Becoming an Emperor Starting from the World of The Wandering Earth

He had been in the 13th gang for seven or eight years, nominally the second-in-command, which sounded prestigious.

But in reality, he had neither manpower nor territory; his core military force was controlled by the Salvadoran compatriots Holt brought from his hometown.

Of course, this is related to his background.

Giles wasn't a true gangster who rose from the bottom; he was a self-taught gangster.

He used to be a PhD in economics, but in today's world, economics is worthless.

Holt took him in because he knew a few more words than those rough men who only knew how to fight and kill; he could do some accounting and writing.

This condescending appreciation, over the years, has long since turned into a poisonous thorn, embedded in Giles's heart.

So when Price approached him privately, presented him with an information card containing a deposit of 50,000 credits, and promised the same amount after the deal was done, Giles accepted almost no hesitation.

One hundred thousand credits would be enough for him to buy a brand new identity on the black market, and even acquire some decent belongings to completely escape this quagmire.

Even if he doesn't leave, this money is enough for him to secretly build up some of his own influence within the gang, at least he won't have to put up with Holt's old buddies anymore.

Holt was eager for revenge, while Price, though of dubious origin, possessed a genuine weapon.

If things are going well for both of us, why would he refuse?

The two immediately hit it off and got together.

Looking at the deserted alley, Price snorted, raised his hand to press the communicator behind his ear, whispered "That's it," and then turned and disappeared into the shadows deep in the alley.

Twenty minutes later, Wilson was already standing in the office on the third floor of the factory, opposite Murphy who was looking through reports.

"Sir, the deal is done."

Wilson pulled three thin credit cards from his jacket pocket, placed them on the desk, and pushed them across. "Holt has already paid a 20% deposit, and the remainder will be paid after the handover is complete. 40% of that will be deducted from the cost of supplies. Is that acceptable to you?"

Murphy put down the report in his hand, reached out and picked up the credit cards, swiping his thumb across the small screen on each card.

Murphy's lips curled slightly as he watched a string of numbers appear on the screen.

"Well done, Wilson."

That's right, the so-called Price was Wilson in disguise.

The successive destruction of Holt's 13 gang's strongholds was naturally the work of Wilson and his "Wolf Pack" squad.

The reason for doing this is quite simple.

Firearms, especially standard-issue firearms, were indeed a form of hard currency in those turbulent times, and there was always demand for them on the black market.

But Murphy wasn't looking for small-scale operations, just throwing things out bit by bit. He wanted to turn hundreds or thousands of items into credits, resources, and capital for his expansion.

The problem is, it's hard to find buyers.

In Houston, and even in Texas, there are only a handful of companies with the strength, courage, and sustained demand to take on such a large batch of businesses in one go.

They were either rebels or gangs entrenched in various places.

Murphy hadn't even considered the rebels.

Those people are even crazier than gangsters, and the forces behind them are unfathomable.

They even dared to openly attack UEG. Murphy would never believe it if it weren't for the support of the digital life faction and the spaceship faction.

Murphy wants to make a fortune quietly, not risk his life.

Having ruled out the rebels, the only remaining options for this shipment are those few deeply entrenched gangs.

The reason for attacking the 13th Gang's strongholds was that the 13th Gang was quite large, and its various strongholds were stockpiled with a lot of good stuff.

By seizing it directly, the company's increasingly tight working capital can be replenished.

Don't underestimate them; these guys may not have many other skills, but they're really good at ripping people off.

Wilson seized eight strongholds, earning a whopping 800,000 credits, not to mention the supplies.

Secondly, it can incite conflict.

Murphy understands the survival logic of these street gangs all too well.

Territory is a matter of face, and subordinates are a matter of confidence.

If you don't touch me, I won't touch you. We collect protection money from each other across the street. There are occasional frictions, but we generally maintain a fragile balance.

But if one party suffers a huge loss without knowing why, the situation becomes completely different.

Losing face is a minor issue; the real problem is that it will make other predators think you are weak and easily bullied.

If you don't fight back when someone beats you up today, other gangs might want to try and take a bite out of you tomorrow.

Therefore, Holt must retaliate to deter other restless forces.

Wilson's team acted swiftly and cleanly, moving like the wind in their exoskeletons, leaving no clues pointing to their specific targets.

At this moment, Holt was like a trapped beast that had been provoked but could not find an opponent.

He needed to vent, to prove to everyone that the 13th Gang was still not to be trifled with.

So the only thing he could do was to set his sights on his old rivals.

But fighting requires weapons.

At this moment, Mr. Price appeared at just the right time with a large quantity of reasonably priced weapons, and everything naturally fell into place.

As for doubt, would Holt dare to doubt? Could he even doubt?

Murphy fiddled with the credit card in his hand, walked to the window, and looked down at the bustling factory area below.

"Wilson, how long can this kind of business last?"

Wilson stood there for a moment, then replied, "Sir, the black market arms trade can continue as long as the world doesn't regress."

"There will always be more people who lack resources than those who have them. As long as the sun is going to explode, as long as UEG is still implementing centralized supply, and as long as there are still people outside who are starving, this business will never stop."

Murphy nodded approvingly. "You're right. I'll leave this to you. But there's one more thing you need to do. Go and tell the other gangs that the 13th Gang has bought a lot of weapons, so they all know."

Wilson paused for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his lips.

"Sir, this is a fish prepared in three ways."

Murphy didn't deny it, he just leaned back in his chair.

"Holt bought weapons, and if he doesn't want others to think he's easy to bully, he has to fight. But what will the other gangs think if they find out that Holt suddenly has thousands of guns and dozens of machine guns?"

Wilson chimed in, "They'll think, 'What the son of a bitch is up to? Is he trying to expand his territory? Is he trying to get us?'"

"right."

Murphy nodded. "No matter who Holt originally intended to hit, once this news gets out, other gangs will think that he might be targeting them."

"In order to avoid being wiped out, they have no choice but to buy weapons, and buy more and faster. Then our goods can be sold to both sides, or even three or four sides."