20: Chapter 20: Just Waiting for the Show to Begin

The night in Brooklyn was like a drunken sot, vomiting chaos and violence all over the ground.

The death of Marcus was like throwing a piece of bloody raw meat into a shark tank.

Those small gangs that had originally been suppressed by him, along with outside forces that had long coveted the fat meat of the Red Hook District, began to tear at the territory as if they had gone mad.

For the residents of the precinct, this was a disaster, but for Chen Mo, it was a harvest.

The morgue's freezer had never been this full.

"Another two." George, with that never-ending cigar clamped in his hand, pulled open the zipper of the body bag.

"A shootout in the 4th District, fighting over a distribution point for laundry powder."

Chen Mo put on rubber gloves and skillfully turned over the corpse.

The moment his fingers touched the skin, a familiar electric sensation spread throughout his body.

[Extraction Successful]

[Obtained Skill Fragment: Pistol Shooting (White) * 2]

[Obtained Asset Clue: Private money hidden in the water tank ($3,000)]

[System Experience +10]

"Mosquito legs are still meat." Chen Mo muttered to himself, casually pushing the corpse back into the freezer.

These past few days, he had been like a diligent hamster, picking up every bit of value from the ruins of death.

Although no top-tier goods like [Close Quarters Combat Mastery] had appeared again, the large amount of white skill fragments and scattered asset clues had made his foundation grow thicker at an unprecedented speed.

Walking out of the forensic office, the atmosphere in the corridor was so oppressive it made it hard to breathe.

Murphy sat behind his desk, clutching a cup of coffee that had already gone cold.

His eye bags were as big as if he were hanging two oil jugs, and his eyeballs were covered in bloodshot veins.

Seeing Chen Mo enter, his obese body visibly trembled, and then he forced out a smile that looked even worse than crying.

"Hey, Robert." Murphy beckoned.

Chen Mo immediately put on a respectful and slightly reserved expression, walking over quickly: "Sir, did you call for me?"

"Sit, sit." Murphy pointed to the chair opposite him and even poured Chen Mo a glass of water himself.

That hand was shaking violently; more water spilled out than was poured into the glass.

"Recently... you've worked hard." Murphy lowered his voice, his eyes scanning the surroundings evasively.

"That business with Marcus, although the case is closed, the streets aren't peaceful, you need to be careful."

"Thank you for your concern, sir." Chen Mo straightened his back, "I have a gun, I'm not afraid of them."

"No, you don't understand." Murphy scratched his hair neurotically, large clumps of dandruff falling onto his shoulders.

"Some people are scarier than gangs, for example... those investigators in suits and ties."

He stared fixedly at Chen Mo's eyes, trying to see something in those black pupils.

"Robert, you're a smart man. In this police station, to get ahead, just knowing how to shoot isn't enough; you have to learn to... pick a side."

Murphy took a thick envelope out of the drawer and pushed it toward Chen Mo.

"This is a little... tea money. Follow me from now on, and you'll have an envelope like this every month."

Chen Mo looked at the envelope, his Adam's apple bobbing.

That was a display of greed, and also the display Murphy wanted to see.

But he didn't reach out.

"Sir, I..." Chen Mo looked around with a terrified expression, as if afraid of being seen by someone.

"I heard Internal Affairs is auditing the books recently... I'm still an Intern Police Officer, I don't dare..."

Murphy's face twitched a few times.

He wanted to lose his temper, but looking at Chen Mo's cowardly, submissive appearance, he couldn't get angry.

This was just a rookie who hadn't seen the world; he didn't even dare take money when given to him.

"Take it!" Murphy growled, "No one will find out about this. As long as you keep your mouth shut, and everyone keeps their mouth shut, no one will know."

"Sir, I have an urgent matter, George asked me to deliver a report!"

Chen Mo stood up abruptly, as if his butt had been burned, hurriedly saluted, and turned to run.

Watching Chen Mo's pathetic, fleeing back, Murphy slammed the envelope onto the table and cursed.

This idiot, coward.

But that's fine, at least it proves he has nothing to do with those things.

If this kid were really the one behind it, he definitely wouldn't be reacting like this right now.

Chen Mo ran past the corner, the terror on his face vanishing instantly.

He leaned against the wall, adjusted his tie, and a cold sneer curled the corner of his mouth.

Old bastard, about to enter the coffin and still wants to drag someone down with him.

After work, Chen Mo did not return to that dilapidated, tiny rental apartment.

Using the first pot of gold he made in the stock market, he rented a high-end apartment in Queens.

Floor-to-ceiling windows, central air conditioning, and most importantly, excellent soundproofing.

He threw out the original sofa in the living room and replaced it with a heavy punching bag and a wooden dummy bought from a professional boxing gym.

These past few days, whenever he had free time, he would soak here.

[Close Quarters Combat Mastery (Blue)] was not a simple infusion of knowledge; it was crazily reorganizing Chen Mo's muscle memory.

"Bang!"

Chen Mo, bare-chested, whipped a kick into the punching bag. The heavy bag was kicked high up, emitting a teeth-gritting sound of leather tearing.

Not enough, still not enough.

He was fascinated by the feeling of power surging through his body.

He could clearly feel every muscle contracting and every bone supporting him.

Side dodge, hook, elbow strike.

Chen Mo's figure left trails of afterimages in the empty living room.

Now, if he were to meet Marcus again, he wouldn't need a gun at all. In that narrow car repair pit, he had ten ways to snap the other's neck within three seconds.

Sweat flowed down his sturdy back muscles.

Chen Mo stopped his movements, panting heavily, looking at the bustling night view of New York outside the window.

At this moment, he felt he had truly come alive.

No longer that undocumented immigrant waiting to be slaughtered, no longer that submissive Intern Police Officer.

He picked up a towel to wipe his sweat, walked to the fridge, and took out a bottle of ice water.

His phone suddenly vibrated.

No number, just a short message: [The show begins.]

Chen Mo drank the water in the bottle in one go and tossed the empty bottle accurately into the trash can three meters away.

"Then let us see how high this fire can burn."