56: Chapter 56 Prey and Hunter

"Next time, your wheels won't turn faster than my bones."

The day after saying this, Yan Zheng was not in a hurry to deploy the second pursuit.

June 16th, 3:00 PM.

On the first floor of the Antique Shop, Yan Zheng sat behind the counter with a sheet of white paper spread out in front of him, covered in lines and text drawn with a black marker.

It wasn't antique appraisal notes, but an intelligence summary chart.

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꐦ ˘ ᴗ ˘ ˵ )

He bit the pen cap in his mouth, his gaze scanning back and forth across the paper.

"E.S.S., summary of currently known information."

"First clue: the genetic archive hard drive from Liu Kun's boxing arena three months ago."

He drew a box on the left side of the paper and wrote inside: "Genetic archive, laboratory-grade template, creator tag E.S.S."

"Second clue: that shipment at the docks."

The second box: "Biohazard, HYDRA mark, cold chain transport."

"Third clue: the organ harvesting operations over the past week."

The third box: "Professional field team, military surgical tools, cooler boxes, box trucks, shortwave communication."

"Fourth clue: the communication content from last night."

The fourth box: "Collection Point No. 3, outpost, direction north."

Yan Zheng connected the four boxes with lines and drew a large circle in the middle, writing the three letters "E.S.S." inside.

"Now, piece these fragments together."

He put down the pen, leaned back in his chair, and silently tapped a rhythm on the edge of the counter with his fingers.

"An organization with laboratory-grade genetic analysis capabilities."

"An organization capable of obtaining biohazards through HYDRA channels."

"An organization that has set up an outpost in Hells Kitchen and dispatched professional field teams."

"An organization with a systematic demand for human organs modified by mutation hormones."

Yan Zheng: ( ꐦ ˘ ͈ ꈊ ˘ ͈ )

"Conclusion: E.S.S. is a secret biological research organization whose research direction is the genetic modification of Mutants and enhanced humans."

"Their scale is not small; at the very least, they have independent laboratories, field collection teams, a cold chain logistics system, and an encrypted communication network."

"The source of funds is unknown, but to maintain operations at this scale, they must have either corporate backing or government background."

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the gray afternoon street scene of Hells Kitchen outside.

"What does this organization mean to me?"

Yan Zheng turned around, leaning his back against the window frame, the lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses reflecting the dim light inside the shop.

"Two words."

"The first word: Danger."

He extended his left index finger.

"If E.S.S. discovers my existence, discovers my ability to perform Undead extraction and genetic stitching, what will they do?"

"Someone who can turn the dead into soldiers is an invaluable treasure to any biological research organization."

"They will try every possible way to get me onto an operating table and take me apart to see what I'm made of."

Yan Zheng: ( ꐦ ⌓ ꐦ )

"The second word: Treasure."

He extended his right index finger.

"What is stored in E.S.S.'s laboratories?"

"Mutant genetic samples, enhanced human organ specimens, various formulas for mutation hormones, and experimental data."

"To them, it's research material; to me, what is it?"

The corners of Yan Zheng's mouth curved into an arc.

"It's a buffet."

"A warehouse filled with high-value biological materials is worth more than all the trash I could pick up on the streets of Hells Kitchen in a year."

He walked back behind the counter, sat down, picked up the pen, and drew a dividing line at the bottom of the intelligence chart, writing two lines below it.

"Short-term strategy: Concealment, observation, do not expose."

"Mid-term goal: Locate the outpost, assess defensive strength, formulate a raid plan."

Yan Zheng put down the pen, looked at those two lines, and tapped his fingers three times on the tabletop.

"But these two strategies have a common prerequisite."

He opened the system panel; that dark silver Undead Knight icon was still quietly flickering in the corner.

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꐦ ˘ ‸ ˘ ˵ )

"My current military strength is not enough."

"The Stitched Brute is a melee tank, the Skeleton Soldier is reconnaissance cannon fodder."

"Facing an organized and armed laboratory, what I need is a core combat unit that can pursue, fight, and provide ranged output."

