81: Chapter 81 Brooklyn Scouting

After the desk lamp was turned off, only that line of chalk writing on the wall remained in the Underground Room, weighing on Yan Zheng's mind.

Brooklyn.

"X-23, wait for me to come and collect the goods."

August 16th, 9:47 AM.

Yan Zheng stood by the subway door carrying a black canvas bag; he had traded his dark gray suit for a light-colored shirt and an old jacket, but he hadn't removed the gold-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose, and he held a warehouse rental manual in his hand.

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꐦ ㅍ _ ㅍ ˵ )

"Looking for a warehouse to rent, checking out the chemical plant on the way, a clean identity, and a reason that's sufficiently cliché."

He flipped open the manual, the edges of the pages already creased where he had marked them, with several industrial storage sites near the Red Hook District circled in blue ink.

The fluorescent lights in the carriage were pale, fragmented light falling onto the train windows and being sliced into grids by the shadows of the tunnel; the glass surface was smudged with oil and old scratches, and the cold light flickered from bright to dim, just enough to cover the calculations in his eyes.

In the distance, the wheels ground over the tracks, a dull, continuous sound pushing up against the bottom of the carriage; the passengers' hushed conversations mixed with the static noise of the station announcement system, creating short echoes in the enclosed space that, if listened to for too long, made one count their heartbeat into the rhythm.

The air smelled of sweat, old newspapers, the sourness of coffee dregs, and the metallic heat rising when the subway braked.

Yan Zheng's gloves pressed against the canvas bag's shoulder strap, the fabric rough, and the subway's air conditioning hit the back of his hands; the humidity was low, his back leaned against the metal plate by the door, the slight vibrations traveled down his shoulder blades, and the soles of his feet adjusted his center of gravity with the swaying of the carriage.

He bit into an energy bar, which was dry upon entry; oat crumbs clung to his tongue first, followed by the dull sweetness of syrup, and after swallowing, a powdery taste remained in his throat, his stomach giving a tiny response.

Yan Zheng: ( ꐦ ˘ ͈ ꈊ ˘ ͈ )

"Tastes bad, but it's cheap, and the cost control for the disguise is excellent."

A young Black man wearing headphones sitting nearby glanced up at him, then lowered his head to look at his phone again.

Yan Zheng folded the energy bar wrapper and stuffed it into his pocket, not continuing to talk to himself.

At 10:28 AM, he walked out of the subway station.

The industrial style of the Red Hook District was harder than that of Hells Kitchen.

Most of the factory exterior walls were mottled, the brick surfaces tinged with old red and gray-white; sunlight pressed down through the cracks in the clouds, blinding in the bright spots and dark in the shadows, while the matte finish on the iron doors peeled away, and rust trails crawled down along the rivets.

From the direction of the docks came the beeping of a reversing truck, sharp and intermittent, and in the distance, there was the sound of a forklift's chain lifting, dense and short; the nearby streets were empty, and any engine sound would echo halfway around between the factory walls.

The wind was mixed with the smell of diesel, the salty fishy scent of seawater, and the medicinal smell that never dissipated around old chemical plants.

Yan Zheng walked along the side of the street, holding the rental manual in his hand, stopping at intersections to glance at the street signs.

He did not approach the target chemical plant directly.

First, he circled the perimeter.

Half an hour later, he stopped at the street corner on the west side of the target area, looking up at the chemical plant across the way that had been shut down for many years.

The factory perimeter wall was about three meters high, topped with barbed wire, the walls painted with faded white paint, and many warning signs were hung up.

"Hazardous Chemicals, No Entry."

"Trespassers assume all consequences."

"Private Property, No Photography."

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꐦ ≖ ω ≖ ˵ )

"The more warning signs they hang, the more it shows that they're afraid of people seeing what's inside."

He lowered his head to flip through the rental manual, his real line of sight scanning the factory entrance by using the reflection in his lenses.

The main iron gate was closed, and the windows of the guard booth were covered with dark film, making it impossible to see inside from the outside.

The parking lot was on the north side of the factory area, and three white box trucks could be seen over the perimeter wall.

The bodies were clean, the tires were black and shiny, and the tread wear was even.

Yan Zheng stood on the side of the street, taking out his phone to pretend to make a call.

"Hello, I'd like to inquire about warehouse rentals here in the Red Hook District, preferably near the docks, with an area of over two thousand square feet."

On the other end of the phone was an automated voice customer service system he had found in advance.

"Yes, I'm currently in the area looking at sites."

"Can the lot next to the chemical plant be rented?"

"It's been shut down for many years?"

"Understood, hazardous chemical residue, not recommended for entry."

He hung up the phone and walked slowly past the factory's main entrance.

There was someone in the guard booth.

Two sets of breathing.

One was very steady, while the other was eating; the chewing sound was faint, yet he still caught a little of it through the glass and walls.

Yan Zheng's original body did not have the abilities of Daredevil, but after the system enhancements, his ability to identify his immediate environment was much stronger than that of an ordinary person.

Under the eaves on the outside of the guard booth, there was a camera.

Not a civilian product.

The camera housing was camouflaged, hidden inside a broken light fixture cover, yet the black glass lens was brand new and shiny.

Yan Zheng: ( ꐦ Ծ ‸ Ծ )

"A shut-down chemical plant equipped with military-grade cameras; the boss is quite particular about environmental protection."

He walked to the entrance of an old warehouse opposite and pretended to check the rental advertisements.

Looking from there, there was another camera at the southeast corner of the perimeter wall, hidden next to a drainpipe.

