Lucas folded the newspaper scrap and stuffed it into his pocket.
Now, he had the target, and he had the location.
Next came the plan.
After Translucent was captured by Butcher and Hughie, he would be locked in an abandoned basement.
Frenchie would be there, figuring out how to kill him.
“I can’t make a move directly at the electronics store.”
Lucas rubbed his chin and analyzed.
“Butcher, that old fox, is extremely paranoid.
If I suddenly appeared at the electronics store and scrambled to press the detonator, he would definitely blow my brains out.”
“Moreover, at the electronics store, Translucent was only stunned; he hadn’t been rigged with the bomb yet.
With my current stats, I can’t break through his defenses at all.”
“The only chance to make a move is after Frenchie stuffs the C4 into Translucent’s backyard.”
“At the moment when Hughie is hesitant, or when Butcher is ready to act.”
“I must infiltrate the basement where Translucent is being held.”
This was another huge problem.
He didn’t know the specific location of that basement.
“So, I must track them.”
Start from the electronics store, follow Butcher’s car the whole way, and find that basement.
“With my current speed of 15 points, I definitely can’t outrun Butcher’s beat-up car on foot.
I need to get a vehicle.
Or…
a motorcycle.”
Lucas stood up and stretched his limbs.
The rough outline of a plan had already formed in his mind.
Step 1: Find the Brighton Electronics Store, confirm Hughie’s status, and determine which stage the plot has reached.
Step 2: Find a good hiding spot near the electronics store and prepare a means of transport.
Step 3: Wait for Translucent to appear, for Butcher to crash the car, and then tail them to the holding location.
Step 4: Infiltrate the basement and look for an opportunity.
Step 5: Press the detonator.
It sounded simple.
But every step was full of deadly variables.
What if Butcher discovered he was tailing them?
What if Frenchie didn’t plant the bomb properly?
What if Translucent woke up early and broke free from his restraints?
Most importantly, what if Translucent’s associates, like Homelander or Black Noir, showed up before he could press the detonator?
“Damn it!”
Lucas spat fiercely on the ground.
“The bold get stuffed, the timid starve.”
“I’m an immortal monster now, what the hell am I afraid of!”
He patted his cheeks, forcefully suppressing the trace of instinctive fear in his heart.
In this world, weakness and retreat only lead to death.
Only by being crazier than those psychos and more ruthless than that scum could he survive.
He looked up at the sky outside the window.
The night was deep.
Dawn was still far off.
“I need to get some equipment first.
And money.”
He was penniless right now, didn’t even have money to buy a hot dog.
To track Butcher, he needed at least a decent motorcycle.
That meant “borrowing” some funds.
In this chaotic New York City, especially near the block where the explosion just happened, the one thing there was no shortage of was thugs looking to loot during the chaos.
Lucas walked out of the basement and disappeared back into the dark alley.
Not long after, he heard some muffled arguing coming from up ahead.
“Hurry up!
Pry that watch off!”
“This dead guy’s wrist is stuck, damn it!”
Three youths wearing ripped jeans and ear studs were surrounding a drunkard, trying to pry a gold watch off his wrist.
Typical New York bottom-feeding scum.
Lucas stepped out of the shadows and casually picked up a half-meter-long rusted water pipe from the ground.
“Gentlemen, striking it rich?”
His voice wasn’t loud, but it sounded exceptionally clear in the silent alley.
The three thugs whipped their heads around.
Seeing only a young man in a ragged jacket holding a broken iron pipe, they immediately relaxed and revealed sinister smiles.
“Where’d this little punk come from?
Want a cut?”
The lead thug pulled out a switchblade and twirled it in his hand.
“Get lost if you know what’s good for you, or I’ll open a few transparent holes in your body.”
Lucas didn’t speak.
He just tightened his grip on the water pipe.
With 15 points of strength, while not exactly superhuman, it was enough to deal with a few thugs whose bodies had been hollowed out by alcohol and drugs.
“Bang!”
Without any wasted words, Lucas delivered a blunt strike, smashing it hard against the side of the lead thug’s face.
Blood and broken teeth splattered out instantly.
The lead thug didn’t even manage a scream, simply rolling his eyes back and collapsing to the ground.
The other two thugs were stunned.
They hadn’t expected this seemingly lean guy to hit so hard and so decisively.
“Get him!”
One of them reacted, raised the baseball bat in his hand, and swung it toward Lucas’s head.
Lucas tilted his head slightly, and the baseball bat whistled past his ear.
With 15 points of speed, his reaction time was a fraction faster than an average person’s.
He stepped forward, taking advantage of the momentum, and drove the iron pipe hard into the thug’s stomach.
“Ughhh—”
The thug bent over in pain, clutching his stomach as he knelt on the ground.
The last remaining thug saw this, got scared, dropped his knife, and turned to run.
Lucas didn’t pursue.
He dropped the iron pipe, walked over to the unconscious lead thug, and skillfully started searching him.
A few crumpled bills and some coins.
It added up to less than a hundred dollars.
“Cheapskate.”
He walked over to the thug he’d driven the pipe into, fished a slightly worn wallet out of his pocket, which contained about two hundred dollars and a few credit cards.
“Added to this gold watch, that should be enough to get a used motorcycle on the black market.”
Lucas stuffed the money and gold watch into his pocket, didn’t even glance at the three people on the ground, and turned to walk out of the alley.
This was the first time he had actively hurt someone since arriving in this world.
But he felt no ripples in his heart.
In this dog-eat-dog world, this was just the most basic rule of survival.
Two hours later.
An underground repair shop in the Queens borough of New York City.
The air was filled with the smell of motor oil and cheap tobacco.
A greasy, fat Black man weighed the blood-stained gold watch Lucas handed over, grinning to reveal a mouthful of yellow teeth.
“Quality’s not bad, but it’s not exactly obtained legally, is it?
Best I can do is give you this thing.”
The fat man pointed to a used Kawasaki motorcycle in the corner with peeling paint and a rusted exhaust pipe.
“As long as it runs.”
Lucas couldn’t be bothered with small talk.
What he needed most right now was transportation.
He straddled the motorcycle and tried to start it.
“Vroom—putt-putt-putt—”
The engine let out a series of violent coughs, spewed a cloud of black smoke, and barely managed to start running.
“Only half a tank of gas, enough for you to get to Brooklyn.
Once you’re out that door, I’m not responsible for anything.”
The fat man waved his hand impatiently.
Lucas twisted the throttle, and the motorcycle, like an asthmatic beast, charged out of the underground repair shop and merged into the night of New York City.
Four in the morning.
The streets of New York City were empty, save for the occasional garbage truck or patrol car passing by.
Riding that beat-up Kawasaki motorcycle, Lucas headed in the direction of the Brighton Electronics Store, following the route in his memory.