022, come on, let's burn New York to ashes!

When Zaire returned home, his aunt was still overseeing the restaurant renovations and hadn't come back yet.

He took out his shoulder bag and packed his Catachan knife and plasma pistol.

Zaire changed into a set of clothes and military boots.

Then, he retrieved a stack of cash from a duffel bag under the bed, planning to leave.

Before heading out, Zaire sent a text message to his aunt, explaining that he was going to do some "part-time" work. Without waiting for her reply, he turned off his phone and tossed it onto the bed.

Zaire walked out of the apartment and began his preparations. Facing a whole gang of core members, his proven killing techniques and the powerful plasma pistol were sufficient. However, he still needed some auxiliary means to prevent them from escaping and scattering. So, as his shopping list grew, he had to buy another hiking backpack as a container.

After finishing his shopping, Zaire walked down the street, feeling an unbearable hunger. He looked around and found a hot dog stand. He began eating voraciously. In a short time, the vendor could barely keep up with his eating speed. After consuming fifteen hot dogs, Zaire paid the bill while the vendor looked at him with awe.

Zaire turned to leave, but he hadn't walked far when he heard a pleading voice behind him:

"Excuse me, sir, could you look at this missing person flyer?"

Zaire raised an eyebrow and turned back.

"Mike?"

"Uh… Zaire?"

Standing before him was Mike, the apprentice and handyman at the delicious restaurant. Mike hadn't recognized Zaire at first because he looked so different from before. Only when Zaire spoke did Mike's memory align with the Zaire in front of him.

"Oh my God… Young people in their growth period are truly a miracle of life," Mike instinctively exclaimed.

"Maybe, Mike. Still no news about your brother?" Zaire asked politely, taking the flyer from Mike and glancing at it. The flyer was crudely made, with only a black-and-white photo and contact information. The photo showed a boy with a missing front tooth, a deformed left hand, and a birth defect in his ear. Despite his imperfections, the boy's bright smile left a strong impression.

"Nothing… It's like he vanished into thin air." Mike's face was full of anxiety and exhaustion. He forced a bitter smile and said, "Mom is on the verge of a breakdown, so I have to step up, but Jerry has been missing for so long…"

Mike didn't finish, but Zaire understood. He silently nodded, folded the flyer, and stuffed it into his shoulder bag. "Have you tried asking the media for help? You must have seen the recent big news. Now is a good time to pressure the police."

"Of course, I tried, but the media is surrounded by parents with missing children…"

Mike shook his head with a helpless sigh. "Rich families can go on TV and tell their warm stories, but families like ours from poor neighborhoods can only get a small missing person notice in the papers… Better than nothing, I guess."

After hearing Mike's words, Zaire was speechless. He pondered for a moment and took out a small stack of cash from his pocket. It was the leftover money from his shopping, fifteen hundred dollars. Zaire kept five bills for himself and gave the rest to Mike. Mike's eyes widened in shock, and his dark skin seemed to flush. He repeatedly refused, "No, no, Zaire… This is too much!"

"Mike, take it. Consider it an advance on your salary," Zaire said with a smile. "My aunt is still waiting for her handyman apprentice to come back to work."

"Thank you!" Mike's eyes seemed to moisten. He choked up but held back his tears. "Thank you. I just don't know how to thank you…"

"Finding Jerry is the best thanks. No need to say more… After all, friends need to help each other, right?"

Zaire said seriously. Seeing Mike carefully put away the cash without further refusal, Zaire said goodbye and left. He had an important "part-time" job to do.

--------------

Hell's Kitchen, Baby Store.

As the third-generation leader of the tracksuit mafia, Fat Bob was as massive as a wild boar, and his behavior was just as similar. Greed was his feeding instinct, and brutality was his reproductive desire. This was why he could control the entire gang, at least until a few days ago.

Now, Fat Bob could only curl his huge body on a dusty sofa, eating furiously while staring at his phone. He was waiting for a call from the Kingpin, a call that could save his gang and his life. However, even after filling his stomach with overly sweet tomato pasta, the phone remained silent.

Fat Bob gradually fell into despair and deep pain. He realized that the once-dominant tracksuit mafia had been abandoned. The Kingpin's empire did not want to attract more attention from the public and the authorities. The tracksuit mafia had to disappear, both physically and spiritually.

"Useless! You're all useless!"

At that moment, Fat Bob's plump cheeks quivered. Bang— He threw the can of tomato pasta on the floor. The thick dust mixed with the red sauce looked like shattered red intestines.

"Damn Kingpin! Damn NYPD! Damn New Yorkers!"

As time passed, Fat Bob's eyes turned blood-red, and he appeared insane. His entire body trembled violently. It seemed the immense pressure of reality had driven him to a mental breakdown.

Just then, Fat Bob struggled to get up. He moved his legs, like a rampaging wild boar, and rushed out of the store.

Thud, thud, thud!

The heavy footsteps caught the attention of the gang members downstairs. They looked up with varied expressions, gazing at Fat Bob standing on the store's stairs.

"I declare, tonight… tonight, we will give New York City a big 'surprise'!"

With blood-red eyes, Fat Bob slowly raised his hands, clenching them into fists. He shouted crazily:

"Do you want to eat fresh food?"

"Do you want to sleep with beautiful women?"

"Do you want to walk freely in the sunlight?"

"So what if the police are hunting us?"

"So what if the Kingpin abandoned us?"

"Are we supposed to be scared?"

"We are the gang that rules New York! We have plenty of weapons and ammunition!"

"Come on! Bring your guns and join my crazy party!"

Fat Bob's spittle flew as he raved like a madman. However, his passionate speech did not resonate with anyone. The gang members exchanged silent glances, a cold glint flashing in their eyes.

At that moment, Fat Bob stood on the stairs, panting heavily and sweating profusely. He keenly noticed the undercurrents among the gang members. Fat Bob's chubby face twisted into a deranged grin.

"Anyone who joins the party will share the gang's funds!"

"You can split the money right now!"

"After the party, if we succeed, you can also share the cleaned funds in overseas accounts…"

"Equally!"

Before Fat Bob finished speaking, nearly forty gang members smiled knowingly.

Click, click, click—

The sound of countless guns being loaded almost merged into one.

"Come on… Let's burn this city to ashes!"

---------------

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