Nolan closes his eyes.
The truck speeds up, drives straight. The truck stops and accelerates. The truck turns left, turns right...
After a minute, Nolan stops trying to morize the route. Apparently, the driver is overly cautious. Every ti they drive a certain distance, they circle around again and again, as if avoiding tracking or police inspection.
Twenty minutes later, the van enters Hell's Kitchen. It passes through several dilapidated and desolate streets before finally driving into a factory. An old, faded sign reading "Fatzi Auto Repair Shop" hangs above the entrance.
The van stops suddenly. Imdiately after, the door is opened by soone.
At the sa ti, the man with the thick Slavic accent speaks near Nolan's ear. "Mr. Nolan, get out of the car!"
Nolan, wearing the black hood, acts like an unconcerned passerby. He stands up slowly and steps out of the vehicle. His movents are leisurely and casual, showing no panic whatsoever at being kidnapped.
Both feet hit the ground. Nolan, whose hands remain unbound, removes his black hood and squints as he surveys the surrounding environnt.
This appears to be an auto repair shop, long abandoned. Even the oil stains on the ground are covered with a layer of dust. But there are still so repair tools covered by tarps piled in the corner, along with several scrapped engines—reminders of past glory.
Not far from Nolan, a bald white man chatting with his accomplices apparently notices the hostage's unusual behavior. The bald man's eyes flash with viciousness. He curses at the top of his lungs, "Damn it! Who told you to take off your hood?"
Before he finishes speaking, the bald white man steps forward, seemingly intending to teach Nolan an unforgettable lesson.
However, the gun-toting Slavic man also jumps out of the van. He restrains the grumpy bald man. "Joseph, forget it. He's being very cooperative!"
Nolan, squinting, takes note of the Slavic man's height. Much shorter than normal people. Even wearing heavy height-increasing shoes, he's only about 1.6 ters tall.
In front of the truck door, the short man with the Slavic accent shifts his stance. He stares at the expressionless Nolan and says very politely, "Mr. Nolan, please co with ..."
Nolan's brow furrows slightly as he glances at the scattered figures around the factory. A heavy look of disappointnt settles on his face.
"Is this all the tracksuit gang has?"
Even counting the driver who just opened the door and got out, there are only four people in the factory.
The short man, quickly alerted by Nolan's words, raises his gun. Not far away stands the bald white man, and behind him, a burly black man who just stood up gripping a machete!
"Hey, kid! We're not so bullshit gangsters! We're the professionals they hired at high prices to deal with problems!"
The bald white man suddenly grins, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Then he cracks his neck a few tis. His entire body strides forward as he opens a pair of thick arms and lunges at Nolan!
"Professionals?"
Nolan shakes his head slightly, regret on his face.
Suddenly, his entire body drops low, back bending. The taut muscles throughout his body release in an instant, and extrely powerful explosive force surges forth!
Nolan's feet slip and step. In the blink of an eye, he passes by the bald white man charging toward him!
He takes advantage of the brief mont when the bald man's eyes widen in shock. Moving his steps fluidly, he positions himself behind his opponent!
At the sa ti, the dull sound of gunfire suddenly rings out. Blood splashes everywhere!
However, the one who screams is the bald white man, used as a human shield by Nolan!
For a mont, the short man who fired the gun seems shocked by Nolan's swiftness and the fact that he accidentally injured his own man. This causes him to enter a state of panic.
"He... he can dodge bullets!"
For now, Nolan can't actually resist bullets. However, he's been strengthened by two simulations experience. Both his explosive power and reaction speed far exceed the level of ordinary people!
Besides, he's not dodging bullets. He's dodging the enemy's muzzle turning.
Everything happens in a flash of lightning.
The bald white man screams, clutching his shot shoulder and staggering. But Nolan had already moved the mont the gunshot rang out.
He suddenly pivots his body and stomps hard on the ground with his feet! Like a beast flying close to the ground, he rushes toward the short man, the biggest threat in the room!
In the blink of an eye, Nolan is in front of him!
The sll of tobacco on rapid breath, bloodshot whites of eyes, and the muzzle turning again!
