On his second day off, sunlight streamed through the apartment window, illuminating a table cluttered with soda cans, tape, and simple tools.
Mike set down his hacksaw and picked up a sliced-open Coke can, examining the cut carefully.
The Desert Eagle was incredibly powerful, but its noise was equally staggering.
Causing trouble in the city, especially on a quiet night, the gunfire would ring out like an alarm.
He needed to find a way to suppress it.
To install a real suppressor on a Desert Eagle, the muzzle would need to be modified, but Mike didn’t have the time, nor did he want to alter this system-issued weapon.
So, he chose to make a makeshift DIY suppressor.
Referencing DIY suppressor videos he found online, Mike used empty soda cans for the outer shell and filled the interior with steel wool and scouring pads from the kitchen.
Then, using tape and clamps, he secured the crude, bulky device onto the large-caliber barrel of the Desert Eagle.
The process wasn’t smooth.
After repeated adjustments, cutting, and wrapping, an entire morning passed before the clumsy-looking suppressor took shape.
Mike picked up the “suppressed” Desert Eagle, which now felt top-heavy.
He went to the bathroom, closed the door and window, and turned the radio up to maximum volume.
Amidst the blaring music, he aimed the muzzle at a brick wrapped in several layers of wet towels, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.
*Thump—!*
A dull thud rang out, much quieter than a normal Desert Eagle shot, but definitely not “silent.” It seemed only slightly quieter than a small-caliber handgun.
This sound would definitely travel far in the quiet of the night, but fortunately, it didn’t sound like a gunshot.
It sounded more like the metallic clanging of machinery running in a factory.
Mike looked at the ugly thing and ultimately decided to keep it.
Something was better than nothing.
He didn’t have the patience to build another one.
He carefully detached it and stored the Desert Eagle in the system space.
The system space could only store the Desert Eagle; this DIY gadget had to be carried on his person.
In the afternoon, Mike went back to his old trade.
Using IT techniques from his past life, he wrote a few simple scripts and hacked into government websites via “zombie computers.” After downloading some map data, he didn’t dare perform any further actions.
He was just keeping his skills sharp while checking the terrain around Brooklyn Bridge Park.
He had absolutely no intention of provoking any high-level programmers.
Although the current IT level of this world seemed average and couldn’t compare to his own from the year 2026, he felt a phantom pain whenever he thought of names like Stark and Jarvis.
Night fell.
Mike checked his DIY suppressor one last time.
He wore a deep gray hooded tracksuit, black joggers, and soft-soled shoes, his face covered by a black neck gaiter that left only his eyes exposed.
At midnight, he returned to the old five-story apartment building near the Arts District.
Avoiding any potential eyes, he climbed the fire escape on the exterior wall with the same agility and silence he had practiced during his scouting, reaching the rooftop.
The rooftop was vast, and the night wind carried a chill.
Mike crouched near the edge facing the warehouse.
Using a rope, he lowered himself from the apartment roof to the warehouse roof.
Then, he crawled forward, cautiously peeking over the edge to wait for the right moment.
During this time, he pulled up the system mall interface again.
Several cards floated in his mind: [Lockpicking Tools], [Strength +0.5], [Agility +0.5], and the glowing [Basic Stealth (15-minute limit)].
The permanent increases to [Strength] and [Agility] were tempting, but a 0.5-point boost wouldn’t help him handle the situation in front of him.
His gaze finally settled on [Basic Stealth].
This was the option he had focused on since the afternoon, and it was his final decision before the operation.
Though it was a one-time, time-limited skill, it would allow him to instantly possess “professional” capabilities despite being an amateur.
According to his calculations, five minutes should be enough to activate stealth, slide down the rope, jump onto the yard wall, leap onto the van roof, and storm inside to finish the fight.
Another five minutes would be for cleaning up the scene and retreating.
These fifteen minutes even gave him some margin for error.
Without further hesitation, he thought: “Exchange for [Basic Stealth].”
[Obtained Skill Card: Basic Stealth (15-minute limit).
Use immediately?]
“No.”
As his points hit zero, the faintly glowing card appeared in the item tab of his [Personal Status], right next to the Desert Eagle.
