Mike finished his day shift and returned home.
After taking a shower and changing into casual clothes, he headed down to the basement.
Sarah had wanted to meet up, but he made an excuse and declined.
Women weren’t nearly as fun as guns.
On his workbench sat the Stark 107 pistol, right next to the suppressor he hadn’t finished the night before.
Mike picked up the handgun, feeling its weight.
The build quality was definitely superior to a Glock.
He pulled a simple manual tap set from the workbench drawer, which included a 9mm x 0.5 tap and a matching tap wrench.
Lacking precision power tools, he relied entirely on his sense of touch.
He set up the hand drill with a small bit, placed his square within easy reach, and continued yesterday’s work.
Once the pilot hole was ready, he applied a bit of cutting oil to the tap, aligned the tip with the hole, and began to slowly and steadily turn the wrench.
After nearly half an hour of repetitive work, a standard thread about 8mm long was cut into the outer edge of the muzzle.
He used a brush and a can of compressed air to meticulously clear away all metal shavings, ensuring the threads were clean.
He tested the fit by screwing a standard aluminum alloy suppressor interface onto the muzzle, then used extra-fine diamond abrasive strips to deburr and polish the threads.
Two hours later, Mike reassembled the Stark 107 and placed it on the workbench with a look of satisfaction.
Returning to the living room, he opened his laptop and checked the teen forum.
The posts by “Shadow Watcher” had been wiped clean, but Mike’s previous comments were still there.
Several new replies had been added.
One user wrote: “OP better watch out, the Blood Angels might have seen this.”
Another said: “Something definitely went down on West 41st last night.
I live nearby and heard the shots.”
There was also a newly registered user with a name that was just a string of random letters.
The comment was only a single sentence: “Meddling will get you killed very fast.”
Mike let out a disdainful scoff.
Just as he was about to log off, he noticed he was being tracked again.
He traced it back and easily found the registered forum ID—it was “Shadow Watcher” again.
“What the hell?!”
Mike’s brow furrowed.
He switched between several proxy bots and began a reverse trace.
A few minutes later, perhaps realizing Mike was onto them, the other party vanished without a trace.
However, their technique was amateurish.
Mike had already pinpointed Shadow Watcher’s location—New York!
Mike leaned back in his chair, lit a cigarette, and took two drags.
Which side was this person on?
Could it just be a bored hacker?
“Meddling will get you killed very fast.”
Mike glanced at the last comment again.
It was a clear warning; members of the gang were definitely monitoring this forum.
He expertly logged out, cleared his history, and shut down the computer.
He didn’t plan on taking action tonight.
With the used car and the Green Street hideout gone, the Blood Angels would certainly be on high alert, perhaps even preparing for a counterattack.
As for the other new hideout recorded in the ledger, Mike had no intention of checking it out yet, wanting to avoid being spotted.
However, he didn’t expect…
3:50 AM.
Mike’s phone rang.
The piercing ringtone was jarring in the darkness.
Mike jolted awake, struggling out of bed and fumbling for his phone.
The screen showed Tom Harkins.
“S-Sergeant…” Mike’s brain was still foggy.
“Mike, get to the precinct now,” Sergeant Harkins’ voice was urgent.
“Emergency situation.”
Mike glanced at the time.
“Now?
It’s not even four…”
“Don’t give me that.
Multiple gang wars broke out.
At least twelve dead.
All officers are reporting in immediately.”
Mike was instantly awake.
“Where?”
“The Buffalo Gang.
It looks like the Blood Angels.
They used automatic weapons; the scene is a bloodbath.” Sergeant Harkins paused.
“Frank isn’t picking up his phone.
Go to his place and pick him up.”
Mike quickly donned his uniform, checked his gear, and rushed out the door.
The streets were deserted, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the silence.
No answer.
Just as Mike was about to call him, the door swung open.
Frank walked out, already in uniform, clutching his silver thermos.
“I woke up when I heard Sergeant Harkins’ call, I just didn’t pick up,” Frank said, his complexion looking poor.
“Let’s go.”
The two got into the car, and Mike started the engine, heading toward the precinct.
“Do you know what happened?” Mike asked.
Frank took a sip of tea and shook his head.
“Gang war, I assume.
Did Sergeant Harkins give you any details?”
“He said at least twelve dead.
The Blood Angels did it.
They used automatic weapons.”
Frank was silent for a few seconds before cursing.
“Damn it!
Those lunatics.”
The precinct parking lot was already full of police cruisers, their red and blue lights flashing and illuminating the night sky.
Mike parked the car, and he and Frank hurried into the lobby.
Officers were running back and forth, and radios were chirping.
Tom Harkins stood at the dispatch desk, pointing at a map.
Seeing them, Tom Harkins waved them over.
“You two, get to the intersection of 7th Avenue and King’s Road,” Sergeant Harkins ordered.
“There’s a Buffalo Gang bar there called ‘Bison Horn.’ The Blood Angels hit it three hours ago, killing three security guards and two patrons.
The scene is secure, but we need patrol officers to guard it until the detectives and forensics get there.”
“Understood,” Frank nodded.
“Be careful,” Sergeant Harkins added.
“There might be stray gunmen.
The precinct’s support teams are on the way, but with four locations hit simultaneously, it’s hard to say how long you’ll have to hold the line.”
Mike and Frank returned to the cruiser, hit the sirens, and sped toward 7th Avenue.
In the pre-dawn hours of Brooklyn, sirens wailed from every direction.
Mike saw at least three police cars passing from different directions, all with their lights flashing.
“This is going to be trouble,” Frank said.