The expressionless Nolan mobilizes all his senses to detect every piece of information about the enemy!
The short man has no ti to react before Nolan grabs his wrist. The muscles on Nolan's arms bulge, tendons standing out like cables!
With a crisp snapping sound, the short man's wrist holding the gun is instantly twisted, bones and tendons broken!
Imdiately after, before the man can even register the pain of the fracture, Nolan, eyes cold, raises his foot and kicks the short man's knee!
In an instant, the man's face flushes red, then turns deathly pale!
At the sa ti, Nolan snatches the pistol from the short man's hand and lets him collapse to the ground.
Then Nolan's hair stands on end. He whirls around again, running head-on into the burly black man who has already charged forward!
The burly man's eyes are wide with fury. A roar erupts from his mouth. The sharp machete flashes with cold light as it strikes at Nolan's head!
However, Nolan easily turns his shoulders, twisting sideways to avoid the sharp edge of the machete.
Then he suddenly crouches low.
"That's not how you use a knife!"
Nolan, with a stern look in his eyes, suddenly raises the gun muzzle and pulls the trigger continuously.
Bang bang bang!
In an instant, hot bullets penetrate the outstretched arm of the burly black man!
The man suddenly lets out a scream. His fingers lose their grip on the knife handle, and the sharp machete falls!
Nolan's free left hand catches the sharp machete in mid-air and holds it horizontally before him!
His crouching body leaps forward. The sharp blade of the machete embeds itself into the entire abdon of the burly black man!
After a brief pause, the sound of blood splattering echoes around the factory. The burly black man is disemboweled!
Nolan seems to have just accomplished sothing trivial. Expressionless, he quickly stands up without any joy. He throws the machete violently in the direction of the driver!
Gunshots, shouts, broken bones, and the wet crackling sound of internal organs hitting the ground—the driver feels endless panic as he falls into the abyss.
Seeing the body of the burly black man gradually falling to the ground with a loud thud, the driver with dull eyes subconsciously reaches for the gun tucked behind his waist.
Unfortunately, it's too late.
Because a sharp machete has co roaring through the air!
The sharp edge shatters on impact, but it embeds itself deeply between the driver's eyes!
The driver's stiff body falls to the ground.
Nolan, whose face is filled with murderous intent, slowly exhales and relaxes sowhat.
It takes less than a minute. Two enemies killed, two wounded...
And he's only just finished warming up!
Nolan takes a deep breath of the blood-scented air. Then he slowly walks over to the wounded n who are still struggling and wailing.
"First question: How did you find ?"
Nolan asks with narrowed eyes.
Alas, nothing but groans of pain. He doesn't get any answers.
The bald white man who was shot in the shoulder seems accustod to pain, or perhaps irritated by Nolan's casual tone. Curled up on the ground, he suddenly raises his head. A pair of resentnt-filled eyes stare at Nolan viciously as he grits his teeth.
"It's you! It must be you! You are—"
Nolan, expressionless, pulls the trigger.
In an instant, the bald white man's mouth explodes, teeth flying out! A large amount of blood pours into his trachea, causing his eyes to roll back as he falls into suffocation.
"Do you need to repeat the question?"
Nolan, blinking calmly, suddenly turns his head and looks at the short man lying on the ground, unable to move. His expression appears sincere.
"No! No need at all!"
Staring at the young man before him who looks like a murderous maniac, the short man, sweating profusely, shakes his head and shouts desperately, regardless of the injuries to his hands and feet.
"The tracksuit gang gave us a list!"
"As long as soone matches the characteristics of the suspect known by the police, we follow and analyze them according to the information on the list... until we find the real culprit who killed Vladimir and caused huge loss of profits!"
"And they made an offer we couldn't refuse!"
"Tsk, not only is the paynt is huge, but the person who ca up with this whole plan is also a genius."
Nolan squints and can't help but offer praise, though his tone seems full of ridicule.
Let's not even get into how many groups, both lawful and unlawful, would be furious if they started kidnapping hostages in the middle of a dia frenzy and increased police pressure.
