Chapter 15: No commissions

Weasel looked at Paul speechlessly, thinking that this person was really thick-skinned.

"I've got what you want ready."

With that said, Weasel took out a folder and put it in front of Paul: "This is your new identity. It contains all the fake identity information, including a driver's license, medical records, social security number, etc. As long as you don't provoke the IRS, you shouldn't have any problems."

The IRS, short for Internal Revenue Service, is known as the most feared government department in America, even more so than the CBI and FBI. It's often said that in America, only death and taxes are inevitable.

Paul couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. Should he be paying taxes on the things he robbed?

But aside from that, Weasel's business level was really impressive. A few days ago, Paul had collected enough money for the deposit and asked Weasel to forge a fake identity. It was done so quickly, which relieved Paul a lot. After all, he couldn't go anywhere without a legal identity.

Paul put away the folder and suddenly asked, "How is Wade doing?"

"I don't know. The last time I saw Wade was the day before yesterday. He was wearing blood-soaked clothes. He seemed to have found an underground force related to Francis, and then... you know."

Weasel didn't go into too much detail. He shrugged and continued: "Anyway, he's been very busy these days. After all, he's been held back for such a long time, so he needs something to vent."

Paul understood what Weasel meant.

As Wade's close friend, Paul knew how much torture Wade had suffered in the institute. Both mentally and physically, Wade was already covered in bruises. If it weren't for Wade's firm will, he might have gone insane.

Paul understood Wade's crazy behavior.

Not to mention Wade, even Paul was a little abnormal now. If it were him before, he would never have thought he'd take someone's life one day.

So easily and without emotion.

However, Paul was still careful, knowing he didn't have the ability to avenge Francis yet.

The super high school stuntman ability just gave him a regenerative healing factor, but he didn't have any combat skills. If he were fighting an ordinary person, he could use his self-healing ability to wear them down, but against a mutant like Francis, he would only be beaten passively.

So, the best solution for now was to unlock the next achievement and get new high-level talents!

"Let's not talk about that. Recommend me a few new commissions. I'm itching to fight against the arrogance of criminals!" Paul said excitedly, clutching the black box.

However, Weasel's answer was unexpected.

"There should be no commissions that meet your previous conditions."

Paul's expression froze instantly: "Are you joking?"

Weasel said helplessly: "You should know that these commissions are all issued by the employers. Unless there's a real grudge, no one will waste money dealing with those gangsters."

It's inevitable that other mercenaries will fail to complete a commission and need to rest for a few days.

But Paul completed a commission almost daily, more diligent than those working regular jobs. If this continued, other mercenaries would lose their jobs.

Hearing what Weasel said, Paul was immediately disappointed. He originally planned to choose the easiest commissions to complete the system's unlocking conditions, but it seemed things wouldn't go so smoothly.

Now, he was eight sinful villains short of completion.

He had to hurry up and find a way to get enough.

Thinking of this, Paul tried to tempt Weasel again: "Don't you really want to try my villain training tool? It's very fun."

"I reject!"

Weasel's eyes twitched.

After listening to the mercenaries's conversation earlier, he had guessed what Paul's villain training device was used for.

"Okay, recommend me some commissions targeting gangsters." Paul sighed and gave up the tempting idea.

Weasel quickly screened out several black cards. Paul picked them up to look and suddenly found a commission he was interested in.

"This one," Paul said, pulling out the black card. "I'll take this commission."

"Are you sure? Don't say I didn't warn you; this one is quite difficult."

"Okay, I never fight an uncertain battle. By the way, I want to buy something from you."

"What?"

"C4 bomb."

…

Fog filled the night, and on the streets of Brooklyn, a heavy truck was parked silently by the side of the road.

Under the dim streetlights, several burly men got out. They opened the rear compartment and each took out an automatic rifle. They didn't care about attracting attention and left one person to stay with the truck while the others swaggered into a dark alley.

Splash!

The boots stepped heavily into puddles on the road, and mud and sewage splashed everywhere.

A strong man with an inferior cigar in his mouth flicked his trousers, cursed in a thick Russian accent, wiped off the water stains on the box in his hand, and then led the others to stop at an iron door.

From the looks of it, this should be a frozen warehouse.

The burly man spat out the cigar, reached out, and knocked on the iron door.

After a while, a dull voice came from inside.

"Who?"

"Vladimir sent us to take delivery."

"Hold on."

Accompanied by the tooth-piercing sound of metal rubbing, the somewhat rusty iron door slowly opened.

The group of strong Russians walked in with guns in hand.

The interior space of the warehouse was not large. It was a square room of about 40 square meters. Pieces of frozen pork hung in the air. Several people were already sitting around a metal table in the middle, playing poker, surrounded by piles of chips and banknotes.

Seeing the arrival of the strong Russians, they put down the poker.

One of them stood up and walked toward the frozen pork, took out a dagger from his waist, plunged it into a piece of frozen pork, and cut it open.

Through the incision, you could see packs of transparent crystals, all sewn into the frozen pork.

"The goods are all here."

"Very good."

The Russian glanced around the warehouse. There were about a dozen pieces of frozen pork, and he nodded in satisfaction.

Immediately afterward, he opened the box, revealing stacks of banknotes.

"Here is twenty million."

The leader of the warehouse stepped forward to confirm the amount.

After confirming it was correct, he nodded. "It's a pleasant cooperation."

"Pleasant cooperation."

The Russian grinned and waved his hand, signaling his subordinates to take all the frozen pork.

Boom!

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door outside.