There was also a reflective point behind a broken window on the second floor of the north factory building.

The fourth one was on the inside of the main gate, covering the parking lot at an angle.

At least four.

Those were only the four he could see.

The ones he couldn't see were the interesting ones.

At 2:00 PM, Yan Zheng sat down in a nearby small diner, ordered a hot dog and coffee, and wrote his observations into his notebook.

"Someone at the main gate, no patrols seen."

"Three vehicles, box trucks, frequently used."

"Four cameras, covering the main gate, parking lot, southeast corner of the wall, and the second floor of the factory building."

"Excessive warning signs, the disguise leans towards chemical contamination."

After he finished writing, he looked up; outside the window, the sunlight was blocked by clouds, the street color deepened from light gray to dark gray, the light spots on the glass dissipated, and the oil film on the diner table gave off a dull yellow luster.

The waiter walked over carrying coffee.

"Sir, do you need anything else?"

Yan Zheng raised his hand to steady the cup, the ceramic walls warm, and there was light-colored foam on the surface of the coffee.

"No, thank you."

The waiter looked at the rental manual he had spread out.

"You want to rent a warehouse around here?"

"I have that intention."

"Don't rent near the chemical plant; that place is very strange."

Yan Zheng stopped writing.

"How so?"

The waiter tucked the tray under his arm and gestured with his chin toward the window.

"That factory claims to have been shut down for over a decade, but there are always trucks coming and going in the middle of the night."

"The Police don't care?"

"No one calls the Police, so who would care?"

"What are those trucks transporting?"

"Can't see; the gates close quickly, and the windows are black."

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꐦ ✧ ω ✧ ˵ )

"Thank you, you've been a big help."

The waiter shrugged.

"If you really want to rent a warehouse, head east toward the docks; it's cheaper over there."

Yan Zheng placed some change next to the cup.

"I'll take your advice."

11:35 PM.

Yan Zheng returned to the Red Hook District, having changed into a black jacket with his cap brim pulled low, standing in the shadows of an abandoned loading platform three hundred meters away from the chemical plant.

Two Reinforced Skeleton Soldiers had already entered the perimeter area from the entrance of the underground sewer.

They did not fully reveal themselves.

Each Skeleton Soldier had dismantled part of its skeleton, retaining only the crawling structure, moving close to the ground between the drainage ditches and weeds.

In the Mental Link, two green pulses moved one after the other, stable and quiet.

Yan Zheng: ( ꐦ ˘ ͈ ω ˘ ͈ )

"Number Four, take the east wall."

"Number Five, take the outer edge of the north parking lot."

"Don't approach the main gate; scout the perimeter first."

The night wind swept across the loading platform, bringing the damp smell of river water and the scent of scrap iron.

The concrete surface was rough, moisture seeping out from the cracks, making the soles of his shoes feel slippery; in the distance, the metal arm of a dock crane rotated occasionally, the low hum of its motor stretching out through the empty streets.

The Number Four Skeleton Soldier approached the east wall.

Images were transmitted back through the Mental Link.

The grass inside the wall was messy, but there were thin wires beneath it.

Infrared sensors.

The spacing was irregular, yet the positions were perfectly set at the height of a person's legs.

Yan Zheng drew a line in his notebook.

"Infrared, inside the east wall."

Number Five approached the parking lot from the north side.

The ground looked like ordinary concrete, but there were actually a few spots that were slightly darker in color.

Pressure sensors.

The disguise was done well, the edges were neatly finished, and there were no signs of recent handiwork.

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꐦ ㅍ ꒳ ㅍ ˵ )

"At this defense level, even that group of ninjas from The Hand would have to pay a parking fee first if they came here."

Number Four stopped when it reached the southeast corner.

There was a drainage outlet there.

An iron grate was welded to the outside of the drainage outlet; the grate was severely rusted, and two iron bars at the bottom had already come loose.

Water flowed out from inside, the volume was small, carrying the smell of disinfectant and the odor of decaying protein.

Yan Zheng's expression finally turned serious.

The system panel lit up in the corner of his vision.

[Material Perception triggered.]

[Direction: Underground.]

[Biological signals: Multiple sources.]

[Status: Living, weak, continuously fluctuating.]

Yan Zheng: ( ꐦ ✧ ⌓ ✧ )

"Found it."

He crouched on the edge of the loading platform, his fingertips pressing against the paper of his notebook.

"It's not a sample cabinet."

"It's a live subject containment area."

The Number Four Skeleton Soldier inserted its bone finger into the gap of the iron grate, gently touching the loose spot.

Fragments of rust fell into the water, the sound fine and faint; clear up close, but almost inaudible from a distance.

The inside of the pipe was narrow and damp, the pipe walls covered with old grime and chemical residue, the smell pungent.

But it led underground.

Yan Zheng closed his notebook and stood up.

"Retreat."

The two Skeleton Soldiers retreated along the original path, without touching the infrared rays or stepping on the pressure zones.

12:19 AM.

As Yan Zheng left the Red Hook District, one of the box trucks on the north side of the factory area flashed its headlights.

Someone walked out of the guard booth, holding a walkie-talkie.

He didn't look back.

In the Mental Link, Number Four transmitted the final segment of sensory echo.

Deep underground, someone tapped on the metal wall three times.

Very lightly.

After three taps, five seconds passed.

Then three more taps.

A call for help, or a secret code.

Yan Zheng stopped in the shadows at the street corner, his fingertips rubbing the cover of his notebook.

"The E.S.S. laboratory is right beneath my feet."

"And the goods inside... aren't dead yet."