In the precinct parking lot, Mike found his patrol car.
Leaning against a weather-beaten Ford Crown Victoria was an old patrol officer with thinning hair and heavy bags under his eyes.
His uniform was somewhat wrinkled, and he was taking small sips of coffee.
“Mike?”
He looked Mike up and down, his voice raspy.
“I’m Frank Mosley, your partner.”
Before Mike could speak, he jerked his chin toward the trunk.
“Put your personal stuff in the back.
Today you’re just learning the route.
Keep your mouth shut, watch, and listen.”
“Got it, Frank.”
Mike smiled, tossed his bag into the trunk, and climbed into the passenger seat.
The interior of the car smelled even more strongly of coffee and stale cigarettes.
Frank tuned the car radio to a station playing rock and news—not loud, but clear enough.
He started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.
His driving style was steady, or perhaps just lazy.
He kept one hand on the steering wheel while the other occasionally lifted his coffee for a sip.
“See that intersection?” Frank pointed with his chin toward a slightly chaotic crossroad ahead.
“After four in the afternoon, try not to go through there alone.
It’s not that it’s incredibly dangerous, it’s just a hassle.
Those punks with nothing better to do will always find a way to give you trouble.”
Mike looked out the window.
This was a neighborhood he didn’t visit often.
Some shops were open, while others were boarded up with plywood.
Small groups of people stood on street corners chatting, their eyes warily tracking the patrol car.
Just then, a news bulletin on the radio caught his attention:
[…Stark Industries’ stock surged again today following reports of a new high-level military contract.
Meanwhile, the company’s CEO, billionaire philanthropist Tony Stark, was recently spotted by paparazzi at a private yacht party with a Hollywood starlet, looking quite intimate…]
Stark Industries?
Tony Stark?
Wait…
what?!
Mike’s pupils constricted slightly.
That name, along with the gossip about the genius inventor and playboy, acted like a key, instantly unlocking certain corners of his dual memories.
In the memories of this world, Stark was a name that felt both distant and omnipresent—military contracts, high technology, constant presence in the tabloids…
But in his past life, this was clearly the Iron Man of the Marvel Universe!
He had originally thought he had just been reborn in an ordinary world similar to his previous one.
But now it seemed the waters of this “parallel world” were far deeper and much more dangerous than he had imagined.
Captain America, the Avengers, Spidey…
those names associated with Marvel plots suddenly surfaced in his mind.
“We aren’t superheroes from a comic book, rookie.”
Frank’s voice broke Mike’s train of thought.
He sounded as flat as if he were discussing the weather.
He had clearly heard the broadcast too and let out a snort.
“Look at that.
That’s a man from another world.
A guy like Stark spends his time in a Manhattan penthouse drinking champagne and chasing girls.
Us?
We’re in Brooklyn smelling garbage and dealing with drunks and thugs.”
He paused, continuing his previous lecture.
“Of course, if you see something bad happening, you deal with it.
But you need to know when to turn your head and pretend you didn’t see a thing.
Especially you, kid.
Don’t go trying to be a hero.
Getting home safe is more important than anything else.
Around here, ‘getting off work in one piece is a win.’ A gang’s bounty has more teeth than our arrest warrants.
As long as we aren’t dirty cops, we’ve done right by the badge.”
Hearing this, Mike’s heart sank slightly, but he kept his expression neutral and simply nodded.
Although Frank’s words sounded like the talk of a slacker, they also illustrated just how bad the security was in this area.
The car circled through several blocks.
Like performing a routine chore, Frank used concise language to point out several locations that required special attention: certain 24-hour convenience stores prone to theft, a small park where teenagers gathered and trouble often brewed, and several abandoned buildings suspected of being drug dens.
As they passed a newsstand, Mike caught a glimpse of a blurry photo and headline on a tabloid front page that seemed to mention “Stark” and a “New Flame.”
“Most of the time, patrolling is just like this,” Frank summarized.
“Drive, look, listen.
Respond to dispatch.
Deal with neighbor disputes, domestic violence, helping old ladies find their cats—crap like that.”
“Uh…” Mike pointed toward the radio, which was emitting faint static-filled chatter.
The corners of Frank’s mouth twitched into a smile.
“I turned the volume down.
We’re ignoring it today.
You being a rookie gives me a legitimate excuse to slack off.
After all, taking a greenhorn to a scene is an invitation for accidents.
I’m doing it for the honor of the force, haha!”
“Alright, that’s about it.
There aren’t many exciting car chases or shootouts, at least not on the surface…
If you run into a gang war, stay far away.
That’s not our business.
Keeping your life is what matters most.”
Mike nodded, his gaze scanning the cluttered Brooklyn streetscape.
His attention shifted back to the countdown in his mind: 13 hours, 22 minutes, and 17 seconds.
If he had been passively accepting the system task before, he was now feeling somewhat fortunate.
It was a good thing he had brought a Plot System with him.
According to transmigration tropes, the points rewarded for completing tasks could likely be used to buy items or strengthen himself.
By completing system tasks and constantly growing stronger, he could face the various dangers of this world and perhaps even experience an exciting and marvelous life of his own.
With that in mind, he had already mapped out a plan for the near future:
By day, he would play the role of a cautious, quiet rookie patrolman, following the old-timer to learn the hidden darkness of this world.
By night, he would shed the uniform that symbolized justice and complete system tasks to empower himself.
After his shift ended, Mike grabbed a bite at a fast-food joint and returned to his messy, cold apartment.
He changed his clothes and headed back out.
Wearing a hoodie and a baseball cap, he took a seemingly casual walk through the surrounding blocks to familiarize himself with the environment.
Based on the information provided by the system, he confirmed the location of the “Quick Auto Repair” on Maple Street in advance, along with the detailed surrounding terrain—specifically, the locations of any potential surveillance cameras.
The repair shop’s backyard was filled with discarded tires and rusted car parts.
It had only one narrow entrance and terrible lighting at night.
There were no active businesses or residents nearby; it was indeed a perfect spot for transactions that couldn’t see the light of day.
By the same token, it was also a perfect spot for robbing the robbers.
As night deepened, the streets were cleared of normal pedestrians, leaving only small clusters of thugs lurking in certain corners.
Mike adjusted his cap and kept his head down as he headed back to his apartment.
In this dangerous world, the somewhat “evil” initial task given by the system had instead become his source of confidence and hope.