Old Dog's Cigarette Butt

The next day, Queens, A-4 Cleanup Zone.

The sun was like a stingy capitalist, casting down a little light through the thick dust haze.

Zhao Fan stood amid the wreckage of a commercial street, feeling as though he were on a vast, abandoned movie set. To his left was a designer clothing store that had been sheared in half. The mannequin in its display window had lost an arm, and its expensive trench coat was riddled with scorched holes and purple bloodstains. Its pose was grotesquely twisted, as though accusing someone of something.

To his right was a Starbucks. Its signature green mermaid logo had been blackened by smoke, leaving only one eye, sinister and absurd in the morning light.

Zhao Fan's breakfast had been half a slice of day-old toast and a cup of tap water. The ferocity of the night before had faded considerably under the morning's hunger and the crushing weight of reality, settling instead into a different kind of calm. He no longer indulged in fantasies or complaints.

Zone A-4, where he was working, was an extension of yesterday's Zone A-3, with a higher danger rating. This had been one of the sites of fierce fighting between Chitauri ground forces and the National Guard. Broken rebar, shattered concrete, and twisted car wrecks tangled together into a complex, three-dimensional "mountain of trash."

According to the D.O.D.C. mission briefing, the primary cleanup targets here were scattered Chitauri devices and weapon fragments.

That meant every step they took could land on death's trigger.

"Hey, boys! Stay sharp!" Foreman Mike's voice echoed over the ruins through a portable loudspeaker. "Safety officers already swept the place with detectors, but those things aren't God! Keep your eyes open! If you see anything glowing blue or humming, report it immediately! Don't fucking play hero and touch it! Your death benefits won't even buy you a decent burial plot!" After that thoroughly unoriginal safety lecture, cleanup officially began.

Zhao Fan and Old Dog Jose were assigned to a team, responsible for clearing the interior of the clothing store that had been split in two.

"Stay close, kid." Old Dog kept his voice low. His usually half-closed eyes were now sharp as a hawk's, carefully scanning every detail of the floor and walls. "In a place like this, the biggest danger isn't the shiny stuff. It's what's over your head."

Zhao Fan nodded without speaking. He knew Old Dog was right. Energy devices were deadly, but at least they glowed, giving some warning. The truly unpredictable danger came from structural components shaken loose in the fighting and barely holding together.

One behind the other, they carefully entered the remains of the clothing store. Broken glass and plaster dust covered the floor, crunching beneath their feet, the sound especially grating in the deathly silence. Inside was a complete mess. Expensive clothes lay mixed with mannequin limbs, all covered in thick dust.

"Clear the perimeter first." Old Dog pointed his crowbar toward an area near the entrance. "Move those racks and mannequins out of the way. Clear a safe passage. Remember, always leave yourself a way out."

Zhao Fan did as instructed. He moved a fallen clothing rack, and a powerful smell of mildew and dust hit him in the face, making him cough repeatedly even through his crude protective suit. He was focused now. He had forcibly suppressed last night's desperation-driven madness, turning it into unprecedented caution. He knew that until he had enough strength, staying alive was the prerequisite for realizing any ambition.

Just as he was about to drag a headless mannequin aside, he caught something unusual out of the corner of his eye. Beneath the platform where the mannequin had stood, near the corner of the wall, a precast slab seemed loose, leaving an unnatural gap between it and the floor.

Zhao Fan's heart skipped a beat. He stopped and crouched down to take a closer look.

His intuition told him something was wrong underneath.

It was an indescribable feeling. Perhaps transmigration had mutated his soul, or perhaps it was simply human intuition awakened by pressure, like knowing the teacher would definitely call on you to answer a question in class. He could not explain it, but he chose to trust it.

He reached out, about to touch the edge of the slab, when a rough, powerful hand suddenly seized his wrist.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Old Dog's voice held a sharp reprimand.

Startled, Zhao Fan turned toward Old Dog. For the first time, Old Dog wore a serious-even stern-expression. His cloudy eyes fixed on Zhao Fan, then shifted to the slab.

