Transcending Worlds: I Have an Invincible Shelter

Dubai is deep in the night.

Ankebo paced back and forth in the suite of the luxury club. A dozen cigarette butts were scattered on the Persian carpet, some still emitting wisps of smoke. He stomped them out and lit a new one.

That's the fourteenth one, he counted.

News of the loss of two of the four armed helicopters and the escape of the other two has been relayed back to the military.

Two planes made an emergency landing, and two turned around and ran away. The onboard cannons were useless, and the RPGs were also ineffective. The dark red humanoid target in the infrared image unscrewed the tail rotor by hand.

What the hell does this mean? This isn't just causing a minor incident, it's turning the world upside down.

Ankebo stood by the window for a while, then came back, sat on the edge of the bed, and then stood up again.

He repeatedly trod the same path on the carpet, leaving marks.

He was well aware of his current predicament—reporting that lead and sending that message was tantamount to putting his head on the gambling table.

If we win, we'll rise to the top in one fell swoop.

If we lose, there will be one more missing person report at the Coast Guard's morning meeting tomorrow.

In the anxious wait, the specially made phone under my pillow finally vibrated.

Ankebo rushed over in three steps, his fingers fumbling around under the pillow, his thumb still slipping as he pressed the answer button.

"Captain Ankpo."

He recognized the voice on the other end of the phone; it was one of the high-ranking officials in the Ministry of National Defense. His tone was very low, and each word was drawn out, a unique way of speaking where anger was crushed and kneaded into the sentences.

But Ankpo sensed something else: fear!

The fact that a high-ranking defense official spoke with such apprehension to a coast guard captain speaks volumes.

"Sir." Ankebo stood up straight, as if by reflex, even though the other person couldn't see him.

"The military's technical department reviewed the infrared images."

There was a two-second pause on the other end, and Ankebo could hear someone flipping through papers or swiping a tablet screen.

"Conventional weapons are ineffective against that target. Cannons, heavy machine guns, rockets—all are ineffective. The technical department's assessment is that with the existing equipment, it is impossible to guarantee the destruction of the target."

Ankpo's heart skipped a beat, but he didn't say a word.

"If a full-blown conflict breaks out in the city, Dubai's economy and international image will completely collapse. We cannot afford that cost."

Ankebo's palms were sweaty, and he almost dropped his phone. He switched hands and gripped it tightly.

"The decision has been made above." The high-ranking official paused, as if swallowing something. "The military is withdrawing."

When those four words came out, Ankebo felt his heart skip a beat.

"The territory left behind by the Mokro Mafia and the Serbian mafia can be taken over by that force. On the condition that—"

The higher-ups suddenly sped up their speech, emphasizing each word.

"No further attacks against the authorities will be tolerated. Tonight's events end here. This is the last time. If they cross the line, tactical missiles will be used. There will be no second warning."

"clear."

"There's one more thing."

Ankebo tightened his grip on his phone.

"From this day forward, you are promoted to the rank of major, a promotion that is not in accordance with previous regulations."

Ankebo opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"You are the only contact between the authorities and this force. Ankpo, the higher-ups have high hopes for you. Don't cause any more trouble."

The phone hangs up.

Ankebo's arm was still raised, and his phone was pressed against his ear, maintaining this position for a full five seconds.

Then his knees buckled, and he slid down the edge of the bed onto the carpet, his back against the bed frame and his legs outstretched.

Cold sweat soaked a large area of ​​the back of my shirt, which clung to my skin, feeling chilly.

He stared at his phone screen; the call duration showed five minutes and twenty seconds.

At 15 minutes and 20 seconds, he went from captain to major.

Ankebo placed his phone on his lap, covered his face with his hands, and his shoulders began to tremble.

It wasn't crying, it was laughing.

Laughter leaked from between his fingers, muffled, growing louder and louder until finally he tilted his head back and laughed three times loudly at the crystal chandelier on the ceiling.

The bet was won.

After laughing, he slapped his face twice to wake himself up, forced down his still trembling fingers, and dialed Audi's number.

He answered the phone after it rang once; it seems this kid had been waiting for a while.

"The military has withdrawn."

Ankerbo's voice still carried a lingering smile, but he no longer cared about pretending and relayed the high-ranking officials' exact words—the warnings about troop withdrawal, taking over territory, the bottom line, and tactical missiles, without omitting a single one.

"Oh, by the way, my rank will be major from now on. Audi, be careful how you address people."

Ankpo knew that this was just bragging, but he couldn't help it.

A captain in the Coast Guard, in a place like Dubai, is not a low-ranking position, but it's not high either.

A major is different. The doors a major can enter, the people he can meet, and the resources he can mobilize are worlds apart.

There was a second of silence on the other end of the phone. Then Audi's voice came through, devoid of any emotional fluctuation.

"Alright, Major Ankpo."

Ankebo waited for the congratulations or some other polite words that would follow.

I didn't get to see it.

"The military has finally learned to do the math."

Audi spat. "We accept the terms. Tell your supplier that as long as the authorities follow the rules and don't mess with us, we'll do legitimate business. We'll keep to ourselves."

Ankebo wanted to say a few more words, but the other side had already logged off. He rolled his eyes at the black screen.

These people didn't utter a single unnecessary word.

Audi put his phone back in his pocket, turned around with his cane, and faced Alfa and Nikola.

