3: Chapter 3 I'm a police officer? No, I'm the heir to the estate!

New York Council of Elders Hospital, Emergency Room.

Under the blinding shadowless lights, Chen Mo was shirtless, letting the doctor and nurse treat the wound on his chest.

"The bullet is stuck against the rib, it didn't hit any vital organs, it's truly a miracle."

The attending physician exclaimed in amazement.

"This kid is practically possessed by God, three gunshots! Anyone else would have gone to see God by now!"

The nurse nearby was also clicking her tongue in disbelief.

Chen Mo remained expressionless.

He knew this wasn't a miracle, but the power of the [Intern Police Officer] identity trait.

It forcibly distorted reality on a rule level he couldn't understand, turning a wound that should have been fatal into a curable "on-duty injury."

He, Chen Mo, had died.

But, "Hero Police Officer Robert Chen" had survived.

After his wounds were treated, he was wheeled to a high-end ward.

Two armed police officers stood solemnly at the door; this was protection for a hero.

Inside the ward, a middle-aged white man wearing a trench coat and with a stout build was waiting for him.

He was a detective from the 127th Precinct, Henry Murphy.

"How are you feeling, kid?"

Detective Murphy handed him a cigarette, which Chen Mo refused with a shake of his head.

"I won't die." Chen Mo's voice was a bit hoarse.

Murphy took a deep look at him, his murky eyes flickering with scrutiny.

"You are very lucky, and also very brave."

"I've read the report. You and O'Neal ran into the Butcher Brothers; they are the two most vicious robbers in the city."

"You took them both out by yourself, although O'Neal... but you did your best."

Murphy's tone was full of official commendation.

But Chen Mo could feel the probing in his words.

A rookie who just graduated from the police academy, killing two hardened criminals alone?

This story sounded too much like a movie.

"I just did what I was supposed to do, sir."

Chen Mo's reply was watertight, his expression showing just the right amount of sadness and lingering fear.

This was all the "acting skill" bestowed upon him by the [Intern Police Officer] identity.

Murphy was silent for a moment, seemingly unable to find any flaws.

He patted Chen Mo's shoulder: "Rest up, kid. When you get out of the hospital, the precinct will hold an award ceremony for you. You are now a hero of the NYPD."

After saying that, Murphy turned and left.

Only Chen Mo was left in the ward.

Hero?

A cold sneer, unnoticed by anyone, curled at the corner of Chen Mo's mouth.

He didn't want to be any hero.

The fate of a hero is to lie on a cold autopsy table, becoming material for others to extract traits.

Just like his poor partner, O'Neal.

What he needed to do was hide behind the scenes and collect the heirs to all the "Legacy."

This narrow escape made him fully understand the power of the system.

A police officer's corpse could provide [Identity] and [Firearm Skill].

What about the financial tycoon who fell from a building on Wall Street? Could one extract [Billions in Assets] and [Capital Intuition]?

What about the Hollywood superstar who died in an accident? Could one extract [God-tier Acting] and [Global Fame]?

What about the politician who died an unnatural death? Could one extract [Senator Identity] and [Tens of Millions of Votes]?

As long as he collected enough corpses, the entire America would be his Legacy.

This chaotic, dangerous country where human lives were as cheap as grass was, for him, no longer a hell, but a super dungeon where he could endlessly farm for loot.

In his eyes, unprecedented ambition and desire ignited.

Surviving was just the first step.

He wanted to stand at the top of this pyramid and trample everyone's fate under his feet!

Just then, the door to the ward was pushed open again.

Detective Murphy, having returned, walked in with a strange smile on his face.

He locked the door behind him.

"Kid, let's have a talk in private."

Murphy pulled up a chair, sat by Chen Mo's bedside, and lowered his voice extremely low.

"We investigated the scene carefully. The Butcher Brothers' shootout was over a duffel bag containing one hundred thousand dollars."

Chen Mo's heart skipped a beat, but his face remained calm.

Murphy stared at him intently: "However, we searched the entire alley and didn't find that duffel bag. In the official records, this money has vanished into thin air."

"Do you understand what I mean, Robert?"

Chen Mo remained silent, looking at Murphy.

Murphy's smile became playful: "I checked that trash can; it was empty."

He leaned forward, almost pressing against Chen Mo's ear.

"The Butcher Brothers worked for the Falcone family. That hundred thousand was their weekly protection money. Now the money is gone, and the people are dead."

"The Falcone family will come looking for this money. They will turn the entire neighborhood upside down, and they will come looking for you, the only survivor."

Detective Murphy leaned back in the chair and shrugged.

"So, kid, welcome to the NYPD."

"You are now both a universally praised hero and the Falcone family's number one target."

"Tell me, where is that money? I can help you handle it. Of course, you know the rules: a 60/40 split, I take 60, you take 40."

So he was just a hyena wanting a piece of the pie.

Chen Mo looked at Murphy's greedy face, his heart crystal clear.

He slowly spoke, his voice calm and cold:

"Sir, what are you talking about? I don't understand."

"I only know that I am a glorious New York police officer, and my duty is to uphold justice and fight crime."

"As for whatever money you're talking about... if I find it, I will hand it over in full."

The smile on Murphy's face instantly froze.