"I... I just thought something looked wrong here," Zhao Fan explained.

Old Dog did not release his hand. Instead, he crouched down himself and leaned toward the gap, studying it carefully. A few seconds later, his expression grew grave.

"Get back," he said quietly, his tone brooking no argument.

Zhao Fan instinctively backed away several steps.

Old Dog stood, looked around, and picked a relatively straight piece of rebar roughly two meters long out of the rubble. Rather than pry directly at the slab, he backed up about five meters, gripped one end of the rebar with both hands, drew a deep breath, and drove the other end like a spear into the cracked wall beside the slab.

Bang! With a dull impact, the rebar struck a large crack in the wall dead-on.

A chain reaction began.

The wall gave a teeth-grating groan. The crack widened instantly, and then the whole wall seemed to lose its last support, collapsing inward with a crash.

The massive impact of the falling wall triggered a secondary ceiling collapse. Countless chunks of concrete, lengths of rebar, and shards of glass rained down, smashing into the very slab Zhao Fan had wanted to inspect.

Rumble-!!!

The tremendous noise and vibration shook the entire shell of the clothing store. Dense dust billowed up instantly, swallowing everything. Mike.

Zhao Fan stared at the scene, dumbfounded, his mind blank. He could even feel the rush of air as broken stones flew past his cheek. If Old Dog had not stopped him, if he had still been crouching there... he dared not imagine the consequences.

By now, he would probably have been crushed into an unrecognizable pulp.

"Cough, cough..." Old Dog's coughing came through the dust. He walked over and gave Zhao Fan a heavy pat on the shoulder.

"See that, kid?" Old Dog's slightly hoarse voice sounded beside Zhao Fan's ear. "That's called a 'stress trap.' That wall was punched through during the fighting. That slab was all that held it up, keeping it in a fragile balance. Move that slab even a little, and the result would've been the same. The only difference is, you would've been buried alive in there."

Zhao Fan swallowed with difficulty. A chill ran down his back; cold sweat had already soaked his undershirt. He looked at Old Dog, his eyes filled with gratitude and lingering fear.

"Thank you, Jose... You saved my life."

Old Dog merely waved him off, fished the crumpled cigarette pack from his pocket, and shook it for a long while before getting a cigarette out and handing it to Zhao Fan.

Then he lit one for himself, took a deep drag, and slowly exhaled.

"Don't thank me. I just don't want my partner turning into a pile of mangled meat I have to clean up." He paused, looking at Zhao Fan with a complicated expression. "But you, kid, you're interesting. How'd you notice something was wrong with that slab?"

Zhao Fan froze. He could hardly say he had relied on some inexplicable transmigrator's intuition, could he? He could only answer vaguely, "I... I don't know either. That gap just looked wrong, like there was something underneath."

Old Dog gave him a long look but asked no further questions. He pointed toward the newly collapsed rubble and gestured with his chin. "Your intuition saved you. Now we've got another reason to thank it."

Zhao Fan followed his gesture. In the floor that had been covered by the slab, the impact of the collapse had exposed a pitch-black opening. It was a concealed basement entrance.

"The D.O.D.C. map doesn't show a basement here." That greedy, excited gleam flickered in Old Dog's eyes again. "Come on, kid. We might have a 'bonus find.' Could be right down there."

He stubbed out his cigarette, carefully tucked the half-smoked remainder back into the pack, then took a high-powered flashlight from his tool bag and headed toward the opening first.

Watching Old Dog's back, Zhao Fan felt a jumble of emotions. This old man usually seemed lazy, greedy, and indifferent to everything, yet at a critical moment, he had demonstrated astonishing experience and judgment and saved his life. Just what kind of man was he?

There was no time to dwell on it. He picked up his flashlight and followed closely. The basement entrance was narrow, allowing only one person through at a time. A nauseating mixture of mildew, blood, and gun smoke wafted from the opening.

"Watch your step." Old Dog's voice echoed from below.