Alfa stood three steps away, hands in his pockets, looking at Audi's expression. He roughly guessed the result, but didn't ask.

Nikolai was still sitting on the ground, his left leg stretched out, his knee swollen like a bun.

"Get to work."

The sound of the Audi was crisp in the wind.

"We seized all the assets of the Mokro Mafia and the Serbian mafia overnight. Territory, manpower, warehouses, distribution channels—nothing was left behind."

He tapped the ground with his cane, one, two, three, three times.

"First, the drug network is only allowed to ship drugs to Sakura Island. Anyone who dares to ship drugs to other places will end up with Cook."

Nikolai's lips twitched. He'd been in the drug business for almost eight years, and the financial pain was real. But the thought of that dark red humanoid figure made him endure the pain.

"Second, inventory and catalog the armories; seal up any ammunition that should be sealed, and transfer any that should be transferred. Don't rush to investigate money laundering channels; first, get a thorough investigation and pull out all the accounts. Third—"

Audi paused for a moment, looking at Nikola.

"The human trafficking chain must be broken immediately. Those en route must be released on the spot."

Nikolai didn't speak, but nodded.

"I need to send the complete list to you before sunrise tomorrow." Audi looked away. "If anything goes wrong, I'll handle it myself without you having to lift a finger."

Alpha finally spoke: "Is there enough time? Just taking stock of the combined assets of the two gangs would take—"

"It has to be enough, whether it's enough or not." Audi interrupted him. "Kuk is dead, and the people at the Poffit Building have either run away or surrendered. It's the same on Nikola's side; most of his mercenaries have run away, and the rest shouldn't be hard to gather. Before the news spreads, we should take them in tonight, and by the time others realize what's happening at dawn, it will be too late."

Nikolai struggled to his feet, his left leg too heavy to bear weight, his right hand bracing against a nearby rock.

He grinned and said to Audi, "Okay, I'll arrange it right away. If you trust me, I can also send someone to the Boffett Building."

Audi looked him up and down for two seconds. "Go ahead and call out."

Nikola pulled out a walkie-talkie and mumbled a string of words in Serbian.

Audi didn't look at him again. Leaning on his cane, he took two steps toward the edge of the high ground and stood there for a while, facing the dry night wind blowing from the direction of Dubai.

Wu Meng stood five steps behind him, silent and motionless.

The entire Dubai underworld, built up over a decade of resources, has changed hands. Coupled with Ankpo's connection to the government, the military's tacit approval is like a shield.

Audi slung his cane across his shoulder, stretched his neck a couple of times, and glanced back at Nikola, who was busy making phone calls to call for reinforcements, and Alfa, who was checking weapons.

"Let's go to the Puffett Building first. The vault there needs to be sealed first, or it'll be emptied."

Nikolai followed, limping.

"How do you say 'celebration'?" Alpha suddenly blurted out.

Audi didn't even turn his head: "We'll talk about it after we finish the work. The money pit isn't going anywhere."

Several thugs dressed in black drove up from the bottom of the valley in an off-road vehicle that was still running. The vehicle was riddled with bullet holes, but the engine was still running.

Audi opened the back door and got in, while Nikola was forced into the passenger seat.

The car bumped and jolted its way out of the canyon, the headlights sweeping across the dense bullet holes and charred explosion marks on the rock walls on both sides.

This canyon passage through an abandoned oil field will become a well-known name in Dubai's underground world after tonight.

As for which version is being circulated, that's not Audi's concern.

Inside the luxurious suite at the top-tier club, Ankebo finally stood up from the carpet. His knees were a little numb, and it took him a couple of tries to steady himself.

He went to the bathroom, turned on the tap, and splashed a handful of cold water on his face.

The face in the mirror was oily, the eyes were bloodshot, and there was stubble on the chin. He had been busy all night and hadn't even shaved.

He wiped the water off his face, straightened his collar in front of the mirror, and tucked his shirt back into his trousers.

Major Ankpo.

He repeated it to himself twice, unable to suppress the smile on his lips.

After leaving the restroom, Ankebo walked to the door, hesitated for a moment on the doorknob, and then let go.

After thinking about it, I opened the door anyway.

The light in the outer room was dim, and the three white-haired, blue-eyed Eastern European girls were sitting on the sofa. Two of them were already dozing off together, while the third was still awake, looking down at her phone.

Ankpo knocked on the door frame.

The three girls looked up and saw him. The one closest to them hesitated for a moment, probably still remembering the scene of being yelled at earlier.

Ankebo grinned and tilted his head towards the room.

"Come back. I apologize for my rudeness earlier."

He turned around and went back, took out an unopened bottle of DL100% blended juice from the wine cabinet, and poured four glasses.

I heard it's a drink that mysterious gentleman likes to drink.

The nights in Dubai are still long.

Over at the Buffett Building, Audi was taking inventory of the vault.

In the canyon, Nikolai's men were gathering the scattered mercenaries.

Kebo, this newly appointed major, will have to put on his uniform and report to the Ministry of National Defense early tomorrow morning.

But that's for tomorrow; let's leave tonight behind for now.

As the wine entered their throats, four figures intertwined, their power lingering.

Outside the window, Dubai's skyline is ablaze with lights that never sleep, and the silhouette of Palm Jumeirah is reflected on the surface of the Persian Gulf, shattering into a series of flowing shimmering spots of light.

Dubai's underground order was uprooted and then replanted on this one night.