America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

Chapter 146 American-Style Rehabilitation Center

"I have enough money right now to cover the entire living room, Michelle," Chen Ming said calmly.

"I'm not interested in your 50,000 yuan or that gangster's dirty money. You've come to the wrong person."

"Please, Chen!" Michelle pleaded on the other end of the phone.

"Can you really bear to send a weak woman like me into the lion's den? What if I get caught by those muscular men—"

"You'll shove miniature cameras down their throats," Chen Ming interrupted her spellcasting.

"Please—I'll make you pay for anything you ask!" Michelle pleaded through gritted teeth.

"Wow, are you guys going to go this far?" Sofia's ears perked up immediately, and she gave a knowing smile.

Chen Ming rubbed his temples helplessly.

He was somewhat tempted by this offer, after all, Michelle's family's connections in politics were still quite useful.

"Alright—see you tomorrow night at 8 PM."

After dinner the next day.

Michelle parked her car on a street corner in Pasadena. Chen Ming opened the car door and took a black tactical uniform with the "Paradise Security" logo, which he put on.

"This dress is so tight it looks like it's shrunk by two sizes."

Chen Ming tugged at his collar; the fabric constricted his well-developed pectoral muscles, making him very uncomfortable.

"That's to demonstrate your intimidation power," Michelle said, handing over the invisible earpiece as she wore a smaller version of the same uniform.

"And the rich people in Hollywood like to see men in tight uniforms, which helps us blend into the background better."

Forty minutes later, at Malibu Beach.

The entrance to the "Paradise" Rehabilitation Center appears extremely understated yet luxurious.

The lobby was decorated like a minimalist high-end art gallery, with soothing Mozart piano music playing and some kind of expensive white tea aromatherapy in the air. The receptionist, dressed in a white coat, wore a saintly smile.

"It looks pretty much like it, it's practically a pilgrimage site for California's liberals." Chen Ming lowered his voice.

"It's all for show." Michelle skillfully swiped the counterfeit access card and led Chen Ming toward the back corridor.

"When Hollywood stars get caught drunk driving or drug use, as long as they can afford the lawyers' fees, the judges will let them take a vacation in places like this."

As the heavy soundproof door was pushed open, Mozart was instantly replaced by deafening bass-heavy electronic music.

Dazzling purple-red neon lights swept across the hall, and the air was filled with the pungent smell of high-end cigars, marijuana, and cocaine.

The pretense of "rehabilitation" in the lobby has completely vanished here. The hall is furnished with leather sofas and steel pipes, and countless scantily clad young girls are carrying silver platters full of contraband as they move through the crowd.

"Is this what their recovery is like?"

Chen Ming watched as a washed-up rock singer with a medical bandage wrapped around his head buried his face in a plate and took a deep breath, and raised an eyebrow mockingly.

"Directly purify your own damaged brain cells?"

"This is the kind of medical service that's typical of America, you should know that too." Michelle moved along the corner of the wall toward the server room.

"As long as they pay enough, they can even hire a choir of strippers here, or even a real children's choir—"

Chen Minggang turned the corner and bumped into a white man wearing a deep V sequined shirt.

The man wore heavy smoky makeup, his eyeliner even more exaggerated than Sofia's, and held a martini in his hand.

When passing Chen Ming, she not only didn't give way, but deliberately rubbed her shoulder against Chen Ming's chest muscle and gave him a very suggestive wink.

"New security guard? You've got a hot body, baby." The man with eyeliner stuck out his tongue and licked his lips.

"Will you be patrolling the VIP rooms on the second floor later?"

Chen Ming turned aside expressionlessly, feeling his stomach churning from the dinner he had just eaten.

"The tastes of wealthy people in Los Angeles are truly diverse and inclusive."

Chen Ming patted the shoulder that had been brushed against, as if it had been contaminated with some kind of virus.

"His eyeliner was so thick it could practically be used as bulletproof."

"Haha, don't make a fuss." Michelle walked ahead and couldn't help but chuckle.

"What's so new about men wearing eyeliner? The Vice President in the White House used to wear even thicker eyeliner than this—to be honest, ever since there were rumors that our 47th President might have had in-depth conversations with the 42nd President, I've become unsurprised by anything."

"Don't mention that. I almost threw up when I saw all those pictures on the internet back then—" Chen Ming shook his head, his gaze sweeping across the corridor.

He knew what Michelle was talking about. In America, suspecting anyone of promiscuity usually requires some solid evidence, but that one person was different; his name was on almost every list of sex scandals.

In terms of reputation, probably only Duan Wangye can compare.

"Get ready to get to work, the server room is just ahead."

Two burly security guards, dressed in full tactical vests, stood at the entrance of the server room, leaning against the wall drinking Monster Energy Drinks and loudly complaining about California's high gas prices and the Lakers' recent disastrous losing streak.

"Hey, you two!" The bald guard on the left noticed the two approaching men and reached for the walkie-talkie at his waist.

"This is a restricted area. Who gave you permission to come here?"

"The front desk manager told us to come and relieve him." Chen Ming kept walking and started making up a story without changing his expression.

"There's a producer who's gotten high on drugs by the VIP pool. He's taking off his clothes and climbing up the champagne tower. The manager said they need someone to pull him down."

"Damn Hollywood scum, just last week a female celebrity peed on my tactical boots—" the bald guard cursed, but quickly frowned.

"Wait, why didn't I hear the notification on the walkie-talkie?"

The moment he looked down to check the channel, Chen Ming moved.

Without any unnecessary words, Chen Ming took a step forward, his left hand slicing through the bald guard's carotid artery with lightning speed, while his right hand caught the guard's limp body.

The moment his accomplice opened his mouth and before his hand could even reach for the Taser at his waist, Chen Ming's knee had already precisely struck his liver.

With a muffled groan, the second guard rolled his eyes and knelt down.

The whole process took less than three seconds, clean and efficient.

Michelle pulled the highest-level access card from the guard's belt on the ground and swiped it on the electronic lock to open the server room door.

"I call this high efficiency."

Chen Ming dragged the two unconscious guards into the shadows in the corner of the machine room.

"You'd better hurry, someone else might come to relieve you later. It'd better be done within ten minutes."

"That's enough."

Michelle pulled out a USB drive and plugged it into the server interface, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

"These idiots are charging $50,000 a month for treatment, and their firewall is just the cheapest commercial one on the market."

The basic version doesn't even have two-factor authentication.

"That's right—rich people are either tech fanatics or they don't understand technology at all."

Chen Ming leaned against the door, keeping a close eye on the movements in the corridor.