When Nolan returns home, his aunt is still overseeing the restaurant decoration.
He retrieves his shoulder bag and packs the Catachan Fang and plasma pistol inside. Nolan changes into a fresh set of clothes and military boots. He takes out a stack of banknotes from the bag under his bed and prepares to leave.
But before departing, Nolan sends a text message to his aunt explaining that he's going to do a "part-time job."
Before his aunt can reply, he turns off his phone and tosses it on the bed.
Nolan walks out of the apartment and begins his preparations.
Facing the backbone of an entire gang, his proven killing skills and the powerful plasma pistol should be enough to handle them. However, Nolan still needs some auxiliary equipment to prevent them from escaping and dispersing.
So, as Nolan purchases more and more items, he has to buy a mountaineering backpack to serve as a container.
The shopping complete, Nolan walks on the street and suddenly feels ravenous.
He looks around and spots a roadside stand selling hot dogs. He begins eating voraciously.
In short order, the stall owner's speed of making hot dogs can hardly keep up with Nolan's consumption. He devours fifteen hot dogs in a row.
Nolan pays the bill under the stall owner's awestruck expression.
Then Nolan turns to leave, but before he takes more than a few steps, a pleading voice suddenly comes from behind.
"Excuse me, sir, can you please take a look at this missing person notice?"
Nolan raises his eyebrows and turns his head to look back.
"Uh... Nolan?"
The person standing before him turns out to be Mike, the apprentice and the usual delivery boy from The Evening Hearth Restaurant.
Because Nolan today is completely different from before, Mike doesn't recognize him at first. Not until Nolan speaks does Mike gradually overlap the Nolan in his memory with the Nolan standing before him.
"Oh my God... puberty are simply a miracle of life."
Mike subconsciously exclaims.
"Maybe. Mike, is there still no news about your brother?"
With a smile on his face, Nolan takes the flyer from Mike's hand and asks politely.
At the same time, he looks down at the paper. It seems that to reduce costs, the flyer was made very roughly. There's only a black-and-white photo and contact information.
The photo shows a young black boy with missing front teeth. His left hand is raised, and his ear bears a visible birth defect. Maybe it's the imperfection, or the bright smile on his face. Either way, the little boy is immediately memorable.
"There's no news... It's like he evaporated from the face of the earth."
Mike's features are drawn with anxiety and exhaustion. He smiles bitterly. "My mother is about to have a mental breakdown, so I have to pick up the slack. But Jerry has been missing for so long..."
Mike doesn't finish his sentence, but Nolan understands what he means.
Nolan nods silently. He folds the flyer several times and stuffs it into the shoulder bag.
"Didn't you try to ask the media for help? You should have seen the recent news, right? Now is a good time to let the media force the police to work harder."
"Why wouldn't I? But all the media were surrounded by those parents who published missing person notices..."
Mike shakes his head and sighs helplessly. "Those rich families, black and white, can go on shows to tell their warm stories. But for ordinary families like us from poor communities, many media outlets can only publish a small missing person notice... It's better than nothing."
After listening to Mike's words, Nolan falls silent.
He ponders for a moment, then takes out a small stack of bills from his pocket. That's the money left from shopping—fifteen hundred dollars. Nolan keeps five bills for himself and stuffs the remaining bills into Mike's hands.
Mike's mouth drops open in surprise. His dark skin seems to flush red. He refuses repeatedly. "No, no, no, Nolan... this is too much!"
"Mike, take it. Just consider it an advance payment of salary." Nolan smiles. "My aunt is still waiting for her apprentice to come back to work."
Mike's eyes seem to grow a little wet. He chokes up but forces himself to hold it back.
"Thank you. I just don't know how to thank you..."
"Finding Jerry is the best thank you. Don't say anything else."
"After all, friends need to help each other, don't they?"
Nolan answers seriously.
Seeing that Mike no longer refuses and carefully tucks away the money, Nolan says goodbye.
Next, he still has an important "part-time" job to do.
Hell's Kitchen, Treasure Mall.
As the third-generation leader of the tracksuit gang, Boban the Kaban is not only like a huge wild boar in physique. Even his style of doing business is quite similar.
Greed is his eating instinct. Brutality is his reproductive desire.
That's why he can control the entire gang.
At least, it was like that a few days ago.
Now, Boban can only curl his corpulent body into a dusty sofa. He eats frantically with inelegant movements, staring at the phone in front of him.
He's been waiting for a call. A call from the king of the underground. A call that can save his gang career. A call that can save his life.
However, even after sweet tomato macaroni fills Boban's enormous stomach, the phone still doesn't ring.
Boban gradually falls into despair, suffering tremendous pain. He understands instantly: the tracksuit gang that once dominated New York has been abandoned.
The gang empire of the king of the underground doesn't want to attract more attention from the public and authorities. The tracksuit gang must disappear! Both physically and mentally.
"Waste! All a bunch of waste!"
At this moment, the plump fat on Boban's cheeks keeps shaking. He throws the can of tomato macaroni onto the ground with a hideous expression.
Thick dust mixes with the red soup of macaroni, creating something that looks like a pool of broken internal organs.
"Damn underground king! Damn New York Police Department! Damn New York citizens!"
"I, Boban, am the king of this city!"
"King of New York!"
Boban's eyes are bloodshot. He looks crazed. Even the fat all over his body shakes violently. He seems to have suffered a mental breakdown forced by the huge pressure of reality.
At this moment, Boban gets up with difficulty. He moves his legs and rushes out of the room in the mall like a wild boar.
Boom, boom, boom!
The heavy footsteps attract the attention of the gangsters downstairs. They raise their heads with different expressions and stare at Boban appearing on the mall's stairs.