Zhao Fan descended the crude steps, his flashlight beam wavering through the darkness. The basement was small, apparently a makeshift storeroom or break room. A heavy smell of blood filled the air.

As his flashlight swept across it, Zhao Fan saw something that made his stomach churn.

Three National Guard soldiers lay sprawled in a corner of the basement. Their bodies were badly decomposed, their armor covered in vicious claw marks and burns from energy weapons. Opposite them lay the even larger corpse of a Chitauri soldier, resembling a giant insect stripped of its skin. Clearly, a brutal close-quarters encounter had taken place here.

"Fuck..." Old Dog cursed under his breath, clearly disturbed by the sight as well. He swept his flashlight around, then stopped the beam in one corner.

Several olive-green metal cases were stacked neatly there.

"Looks like this is it." Old Dog's voice trembled with excitement, as though he could already smell the money. He hurried over, expertly wedged his crowbar into the seam of the first case, and heaved.

With a creak, the lid sprang open.

The smile froze on Old Dog's face. Empty. Only a few pieces of foam padding used to secure items remained inside. Otherwise, there was nothing.

"Damn it!" Refusing to accept it, he pried open the second case, then the third.

All empty!

"Fuck! Did those soldiers screw us over? Moved it all out?" Furious, Old Dog kicked an empty case, sending a loud echo through the deathly quiet basement.

Zhao Fan's heart sank too. Was this their so-called "bonus find"? A pile of junk and a few corpses?

Just then, the edge of Zhao Fan's flashlight beam caught an unusual glint.

"Wait, Jose. Look over there." Zhao Fan pointed to the other end of the room.

Another case lay beside the huge, stinking corpse of the Chitauri soldier. It seemed to have taken a heavy blow during the earlier fighting. Severely deformed, it was pinned beneath the Chitauri's thick thigh.

One corner of the case had split open. Surrounded by darkness and rotting flesh, the crack gave off a faint, mesmerizing golden gleam.

Old Dog followed the beam, and his cloudy old eyes went wide.

Forgetting his disappointment and even his fear of the alien monster, he scrambled over. He lay on the floor, his face nearly pressed against the broken opening, and peered greedily inside.

The case contained neither weapons nor high-tech equipment, but neatly stacked gold bars, dazzling beyond measure at that moment.

Zhao Fan's breathing quickened instantly. Gold! In this world of postwar ruins, it was harder currency than the dollar!

"We're rich... Kid, we're rich!" Old Dog's voice turned shrill and hoarse with extreme excitement. "These are strategic reserves the National Guard moved out of bank vaults! They didn't have time to haul them away, and this last case ended up beside the monster!"

He looked back at Zhao Fan, his eyes full of naked greed, looking somewhat vicious in the reflected gold light. "Kid, half each. With this, we won't have to spend the rest of our lives risking our necks at this kind of work!"

As he spoke, he reached to move the heavy Chitauri corpse, intending to drag out the case of gold pinned beneath it.

But Zhao Fan suddenly spoke. His voice was not loud, yet it rang unusually clear in the deathly silence of the basement, carrying a bone-deep chill.

"Wait, Jose! Don't move!"

Old Dog's hand froze in midair. He turned back with a puzzled, dissatisfied look. "What? You want it all for yourself?"

Zhao Fan did not answer immediately. He stared fixedly at the corpse and the "tempting" damaged case. It was too convenient. The gold happened to be beneath this monster, with a corner deliberately exposed for people to see.

An indescribable fear made every hair on his body stand on end.

Then his ears gradually picked up something extremely faint that felt out of place in this basement.

It was a soft, high-frequency hum.

His gaze swept rapidly across the basement before finally settling on the massive Chitauri soldier's corpse. The sound seemed to be coming from beneath it-right where Old Dog was about to reach for the gold.

"Something's wrong." Zhao Fan slowly took a step back, focusing his flashlight on a spot on the corpse's abdomen. "Jose, pull your hand back! Listen carefully. Do you hear anything?"