He took a deep breath, secured the second climbing rope he had brought to the roof, and threw the other end down.
The rope made a light friction sound against the night air and quickly fell into place.
Time passed second by second.
At nearly one in the morning, the familiar black Ford van appeared.
It signaled and slowly turned into the back alley, stopping in front of the warehouse’s rolling shutter door.
The shutter door let out a heavy groan as it opened upward…
Now!
Mike thought: “Use [Basic Stealth]!”
In an instant, a strange sensation washed over his body, as if a layer of thin gauze had been draped over his tracksuit.
The contours of his body became blurred, blending more harmoniously with the surrounding darkness.
However, Mike had no time to examine the feeling.
He grabbed the rope, kicked off the edge of the building, and rapidly slid down.
The wind whistled in his ears, but he kept his descent steady.
As he reached a height level with the warehouse yard wall, he kicked off the wall of the building and released the rope, his entire body landing on the top of the warehouse wall.
The black van was already parked in the yard.
The guards had just begun unloading the goods.
The top of the wall was not only a blind spot for the cameras but also out of the current line of sight for the two guards.
*Thud.*
The two guards and the driver were busy, and no one noticed the uninvited guest above their heads.
Mike held his breath and observed from below.
The three men moved cardboard boxes from the rear of the van into the warehouse.
The driver’s cabin was empty, and the van’s engine was still running.
Mike saw his chance.
While all three had their backs to the van, he leaped down from the three-meter-high wall, landing steadily on the roof of the van.
*Thud.* Find the original chapter at novelping.com.
The landing was precise, the sound masked by the idling engine and the footsteps of the men moving cargo.
He stayed low and quickly crawled to the side of the roof near the driver’s cabin.
This spot was a double blind spot for both the yard cameras and the guards’ vision.
He drew the Desert Eagle and quickly fitted the DIY soda-can suppressor onto the muzzle.
He could feel his own tension; his movements in tightening the bolt were stiff, but he eventually secured it.
He adjusted his stance, rising slightly to a half-kneel on the roof.
He raised the Desert Eagle and aimed at the lens flickering with a faint red light.
*Puff—!*
The Desert Eagle released a suppressed pop.
The volume was indeed much lower, sounding like a small-caliber revolver firing, but it was still quite abrupt in the silence of the night.
The camera shattered on impact, plastic housing and glass shards flying everywhere.
The two guards in the yard froze simultaneously, looking up in shock at the destroyed surveillance camera.
Only the driver reacted immediately, dropping his cargo and ducking as he ran toward the building, but it was too late.
Mike didn’t give them a chance to draw their weapons.
He rose from the top of the van, and the moment his feet hit the hood, the Desert Eagle spat fire.
*Puff—!
Puff—!
Puff—!*
Two shots accurately hit the two nearby guards.
Though the rounds only hit their chests, both men fell backward without a sound, blood spraying the ground.
Another bullet aimed at the driver was dodged, shattering a cardboard box instead.
White powder flew into the air.
Seeing he couldn’t escape, the driver drew a handgun from his waist.
Just as he turned to fire, Mike unleashed another round.
*Puff—!*
The bullet struck him in the forehead, instantly painting the wall behind him with a large splatter of blood and brain matter.
The driver fell straight back with a heavy thud.
Silence instantly returned to the yard, save for the hum of the idling van engine and the thick scent of blood beginning to permeate the air.
Mike sat on the windshield and slid down, gun in hand.
Once the white powder in the air had settled, he raised his weapon and warily entered the warehouse.
Three enemies were down, but there was at least one person left inside—the silhouette at the window who didn’t participate in the heavy lifting.
The interior of the warehouse was brightly lit, yet there was no movement.
Long rows of tables were scattered with various prohibited substances that had already been packaged.
The van had brought large bags of finished or semi-finished products from the factory; these smaller parcels, packaged during the day, were ready for sale or transport.
As the smell of blood spread through the warehouse hall, Mike quickly checked the three downed men, confirming they had completely lost all life signs.
Other than Mike himself, there was no other living person in the hall—only a dead silence.
Mike raised the Desert Eagle, aiming it at the only partitioned room inside the warehouse.