They don't even seem to have a plan for what happens after they catch the supposed culprit.
If Nolan weren't actually the killer, what then?
Did they expect a kidnapped hostage to just sit there quietly and cooperate?
For people calling themselves "professionals," they are acting remarkably unprofessional.
"We were only following the employer's orders. By the age list, you were the youngest of the targets..."
The short man speaks as if he can read Nolan's mind. Regret and reluctance flicker across his face, and he forces a bitter smile.
"We only ant to use you as practice, to run through the procedures. We didn't expect—"
"You didn't expect God to smile on you and that you'd be the one to find the target first, did you?" Nolan interrupts, eyebrow rising, voice flat.
His tone goes cold. "If you want to keep breathing, tell where the tracksuit gang's headquarters is now and I'll let you live."
The man swallows. "It's in Hell's Kitchen, in the long-abandoned Treasure Mall..."
Having apparently seen the hope of survival, the short man's face becos much more ruddy.
He answers with surprising calm. "Because the NYPD and the public are hunting them. To protect their profits, the leaders decided to round up the core mbers. If sothing happens, they can hold out for a while."
"You sound so eager to cooperate, why should I trust you?" Nolan's gaze pins the short man; his eyes are sharp. "Besides, isn't betraying clients taboo in your line of work?"
"It's business. This was just a bad business decision," the man snaps. "If I tell you, I might live. If I don't, I'm dead. I trust you won't make this public."
"Maybe we could work together later," he adds, forcing a smile. "I could be your eyes and ears in the underworld."
He props himself up and looks Nolan straight in the face, speaking slowly and earnestly.
Just when the short man thinks that Nolan's silence ans he's been swayed, the sound of gunfire suddenly rings out!
A bloody hole appears on the short man's forehead! He moves his lips silently, and the light in his eyes dims instantly.
"You talk too much."
Nolan makes his final comnt.
Then he flips his palm. The pistol with few bullets remaining is completely absorbed, becoming a resource for the simulator.
[Currently consumable cooling ti: Six days and six hours (one hundred fifty hours)]
Nolan glances at the simulator. There are still nine hours before the next simulation.
Nolan decisively consus the ti from resource conversion and ends the simulator's cooldown.
However, he doesn't enter the simulation imdiately. Instead, he turns around and cleans up the traces of battle in the factory.
After Nolan searches the driver and finds another gun, he doesn't choose to absorb it. Instead, he stuffs it into his pocket.
Nolan can't guarantee the dead professionals told the truth. But he doesn't plan to wait for opportunities.
He wants to uproot the entire tracksuit gang! Cut the grass and eliminate the roots!
If they don't know when to stop and aren't afraid to die, they'll end up as corpses.
So Nolan needs weapons. A lot of weapons!
Unfortunately, when Nolan searches the entire factory, he finds this place truly is abandoned. There's no hidden gun cache, no other equipnt that could be used for killing.
Except for a pile of oil-stained car repair tools in the corner.
Frowning slightly, Nolan turns on the simulator directly. He's ready to try his luck.
He hopes the Emperor will bless him. Even if it's just an ordinary Astra Militarum laser pistol, the power far exceeds current gunpowder weapons!
[Simulation starting...]
[Current identity: Catachan recruit, Krieg Grenadier]
[Please select the identity to descend first]
[If you refuse, you will descend randomly]
[Identity selected: Krieg Grenadier]
[Simulation starting...]
[You have descended into the Warhamr universe]
[Location: Unknown]
[You set foot on the surface of the planet]
[You find yourself in a city where bloody sacrifices are taking place]
[Before you can pick up nearby weapons, you are surrounded by a group of cultists in purple robes]
[You attack with your bare hands, but are squeezed tightly by more cultists surrounding you. Soon you can't even move a finger]
[You fall into an unsolvable dilemma and try to bite your tongue to commit suicide, offering your loyalty to the Emperor]
[You suddenly find with horror that your consciousness can't even control a single muscle]
["The Lord of Change wants to see you," the cultists with purple eyes say in unison]
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