37: Chapter 37 Nesting in the Dark: The First Secret Gathering of the Legacy

The rain fell harder and harder. The fishy scent of the Hudson River was washed into the mud by the rain, mixing with the burnt smell drifting from the ruins of the police station in the distance, creating a unique aura called freedom.

Chen Mo wiped the muddy water from his face; his expensive suit hung on him now like a tattered rag.

He glanced at George, who was panting heavily beside him. The old man was still clutching the detonator tightly in his hand, his eyes filled with both determination and confusion.

"Stop reminiscing, George." Chen Mo's voice pierced through the rain curtain. "Unless you want to stay here and be buried with your morgue."

George snapped back to reality, threw the detonator into the river, and exhaled a turbid breath. "Where to next? The apartment that chick gave you?"

"No." Chen Mo shook his head, his eyes appearing exceptionally deep in the darkness.

"That's a station for exchanging intelligence, not a nest for sleeping.

A woman like Ava Rockefeller—give her an inch, and she'll want to swallow your whole hand. If I stay in her house, I'm afraid I'll wake up in the middle of the night and find my kidney gone."

"Wise." George grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth. "Then we are just two homeless stray dogs right now."

"I have money." Chen Mo replied briefly, turning to walk towards the shadows by the roadside.

Half an hour later, a black Toyota sedan with fake license plates drove away from the industrial area.

The car had been pried open by Chen Mo using [Street Smarts], his technique so seasoned that even George couldn't help but glance sideways.

The wheels rolled over the stagnant water, driving in the opposite direction of Manhattan.

At three in the morning, the car stopped under a high-end apartment building in Brooklyn Heights.

This wasn't a top-tier wealthy district, but security was tight, and the residents were mostly lawyers, doctors, and mid-level financiers who valued their privacy.

Most importantly, the property management here had a level of confidentiality regarding tenant information that rivaled a Swiss Bank.

Chen Mo took a set of keys out of his system space and tossed them to George.

"A top-floor duplex. It was originally a safe house for an arms smuggler who died in Mexico last week. I bought it through an offshore account. The name used is a shell company."

George took the keys, his eyes changing slightly. "When did you prepare this?"

"When I got my first sum of money." Chen Mo pushed open the car door. "A cunning rabbit has three burrows, George. I never put all my eggs in one basket."

The two avoided the blind spots of the surveillance cameras and entered the building through the fire escape.

The elevator went straight to the top floor. As the heavy security door opened, a dry, fresh air rushed towards them.

The apartment was large, with a minimalist industrial-style renovation. The huge floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the entire Brooklyn Bridge and the night scene of Manhattan.

At this moment, the firelight on the opposite bank was still faintly visible.

George didn't rush to rest. Instead, like an old hound patrolling its territory, he took out an instrument the size of a cigarette case from his pocket and began scanning the room inch by inch.

"Has anyone lived here before?" George asked without turning his head, staring at the readings on the instrument.

"No one has lived here, but before I bought it, a renovation crew came in." Chen Mo walked to the liquor cabinet and poured two glasses of whiskey.

"Beep—" The instrument emitted a sharp buzz under the crystal chandelier in the living room.

George sneered, moved a chair over, skillfully dismantled the lamp base, and picked out a rice-sized listening device from inside. With a pinch of his two fingers, it turned into powder.

"An old-fashioned RF transmitter. Although outdated, its effective range is five hundred meters."

George clapped the dust off his hands. "It seems your previous landlord wasn't as safe as he thought."

In the next half hour, George found three similar items from the study's power outlet and under the mattress in the master bedroom.

He threw all these things into the microwave and set it for thirty seconds.

"Sizzle—" A flash of electric sparks passed, and the world was quiet.

"Professional." Chen Mo handed over the whiskey glass.

George took the drink and downed it in one gulp. The spicy liquid made his pale complexion a bit ruddier.

He slumped on the leather sofa, looking at Chen Mo. "Now, it's clean here. Kid, we can talk about real business now."

Chen Mo sat opposite him, took a black card from his pocket, and pushed it onto the coffee table.

"There is five hundred thousand dollars in here as startup capital.

We need to turn this place into a real fortress. Weapons, surveillance, servers, backup power, and... medical equipment."

George looked at the card without reaching for it. "Are you hiring me?"

"No." Chen Mo swirled the glass, the amber liquid swaying under the light. "I am inviting you to join the team."

"Join the team?" George scoffed. "Join what team? A suicide squad made up of two outlaws wanted by the Deep State?"

"An organization that will replace them." Chen Mo's voice was not loud, but it carried a certainty that one could not ignore.

George was stunned. He stared into Chen Mo's eyes, trying to find any element of a joke, but all he saw was a bottomless, cold pool.

"You're a madman." George muttered to himself.

"Perhaps." Chen Mo put down the glass.

"But you have no choice, George. Ouroboros has already activated your file.

Starting tonight, you are no longer that medical examiner waiting to die. You are a survivor of Unit-734, a stain that must be erased. No one can protect you except me."

George was silent. He knew Chen Mo was telling the truth.

The moment he pulled the trigger, he could never go back.

After a long while, George reached out and picked up the black card, his fingertips turning slightly white from the force.

"I need three days." George's voice became low and hoarse; it was the voice of an ace Cleaner for the CIA.

"I will rewire everything, install military-grade encrypted communication systems, and replace the windows with bulletproof glass. Also, we need to establish an independent underground escape route."

Chen Mo curled his lips. "Very good. What else do you need?"

"Your trust." George raised his head, his gaze as sharp as a knife. "Those... abilities you showed in the morgue.

That's not something an ordinary person can do. I won't ask for the source, but I need to know the bottom line. How much do you actually possess?"

Chen Mo was silent for a moment.

He knew that to build a massive empire in this cruel world, relying solely on the system was not enough; he needed loyal partners.

And for dealing with an old fox like George, appropriate honesty was more effective than lies.

"I can see the Legacy left behind by death." Chen Mo said slowly, not revealing everything, but not lying either.

George's pupils constricted.

He associated it with Chen Mo's various miracles before—precise marksmanship, combat skills that appeared out of thin air, and instant identification of poisons. Everything was explained.

"No wonder..." George took a deep breath, his expression shifting from shock to a complex fanaticism. "No wonder you said all of America is your Legacy."

He stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking at the brightly lit Manhattan in the distance, that huge, rotting, yet vibrant vanity fair.

"Kid, you are even more dangerous than I imagined."

George turned around. This time, there was no more banter in his eyes; it was replaced by a sense of awe and ambition that bordered on submission.

"However, following you might be more interesting than staying in the gutter."

He took a crumpled New York map out of his pocket, spread it flat on the coffee table, picked up a red pen, and circled a few locations on it.

"If you want to know where Ouroboros will go next, or what the council behind this is actually planning,"

George's finger tapped heavily on the map. "We have to start from these places."

Chen Mo leaned in to look. The red circles marked a skyscraper on Wall Street, a private hospital in Queens, and... the top floor of the Rockefeller Center.

"Welcome to the Legacy, George." Chen Mo extended his hand.

The two hands clasped tightly together under the dim light.

In the dark night, the nest was built, and the devil began to sharpen his teeth.