"Undead Knight."

He closed the panel, stood up, and walked toward the hidden door leading to the Underground Room.

"The all-out war between Kingpin and The Hand, according to Old Jack's intelligence yesterday, will break out in the North District by the night after tomorrow at the latest."

"Kingpin hired the Russian Gang as the vanguard, and The Hand has also transferred Elite Ninja back from out of town."

"The night after tomorrow, the entire North District will become a battlefield."

"Everyone's eyes will be fixed on that sea of fire."

Yan Zheng walked down the steps, stood in front of the workbench in the Underground Room, and looked at the Undead Knight assembly plan for which he had locked in all parameters.

"The night after tomorrow."

"That is my four-hour window."

He reached out and lightly touched the dark silver icon on the panel; the icon's fluorescence pulsed once under his fingertip.

"An 84.7 percent success rate."

"Six-to-one odds."

"Bet."

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꐦ ✧ ꒳ ✧ ˵ )

He turned around to look at the silent Brute in the corner, the gentle arc of his mouth gaining a layer of sharpness.

"Mr. Brute, the night after tomorrow you need to enter deep sleep in advance and free up all Mental Power for me."

The Brute's dual-colored phosphorus fire flickered.

"All Skeleton Soldiers will be recalled to the depths of the pipes to stand by, with all sensory links cut off."

"Within four hours, this Underground Room will be my operating table, my delivery room, and my casino."

Yan Zheng withdrew his hand from the panel, shoved it into his pocket, and his fingertips touched a cold scalpel.

"Friends from E.S.S., you continue to harvest your hearts."

"When my new colleague starts work, we'll come back to chat about whether the access control system at your outpost is sturdy or not."

He walked up the steps, his footsteps echoing between the concrete walls, sounding too light for someone about to gamble their entire fortune.

The last sentence drifted down from the top of the stairs, falling onto the Brute's silent phosphorus fire.

"By the way, Mr. Brute."

"If I lose the bet the night after tomorrow, my Mental Power will be permanently damaged, and the legion will be downsized."

"You are likely the only one who won't be laid off."

"After all, you're strong and good at moving bricks."

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꐦ ≖ ᗜ ≖ ˵ )

The Brute's phosphorus fire flickered again, not knowing if it understood or if it was just a reflex.

The light in the Underground Room went out.

The light in the second-floor bedroom of the Antique Shop turned on.

Yan Zheng lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, turning the scalpel in his hand, the blade flashing as it turned in the light of the desk lamp.

"The day after tomorrow."

"After the shots are fired."

"Either there will be one more Undead Knight."

"Or there will be five percent less Mental Power."

He tucked the scalpel back into the leather sheath under his pillow and turned to face the wall.

"But then again, even if I win the bet, I won't be able to move against E.S.S.'s outpost immediately."

"I have to first figure out how many people they have, what their armed configuration is, and whether there are Mutant guards."

"For a laboratory-grade organization, it's impossible that they only have two collectors with scalpels at the door."

"Can't rush it."

"First assemble the Knight, then chase the truck, then scout the stronghold, then launch the raid."

"One step at a time, just like assembling the undead, every bone must be placed in the most suitable position."

Yan Zheng closed his eyes, his breathing gradually becoming even.

But before his consciousness slipped into sleep, the last thought pricked into his mind like a thin needle.

"E.S.S."

"Essex."

Yan Zheng: ( ꐦ ˘ ͈ ‸ ˘ ͈ )

"No, three letters aren't enough to make Essex."

"But what if it's an abbreviation?"

"What does E stand for, what does S stand for, and what does the second S stand for?"

"...Forget it, I'll think about it tomorrow."

"My brain's CPU is already at full load tonight."

He turned over and pulled the quilt over his head.

Outside, Hells Kitchen was breathing quietly in the June night breeze, like a Beast curled up in the dark, waiting for the bloody feast destined to come the day after tomorrow.

And in the spectator seats of the feast, a young man wearing gold-rimmed glasses had already bought the most expensive ticket.

The price of the ticket was all his chips.