American comic: From Beijing with Love, starting with a mutant.

Before dawn, Stephen Chow stood in front of a car parked by the roadside, stroking his chin and examining it.

"That BMW X5's anti-theft system is an older model."

Polaris offered expert advice: "I can short-circuit the ignition coil directly with magnetism, and it will be off in three seconds."

"No, no, no!" Zhou Xingxing grabbed her wrist. "You spendthrift woman, you're trying to cause trouble again! How much will it cost to repair that BMW's electronic anti-theft system if it short-circuits?"

"We're borrowing the car, not smashing it. Can you call something a scholar would do theft? The nature of the two is different."

"Borrow? Did you talk to the car owner?"

"Afterwards, send a note thanking me for supporting the country's infrastructure development, and leave my phone number at the end."

Zhou Xingxing walked confidently toward the old pickup truck in the corner with peeling paint and wire tied to the front bumper: "This one, Syrian war-damaged, has a certain smell."

Polaris frowned.

"A beat-up car that's practically totaled? Are you sure it won't break apart on the spot in Chicago?"

"Pickup trucks have high ground clearance and can carry a lot of cargo in the bed. If you come across cheap scrap steel bars on the road, you can just haul them back. That's called thieves never leaving empty-handed... no, it's called resource recycling."

Polaris resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

In less than 24 hours with this man, she rolled her eyes more times than she had in the entire previous year combined.

With a click, the car lock popped open.

Stephen Chow climbed into the driver's seat, pulled out the wiring harness under the steering wheel, stripped the insulation off the wires, and brought the two copper wires together to create a spark.

He skillfully shifted gears, and the pickup truck chugged out of the parking space.

"Xiao Luo, fasten your seatbelt. There are countless roads, but safety is the most important. Our company is very strict about safety in production. If the front passenger doesn't wear a seatbelt, it's a 50-yuan deduction, and it's a veto for year-end performance evaluation."

"I haven't signed the contract yet."

"Prospective employees are still employees. You need to broaden your perspective and not be so narrow-minded."

The pickup truck sped along the interstate highway, the fuel gauge needle constantly slipping down.

Stephen Chow stared intently at the dashboard: "This car uses fourteen liters of fuel per 100 kilometers. The industrial products of American imperialism are simply an energy black hole."

He turned to look at Lorna, who was taking a nap with her eyes closed in the passenger seat: "Lorna, wake up."

Lorna opened her eyes: "What? Are we being pursued?"

"I want to discuss something. You can control magnetism, right? You have control over all metals."

"so?"

"Look, could you use your abilities to apply a forward thrust to this driveshaft? Or you could just turn the wheel hub directly."

Lorna was stunned for a moment, and a question mark slowly appeared on her forehead.

Stephen Chow, however, was full of anticipation: "That way, the engine won't need to inject so much fuel. We can build a hand-operated magnetic levitation hybrid and save most of the fuel cost. I'll treat you to Crazy Thursday when we get to Chicago with the money we save."

"I am a mutant."

"learn."

"I can tear an armored vehicle apart with my bare hands."

"I understand that, so pushing a pickup truck is no problem."

Lorna gritted her teeth: "You want me to be the cruise control motor?!"

"This is called green travel!" Stephen Chow slapped his thigh.

"Do you realize how serious global warming is right now? For every liter of oil burned, a polar bear loses a piece of ice!"

"No demand, no killing! Your nickname is Polaris, we're all from the Arctic Circle, how come you don't care at all about the lives of polar bears?"

Lorna turned her head to stare at the cornfield outside the window, deciding to put the phone on silent mode for the next ten hours; whoever spoke first was a dog.

At four o'clock in the afternoon, the pickup truck was parked on a commercial street in Chicago's South Side.

"This is the third largest city in the United States?" Stephen Chow looked around and clicked his tongue twice. "Even our county town is cleaner than this. If this were in China, it would have been ranked the worst in terms of sanitation long ago."

The two pushed open the door and entered the Snowball Ice Cream Shop, where the doorbell rang.

The store was deserted, with a young Black man wearing headphones leaning against the counter playing video games.

Lorna stepped forward and knocked on the glass. The young Black man raised his eyelids, his gaze sweeping over her leather jacket, and whistled, "What would you like? Vanilla or strawberry? Or maybe my phone number? I'll make sure you're satisfied, sis."

Lorna, expressionless, asked, "Looking for someone. Is the soft serve still there?"

"No one calls her by that name anymore; she resigned last month."

"Where did you go?"

The young man shrugged: "Who knows? We're all just doing odd jobs, who cares about anyone else? But there's a rule in Chicago: you have to be sincere to ask for information. Fifty dollars for a new address, no bargaining."

Lorna's eyes darkened, and just as her fingertips began to glow green, a smacking sound came from behind her.

Stephen Chow approached, holding an ice cream cone.

"Where did you get this ice cream?"

"They were handing out flyers at the tasting event outside the store, and I couldn't refuse."

Stephen Chow licked the chocolate ball off the top, leaned close to the glass, and stared at Xiao Heizi: "Fifty dollars can buy me half a pig, and you dare to ask for fifty dollars with your crappy address?"

The young Black man was intimidated by this imposing aura and took a half step back, quickly pulling a baseball bat from under the counter:

"You yellow-skinned monkey looking for trouble, huh? This is the South District! Either pay up or get lost. Don't think you can act tough here just because you brought a girl!"

Zhou Xingxing sighed and handed the ice cream cone to Lorna: "Take it, don't let it melt."

The moment Lorna caught the ice cream cone, Stephen Chow reached behind her back. A flash of silver, and the baseball bat broke in two.

The butcher's knife struck the young man's face with a crisp sound.

"Now, where does that soft ice cream live?" Stephen Chow asked in a light tone.

"Abandoned red brick apartment building in Block 6... Block 6, Room 604," the young man stammered.

"You should have said so earlier."

Stephen Chow sheathed his knife: "We're all civilized people, it's not good to resort to knives and guns. Look how pale you are, go back and get some sun."

He pulled a five-dollar bill from his pocket and slapped it on the counter: "Here's your baseball bat back, enough to buy two new ones. The extra is a tip."

He snatched the ice cream cone from Lorna's hand and walked out, turning back at the door: "Next time, prepare more strawberry flavor for the tasting; vanilla is too sweet."

The young Black man stood frozen behind the counter, clutching half a baseball bat, staring blankly at the banknote.

The pickup truck was parked on the corner of the sixth block.

Piles of garbage lined both sides of the street, and homeless people huddled in the shadows against the walls, wrapped in tattered blankets. Several young Black men in hoodies squatted at the alley entrance, their eyes fixed on the dilapidated foreign car.

Stephen Chow pushed open the car door and got out, then slammed the door shut behind him.

His white suit stood out in the neighborhood.

"Are you sure she lives here?" Zhou Xingxing chewed the last bite of the ice cream cone and threw the paper sleeve into the trash can.

"She has no money and isn't good at finding a job." Lorna looked at the dilapidated and dimly lit stairwell, covering her mouth and nose to block out the stench emanating from it.

The two walked up to the sixth floor.

"This old, dilapidated apartment would have been demolished and redeveloped long ago in China. What if I slip and fall on my way home from work? Would that be considered a work-related injury? The Labor Law clearly stipulates—"

"Can you shut up and climb the stairs?"

Stopping in front of room 604, Lorna took a step forward and was about to knock on the door when Stephen Chow reached out and stopped her, pointing to the brass lock.

Stephen Chow gave him a wink, then slid his right hand toward the hilt of his knife at his waist: "I'll knock on the door."