Old Dog paused. Seeing Zhao Fan's grave expression, he too was affected by the tension. He stopped moving and listened beside the broken case. Seconds later, his expression changed abruptly, his excitement-flushed face turning deathly pale.

"Hmm... Hmm..."

The sound was faint, but it was definitely there, and after Old Dog's approach, its frequency seemed to be slowly increasing.

"It's the energy core!" Old Dog's face instantly went white. "That thing's energy system is still running!"

Before he finished speaking, a point of eerie blue light suddenly appeared on the Chitauri soldier's abdomen. It grew brighter and brighter, and the humming became increasingly piercing.

Old Dog roared, "Run!"

Without hesitation, both turned and raced madly toward the entrance they had come through. Zhao Fan felt as if his heart were about to leap out of his throat, adrenaline burning wildly through his veins.

The instant they climbed out of the opening and threw themselves to the ground, a surge of destructive energy erupted from the basement.

Boom-!!!!!

The violent explosion unleashed a terrifying blast wave, hurling them away and slamming them into a distant wall. The entire wrecked clothing store shook and groaned under the force as more of its structure collapsed. Zhao Fan felt as if a speeding truck had hit him head-on. His organs felt displaced, his ears roared until he could hear nothing, and stars danced across his vision.

He did not know how long it took before he struggled back to a shred of awareness through the pain and dizziness. He shook his head. The ringing in his ears gradually receded, replaced by the crackling of burning rubble around him and alarms in the distance.

He struggled upright and saw Old Dog lying nearby, one leg pinned beneath fallen rebar, groaning in pain.

Ignoring his own injuries, Zhao Fan scrambled over and used every ounce of strength he had to shift the heavy rebar aside.

"Jose! How are you?"

Old Dog's face was covered in dust and blood. Panting, he looked at Zhao Fan and gave a smile uglier than tears. "Fuck... Nearly... bought it here..."

He glanced at the basement entrance, now completely destroyed by the blast and belching thick smoke, and said with lingering fear, "Those alien bastards... Fucking sneaky... Had to take a few people with them even after they died..."

Zhao Fan fell silent. He knew this was not cunning, but standard Chitauri military tactics. After a Chitauri soldier died, its energy core automatically entered an unstable self-destruct sequence. Any nearby energy fluctuation or approaching life-form would detonate it. That gold had been deadly bait from the very beginning.

And he and Old Dog were the two stupid fish drawn to the bait, nearly blown to pieces.

The alarms drew closer. A D.O.D.C. safety patrol was coming.

Old Dog struggled to stand, but his leg was clearly badly hurt. He told Zhao Fan, "Kid, listen. Don't mention the basement or the gold. Just say we ran into a secondary collapse and an unidentified explosion. The D.O.D.C. doesn't like 'bonus finds,' and it likes troublemaking temps even less. Understand?"

Zhao Fan nodded firmly.

Old Dog looked at him. For the first time, genuine emotion showed in those cloudy eyes-a complicated mixture of gratitude, appreciation, and a trace of guilt.

He pulled out his now utterly mangled cigarette pack again. Only one cigarette remained. Instead of lighting it for himself, he put it between Zhao Fan's lips.

"Kid," he said hoarsely, "you saved my life again."

This time, he did not say anything like, "I just don't want my partner turning into mangled meat."

Zhao Fan took a hard drag of the harsh, cheap tobacco and started coughing, but warmth welled up inside him. He knew that from this moment on, a special bond tested by life and death had formed between him and this seemingly ordinary old man.

He raised his head to look at the rescuers hurrying toward them in the distance, then at the wreckage around him. That thought in his heart blazed up uncontrollably once more.

This world was even more dangerous than he had imagined. Gold was bait, corpses were camouflage, and death followed like a shadow.

Caution and exceptional intuition alone were nowhere near enough to survive here. He had survived today half through intuition and half through luck, but luck would run out someday.

He needed power.

True power... enough that he would no longer be at anyone's mercy, lose his head over a mere handful of gold bars, or entrust his life to someone else's kindness or to luck.

Zhao Fan silently clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palms.