lay crumpled inside like a heap of mud, eyes rolled back, completely unconscious.
Only then did the armored figure slowly straighten and look around at the remaining thugs, who were so terrified they could barely hold their weapons.
"Anyone else want a make-up lesson?"
Dead silence. There was only heavy breathing and faint sobbing from deeper inside.
"Drop your weapons and lie face down. You have five seconds." The electronic voice began counting down. "Five."
Clatter... Guns and daggers were thrown to the ground in a panic. "Four, three..."
Everyone scrambled to the floor, pressing their faces against the cold concrete.
"Two, one. Very good. I lied to you. Even if you give up resisting, I'm still killing you. Do you think I'm Batman? That I have a no-killing rule? If I let you off that easily, did the people you sold before just deserve it?"
The hand cannon lit up and rapidly picked them off. Once he was done, he didn't look at them again, heading straight for the reinforced iron door at the very back of the warehouse. It was locked from the outside, and the scan showed more than fifty life signs behind it, mostly children and women.
The palm cannon glimmered again, switching to cutting mode.
"It's all right," the electronic voice said, deliberately softening as it addressed the iron door and the trembling souls behind it. "I'll get you out now."
A blade of scorching light began melting through the lock.
Once he had let everyone out, a rough count revealed one or two hundred people. He didn't have enough healing potions with him, so after handing some to the more seriously injured, Rimuru planned to let S.H.I.E.L.D. take over. They were an official organization, after all; they were lucky he wasn't charging them an appearance fee for tonight.