Chapter 12: 012, tunnel warfare! Hey! Tunnel Warfare!
Clap! Clap! Clap!
Zaire clapped his hands sharply, attracting the attention of all the children.
Squinting, he asked in a vivid tone, "Kids, do you miss your parents? Do you want to go home?"
"Yes!"
"No!"
"What does 'miss' mean?"
Eleven little heads tilted up, with eyes sparkling on their dirty faces. The children seemed to forget about the game of circling Zaire.
Zaire raised an eyebrow and nodded in satisfaction. "You are all good kids, so the Red Scarf Uncle came to rescue you. Right now, the nice police officers are on their way, and they have lots of chocolate cake in their cars!"
"But only the best-behaved kids get to eat the chocolate cake. Are you good kids?"
Instantly, the children's eyes filled with longing, and they nodded vigorously, babbling their agreement.
Zaire pointed to the warehouse door, maintaining his smile. "I have some things to do, so everyone go to the door and wait for me, okay? Remember, don't leave, or there won't be any chocolate cake. Understand?"
"Understand!"
"Chocolate! Chocolate!"
The children responded in unison, their faces brimming with joy at the thought of sweets.
Before Zaire could say more, the children took each other's hands and formed a line, walking towards the warehouse door in small, eager steps.
"Whew—"
Zaire watched their jubilant departure and couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Handling children was harder than dealing with gang members.
Zaire quickly turned and ran to the spot where the fight had just occurred.
Swoosh!
With a blank expression, Zaire pulled out the long, black military knife, shook off the blood, and then removed all the iron nails from the bodies and heads, stuffing them into his pockets. These homemade blow darts were essential for killing silently. One of the bodies had been strangled, so there was nothing to clean up there.
Zaire thought for a moment and, satisfied there were no loose ends, walked over to a nearby table. Under the bright light, stacks of cash lay invitingly. Without hesitation, he grabbed a black duffel bag from the table and began packing the money.
Consider it the gang's reimbursement for his travel expenses. After all, biking to Brooklyn had been exhausting.
A few minutes later, Zaire, with a duffel bag full of cash, pulled out Sergey's phone. He searched online for several numbers and began making calls.
"Hello, this is the New York Times…"
"There are kidnapped children in sportswear gang's Brooklyn warehouse number 10…"
Zaire deliberately lowered his voice to sound hoarse and gravelly. After receiving confirmation, he hung up and made similar anonymous calls to the Herald and the New York Post, among other media outlets.
His last call was to the police.
Zaire then picked up the heavy duffel bag and headed out.
His intricate plan was necessary because he didn't trust the NYPD, which likely had corrupt officers colluding with criminals. By involving the media, he ensured public scrutiny would protect the children from gang retaliation.
Clank!
Zaire opened the warehouse door to the children's excited cheers. Maybe most of their enthusiasm was for the promised chocolate cake, but as he saw their pure smiles and sincere eyes, his worries melted away.
--------------
At four a.m. in Brooklyn, the sky was overcast, promising a heavy rainstorm.
From a shadowy thicket five hundred meters from warehouse 10, Zaire watched as police cars with flashing lights sped towards the warehouse, feeling relieved.
He looked down at a stone in his palm and smiled. It was the children's reward for him—worthless, yet priceless.
With a final glance at the warehouse, Zaire vanished into the darkness.
Now, it had nothing to do with him.
The Red Scarf was retired.
Citizen Zaire was back.
Passing Brooklyn Bridge, Zaire discarded his knife and stone. Everything else went into the fast-flowing East River—the combat boots, the scarf, the bloody nails, the metal pipe, and the two borrowed phones.
Ideally, his clothes would have been discarded too, but unprepared and not wanting to bike home naked, Zaire decided to deal with them later.
As rain began to fall, Zaire sped home, carrying his duffel bag.
When he carefully opened his apartment door and stepped inside, the rain poured down, hammering against the windows.
"Whew—"
Completely exhausted, Zaire finally relaxed. His aunt's bedroom door was closed, indicating she was still asleep.
Zaire tiptoed across the dim living room, hiding the duffel bag in his room. Then he undressed and headed to the bathroom.
After a few minutes under the hot water, Zaire, drowsy but determined, soaked his clothes in disinfectant to erase any blood traces.
Finally, Zaire collapsed into bed, and within seconds, soft snores echoed through the room, blending with the rain's rhythm.
"…Reset!"
When Zaire awoke again, the familiar sound of the simulator rang in his ears. It was still raining heavily outside, washing away the city's grime.
He checked his phone—11:10 a.m. Though he'd only slept for six hours, he was too restless to fall back asleep.
"…"
Zaire abruptly opened his eyes and activated the simulator.
[Simulation starting—]
[Current identity: Catachan New Recruit.]
[Do you want to descend with this identity? Rejecting will assign a random descent.]
Squinting, Zaire pondered and chose to reject. He needed powerful firearms or other significant advantages… like the twenty-one enhancements of the Astartes!
With the simulator's new resource feature, Zaire needed to become stronger quickly to create a positive feedback loop. Attacking crime organizations was more suitable than robbing military warehouses.
[You have descended into the Warhammer Universe]
[Time: 433.M40]
[Location: Storm Sector · Krieg Planet]
[You set foot on the planet's surface…]
[Before you can observe your surroundings, lethal radiation penetrates every cell in your body.]
[You feel dizzy and have trouble breathing.]
[You are close to death.]
......
Give me your all stone or else i will make protein power of all the children WAHAHAHAHAHA
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