“A gang war of this scale…
the media will be all over it tomorrow like vultures.”
Mike didn’t respond.
He gripped the steering wheel, his gaze scanning both sides of the street.
The Blood Angels’ moves were crazier than he had anticipated.
Four locations hit simultaneously with automatic weapons—this was no ordinary gang conflict.
And in a way, he had been the one to trigger it.
Attacking both sides, framing them for the hits.
Mike suddenly remembered something.
He summoned the system in his mind.
Sure enough, the system notifications had updated last night!
Unfortunately, he was driving and didn’t dare distract himself.
He temporarily closed the system interface and drove the patrol car onto 7th Avenue.
The intersection ahead was already blocked by two police cars, with yellow caution tape cordoning off the area.
A few residents wrapped in bathrobes stood outside the tape, peering in with terror.
Mike pulled to a stop.
Frank got out first, greeted his colleagues, ducked under the tape, and headed toward the bar called “Bison Horn.”
A body lay at the entrance—a bald man in a black T-shirt with several bullet holes in his chest.
The blood had already congealed into a dark red.
A patrol officer stood at the door and nodded as they approached.
“It’s worse inside,” the officer said, his face pale.
“All close-range kills.
There’s a bartender behind the counter who was turned into a sieve.”
Frank patted him on the shoulder.
“Tough break.
When do you guys rotate out?”
“Now!
We’re on the night shift; we’re barely holding it together!”
The officer looked relieved and quickly departed.
Mike didn’t go inside.
He took a glance from the doorway.
The lights were on inside, and the air was thick with the heavy scent of blood and gunpowder.
Spent casings were scattered across the floor, and the liquor cabinet behind the bar had been shattered, glass and alcohol pooling together on the floor.
Outside the Bison Horn.
The caution tape swayed slightly in the morning breeze. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
The red and blue lights seemed less blinding as the sky began to brighten.
Mike leaned against the hood of the cruiser, watching as the forensics team began zip-lining bodies into black bags.
Frank went to the corner convenience store to get coffee.
The shop was still open; the owner was a brave old man.
Mike’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the hood.
He looked like he was daydreaming, but in reality, his mind was focused on the system notifications:
[Ding!
Plot Mission “Gang Homicide” Completed…]
[Detected that the host has successfully incited an all-out conflict between the Buffalo Gang and the Blood Angels.
A large-scale war has occurred between both sides, resulting in significant casualties and property damage.
Objective complete.]
[Current Mission Rating: A]
[Reward Issued: 500 Points]
[Ding!
Detected that the host’s mission rating reached Grade A.
Special Item Reward: Space Expansion Card (0.5 cubic meters) × 1]
Mike’s breathing hitched for a moment.
500 points!
And…
a Space Card?
His consciousness focused on the new card hovering in the system space.
The card emitted a soft silver glow, featuring a pattern of an infinity symbol nested within a cube.
[Universal Space Expansion Card (0.5 cubic meters)]
Effect: Upon use, permanently expands the system’s universal storage space by 0.5 cubic meters.
Note: A must-have for transmigrators.
The top choice for looting, hiding contraband, and disposing of evidence.
Although it’s a bit small, you can always squeeze in more “surprises.”
Mike almost laughed out loud.
Here it was!
Finally!
The standard-issue system space for every transmigrator!
Even though it was only 0.5 cubic meters—not even enough to fit a large suitcase—it was a qualitative leap from nothing to something!
Previously, the system space could only store the system-issued Desert Eagle.
Now, this 0.5 cubic meters should be universal space!
He suppressed the urge to use the card immediately and continued checking the system shop.
With 500 points credited, the shop had indeed refreshed:
[Skill Card: Basic Firearms Mastery (Time Limit: 60 minutes)] Exchange Points: 200 Effect: Master basic firearm shooting and maintenance techniques.
Increases shooting accuracy and reload speed.
Note: Cramming at the last minute is better than not having a leg to stand on.
[Item Card: Suppressed HK MP5 Submachine Gun (Infinite Ammo)] Exchange Points: 400 Effect: Summons an HK MP5 suppressed submachine gun with no records and no way to be traced.
Supplies infinite ammunition.
Note: Remember to wear earplugs when you start spraying—even though it’s quiet enough as it is.
[Attribute Point: Agility +1] Exchange Points: 100
[Attribute Point: Spirit +1] Exchange Points: 100
[Attribute Point: Strength +1] Exchange Points: 100
Mike’s gaze lingered on the MP5 card for a few seconds.
The MP5, a classic suppressed submachine gun, a masterpiece for close-quarters combat.
Infinite ammo, untraceable—system products were always top-tier.
But 400 points…
He remembered the automatic weapons the Blood Angel gunmen used last night.
Based on the shell casings, they were likely AK or AR variants.
One could be picked up on the black market for three to five thousand dollars, and ammo wasn’t hard to find.
The MP5 was great, but 400 points was equivalent to four attribute points, or two skill cards, or…
saving up for more specialized abilities later.
“Not worth it,” Mike shook his head internally.
He currently had the Desert Eagle (infinite ammo), the Glock 19 (custom suppressed), and the Stark 107 (suppressed military version).
Plus, he could seize weapons from gang hideouts in the future.
His firepower was sufficient.
If he truly needed automatic weapons, he could wait until the next mission to get some black money and buy them on the street.
America didn’t have much of some things, but it had plenty of gun barrels!
His eyes returned to the Space Expansion Card.
Since the reward had been issued, Mike didn’t hesitate:
“Use it.”
Mike commanded silently.
[Confirm use of “Space Expansion Card (0.5 cubic meters)”?]
“Confirm.”