"I declare that tonight... tonight we're going to give New York City a big 'surprise'!"
Boban's bloodshot eyes swept across the room. His massive hands rose, knuckles cracking as they clenched into fists.
His voice exploded like a drumbeat:
"Tell me, brothers…do you want to eat real food again?"
"Do you want women in your beds and music in your nights?"
"Do you want to walk under the sunlight without fear?"
He leaned forward, snarling:
"So what if the police are hunting us?"
"So what if the king of the underworld has turned his back?"
He slammed his fist into his chest.
"Are we scared?"
The room held its breath.
He roared:
"We are the ones who run New York!
Our stash is full of guns, bullets, enough to wake the dead!"
"So grab your iron! Load your mags!"
"Tonight, brothers…we make the city howl!"
Boban drools, his crazed state reminiscent of a certain infamous mustached dictator.
However, his fierce speech doesn't resonate with anyone emotionally. The silent gang members look at each other. A few inexplicable cold flashes appear in the depths of their eyes.
At this moment, Boban, standing on the stairs, gasps and sweats profusely. He keenly discovers the undercurrent surging among the silent gang members.
Boban's fat face shows a crazed grin.
"Anyone who comes to the party will get a cut from the warehouse," Boban barked.
"Want cash now? Take it. Want more after we finish? We'll split the laundered money overseas. Even shares. Even deals. Equally."
His words landed like orders. The nearly forty gang members around him answered with slow, hungry smiles. The metallic crack of dozens of guns being chambered rolled through the room like surf.
"Come on then," Boban snarled, voice hot and certain. "Let's torch this city and watch it burn."
Hell's Kitchen after nightfall seems to have entered another world.
In the dark corners of countless buildings, men and women who have reached deals make unabashed happy sounds.
Between the dilapidated streets, drug dealers carrying automatic rifles choose to set up stalls on the roadside. Strings of colorful small light bulbs hang above their vehicles-turned-stalls, serving as both hidden signs and business atmosphere.
Ragged homeless people, urban white-collar workers with heavy makeup, even students with childish faces constantly appear, joining the carefully selective shopping ranks.
Chaos and order find a way to coexist peacefully and choose to fall together.
This is the tip of the iceberg of Hell's Kitchen's daily life—a paradise and holy place for criminals.
Unlike the crowded streets outside, the deeper you go into the Hell's Kitchen community, the more dilapidated the streets and buildings become. Even the lights dotted in windows grow fewer and fewer.
After entering a particularly run-down street, even the lights disappear completely. Except for desperate homeless people or criminals with serious records, no one wants to live in a place without water and electricity.
Treasure Mall stands in such a dark community like a silent giant beast.
This large supermarket that once nurtured generations of local Hell's Kitchen residents is now completely abandoned. Even in the parking lot outside, patches of lush grass have sprouted, watered by recent rains.
Swish, swish, swish—
The half-man-high grass keeps shaking, accompanied by friction sounds.
Nolan, crawling forward cautiously, emerges.
His head is tightly wrapped with a red bandana. His face is covered with a gas mask. He's wearing a black waterproof coat. A dark Catachan Fang is held in Nolan's hand. The glowing plasma pistol is hidden in his coat pocket to prevent exposure.
There's no sign of electricity in the Treasure Mall. Only occasional flashlight beams flash through windows, and noisy voices drift out faintly, revealing the situation inside.
The short man didn't lie. This is the lair of the tracksuit gang.
Nolan's eyes, hidden behind the gas mask, flicker slightly. His crawling movements become more cautious.
A few minutes later, Nolan quietly reaches the front entrance of the store. He hides in a corner and raises his head slightly, looking inside through the dusty glass.
Between a large number of abandoned shelves, in a cleared space, about thirty Slavic gang members hold flashlights as they clean guns and load ammunition.
Almost everyone wears bulletproof vests. Some wear military helmets. Pistols, submachine guns, automatic rifles—there's even a heavy machine gun positioned on several boxes of ammunition.
At the same time, grenades are pulled from boxes and placed before everyone. From time to time, someone steps forward to grab one, hangs it on his chest, shows off to companions, and laughs heartily.
What are they planning to do?
So much firepower is enough for a fierce street battle. Are they driven crazy by the New York police? Are they planning to fight to the death?
Nolan carefully hides his figure. The eyes hidden behind the gas mask are full of doubt.
However, just when Nolan is about to sneak in from behind, a fanatical voice suddenly sounds from inside, attracting his attention again.
"Brothers! Are you ready?"
"Haha, I can't wait!"
Boban, wearing an oversized bulletproof vest, stares with bloodshot eyes. He scans back and forth in the dim light at his subordinates, who are eager to fight.
Already insane, he can't help showing a twisted and hideous smile.
Tomorrow morning, the whole of New York will be shocked! The whole country, even the whole world, will be shocked!
The damn king of the underground wants to hide?
Wishful thinking!
I, Boban the Kaban, will use the lives of countless New York citizens to overturn you! Even if the gang is completely destroyed and federal investigations are launched afterward, those dirty deals will be exposed to the sun!
King of the underground, you'll also become a stray dog!
Slavs will never admit defeat!
"Very good! I've distributed all the money in the warehouse to you!"
Boban grins with a flushed face. The fat on his cheeks shakes with excitement.
"Now, it's time for you to repay me!"
"There's only one goal: shoot and kill! Do whatever you want!"
"After that, the smuggling ship is at the port of the Hudson River."
"If everything goes well, you'll go out to sea with me on the ship and we will be free!"
Boban raises his fist violently. He shakes his arms desperately and keeps shouting.
Excited, Boban suddenly notices something.
A blue light sphere the size of a human head flies over a shelf in the blink of an eye and soars directly toward him!