Two days passed without word from Dmitri.

Nolan wasn't concerned. There was no point in being anxious. These things took time.

He'd spent the past forty-eight hours living a surprisingly normal life. He'd posted a few recruitment flyers for his aunt's restaurant, then devoted the rest of his time to studying. He hadn't even opened the simulator interface, too focused on wrestling with algebraic equations and literary analysis.

At two in the afternoon, Nolan sat at his desk, fully concentrated on his textbook. He was determined to conquer high school knowledge through sheer willpower.

His phone screen flickered. A new message.

He picked it up casually, saw it was from Dmitri, and opened it.

One glance, and his entire demeanor changed. His face went serious. His eyes widened.

Something had happened to Dmitri.

The message read: "Haha, long time no see, brother! I found what you were looking for. I'm in the Battery Park Tunnel in Brooklyn. There's a maintenance passage in the middle. I'll be waiting for you inside. See you there!"

Everything about it was wrong.

The greeting at the beginning. Dmitri had never called him "brother." The casual sign-off at the end. "See you there" was far too cheerful for someone as cautious as Dmitri, especially when dealing with Nolan. And the address was too detailed, too specific, practically begging him to show up.

Someone was using Dmitri as bait.

Which meant the target wasn't Dmitri. It was him.

Nolan stood slowly, his expression cold and hard.

If someone wanted to go fishing, they'd better be careful. They might catch a great white shark.

His eyes flashed with predatory intent. He moved quickly, strapping the plasma pistol's holster across his back, then pulling on a loose coat to conceal the weapon. He turned to leave, but his gaze fell on the chainsword lying beside his desk.

The cold saw teeth gleamed faintly in the afternoon light, as if eager for blood.

The instrument case he'd ordered hadn't arrived yet. No matter. Nolan grabbed a gray bedsheet, wrapped the entire 1.5-meter blade in fabric, and tucked it under his arm.

He pulled on a black baseball cap and a face mask.

Then he walked out the door.

The Battery Park Tunnel thrummed with constant traffic. Cars rushed past in both directions, their headlights cutting through the artificial gloom.

Nolan parked his scooter near the maintenance entrance. His eyes swept the area.

The entrance stood open. A thick chain that should have secured it lay broken on the ground, rusted links scattered across the concrete.

Cold air breathed out from the dark passage, brushing against his face like something alive.

Nolan's hand found the hilt of his chainsword. With his other hand, he unzipped his jacket partway, making sure he could draw the plasma pistol quickly.

Expressionless, he walked into the passage.

A few steps in, he paused at the entrance, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He squinted, taking in his surroundings.

The passage was about three meters high and two meters wide. It stretched straight ahead, punctuated every few meters by emergency lights that cast sickly yellow pools of illumination. Beyond them, deeper in, the darkness was absolute.

Nolan tore the sheet off his chainsword and let it fall to the wet ground. He gripped the weapon in one hand and moved forward with steady, measured steps.

Twenty meters in, the straight corridor finally bent. A corner.

Nolan stopped and listened. Nothing but the distant hum of traffic.

He turned sideways and stepped around the corner.

The instant he moved, something flew out of the shadows.

A fist-sized stone hurtled toward his face.

Nolan's eyes narrowed. The chainsword came up reflexively, held horizontal across his body.

Metal met stone with a sharp crack. The projectile ricocheted off the blade, struck the ceiling, and clattered to the ground.

A figure emerged from the deeper darkness.

Over 1.9 meters tall. Blonde. Female. And completely encased in silver metal armor that gleamed even in the dim emergency lighting.

"Good reflexes," the woman said. Her voice carried a mocking edge. "But good doesn't mean enough."

She tilted her head slightly, studying him through her helmet's eyeslits.

"Are you Nolan?"

Her tone was cold, clinical. "Mercenary? Or agent?"

Nolan said nothing. His eyes traveled over her tall frame, taking in every detail. The silver armor covering her from neck to toe. The sophisticated joints at every articulation point. The delicate Slavic features visible through the faceplate.

He took a slow breath. "You're not just some ordinary person. Are you the real leader of the Tracksuit Mafia?"

The blonde woman's body swayed slightly. She sneered, her eyes full of contempt.

"I'm not interested in your personal grudges. I'll only ask once: Where is Sergei?"

"Ah. I understand."

Nolan sighed, his voice suddenly tired. "This is just a personal grudge to you."

In an instant, everything changed.

Nolan switched the chainsword to his left hand. His right hand dropped slightly, fingers twitching near his coat.

The blonde woman seemed to misunderstand his movement. Or perhaps she simply trusted her armor too much.

She glanced at the chainsword with a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "Young man, times have changed. A mere cold weapon won't give you any comfort."

She raised her palm. Her silver-encased fingers slowly curled into a fist.

"This is the age of technology! The age of intelligence!" A fanatical smile spread across her face. "Do you think Tony Stark is the only one in the world with high-tech armor?"

Her arm swung in a wide arc. The armor across her entire body made a cold, mechanical grinding sound. Servos whined. Hydraulics hissed.

This wasn't just plating. It was a fully functional powered exosuit.

The woman took a deep breath. "Last question. Where is Sergei?"

But in the next moment, Nolan smiled. His eyes narrowed with genuine amusement.

He stared at her with utterly sincere expression. "Times have changed? You're absolutely right."

His words hung in the air for half a heartbeat.

"Times have changed!"

His hand blurred.

The plasma pistol materialized in his grip as if summoned by will alone. His finger found the trigger.

American Iaido: Quick-Draw Pistol Technique!

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Blue spheres of superheated plasma, each the size of a human head, erupted from the barrel. They screamed toward the blonde woman in a devastating volley.

The brilliant blue light flooded the passage, turning shadows into blazing noon. The plasma wave rolled forward like a flood breaking through a dam, consuming everything in its path.

Then Nolan released the pistol. Let it fall.

His muscles exploded with power. He charged forward, following close behind the plasma barrage.

Both hands found the chainsword's grip. His thumb found the activation switch.

He pressed it.

ROAR.

The motor screamed to life. The adamantium teeth became a blur of spinning death. The sound was deafening, primal, a mechanical warcry that echoed through the tunnel like the roar of some ancient beast.

Nolan's lips pulled back in a feral grin.

"Eat this!"

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by lotustale.com