I searched and fought in America.

Deep in a dark alleyway.

Rosen looked at Lukakul beside him, whose head had been smashed open and who hadn't woken up even in death, and a cold smile appeared on his lips.

Having spent so many years struggling at the bottom of this country, he knew the people here very well. Most of them were high on drugs, which made them not very smart.

Especially those gangsters, most of them were not cared for by their parents from a young age and may have entered society at a very young age.

Don't be fooled by how ruthless and inhumane they may seem; in reality, their average mental age is pitifully young. No one is willing to praise them, but you can basically make them laugh so hard they lose their bearings just by coaxing them.

It's both laughable and pathetic.

"You have successfully defeated the [Elite Boss Lukakul]. Since you were the sole survivor of this kill, you are entitled to all the rewards for defeating the boss."

"The newbie reward will be sent to your backpack after you successfully evacuate."

Rosen bent down, scooped up the treasure chest that had surfaced on the corpse, stuffed it into his backpack, and then turned and ran.

Two minutes later, he was almost out of the community when a pale blue light curtain appeared at the edge of his vision. Rosen confirmed that no one was around and suddenly accelerated and rushed over.

You have successfully evacuated!

[Supply Settlement: Profit of 80,000 Kazakhstani Credits]

Ignoring the settlement interface, Rosen continued walking and plunged into the dark alleyway at the edge.

He ripped off the beard stuck to his chin and threw it into the trash can. Then, he dug his fingernails into his nose and tore off a high-profile silicone prosthetic nose.

Finally, he wiped his cheek hard with his sleeve, and the hideous scar disappeared, revealing his originally smooth skin.

Not finished yet.

He pulled a chestnut-colored wig from his inner coat pocket, put it on, smoothed his hair, and then took out a lipstick, quickly applying it to his lips.

He unbuttoned his black windbreaker and casually tied it around his waist, revealing a flashy hip-hop T-shirt underneath.

In just twenty seconds.

The ruthless gangster with a face full of scars and covered in knives disappeared, replaced by a trendy young woman from the street.

Rosen whistled, put his hands in his pockets, and disappeared into the crowd on the street.

At the same time, the battlefield was in ruins.

"What did you say?! Lukakul is dead?!"

On the other end of the walkie-talkie, Aiden Hawke's roar made the loudspeaker tremble.

Ba Xie held the blood-stained walkie-talkie in his hand, frozen in place. He looked up at the brothers surrounding him.

Those men who usually killed without blinking an eye were now deathly pale, their eyes filled with terror, nodding frantically at Ba Xie, mouthing "Don't let it slip."

Ba Xie's Adam's apple bobbed, he took a deep breath, and his voice became hoarse:

"Boss Hawk, those sons of bitches from the Fang Gang have gone mad. They've ambushed with heavy firepower on the right flank and suddenly reinforced their troops. Boss Luca, unfortunately, was hit by a stray bullet and died on the spot..."

Silence fell on the other side. Aiden Hawke didn't speak again, leaving the Scorpion and his men waiting in fear.

A few seconds later.

"beep--"

The communication was disconnected.

Ba Xie let go of the walkie-talkie, which fell to the ground. His legs went weak, and he collapsed to the ground, his back soaked in cold sweat.

The people around them seemed to have all their strength drained away, and they all slid down against the wall.

"If the boss finds out... we handed Luca over to a complete stranger..."

The tall, thin Black man clutched his head, his teeth chattering, "We're going to be skinned alive, we're really going to be skinned alive..."

A deep fear flashed in everyone's eyes.

They knew all too well the tricks of the trade in gang dungeons. They'd always been the ones laughing as they listened to others' screams of agony. But what if it were them...?

"Shut up!"

Ba Xie sprang up from the ground, grabbed the tall, thin man by the collar, his face contorted in a ferocious grimace, his eyes bloodshot.

"No one is allowed to mention that person! Luca died at the hands of the Fangs gang! Do you understand?!"

He surveyed his surroundings, his eyes like a wolf's: "This is the only way out. Anyone who dares to utter a single word will be killed by me before the boss even lifts a finger!"

Everyone fell silent, nodding repeatedly.

After fear comes shame and hatred.

"But that bastard... we can't just let it go like this." A black man gritted his teeth and slammed his fist against the wall. "He made a fool of us, and now we live in fear like dogs."

"I'm going to catch him," another Black man gritted out through clenched teeth. "I'm going to grind every bone in his body to dust."

"And I'm going to crush his thing right in front of him!"

The air was thick with resentment and murderous intent when the so-called Chinese-American special envoy was mentioned.

Baxter released his grip, his face grim: "Issue a bounty. Turn Houston upside down, find him. Do you even remember his features?"

Everyone immediately began to recall, piecing together the image of that guy with their own opinions.

"He's of Chinese descent, very tall, probably two meters!" The tall, thin man confidently gestured his height.

"Yes, he's very strong, even stronger than me."

"He has a knife scar on his face, on his left cheek, a very long one."

"His beard is very thick, like he hasn't shaved in a long time."

"And the nose!" another person added. "That nose is exceptionally high and straight, almost like a hooked nose, which is rare among Chinese people and makes it very recognizable!"

As Ba Xie listened to the descriptions, a fierce glint flashed in his eyes, and he nodded emphatically:

"Okay, two meters tall, scarred face, thick beard, hooked nose, such obvious features, he can't escape."

"Immediately post a bounty on the black market; I want him alive!"

---

Greens Point, Houston.

The streets were littered with garbage, and everywhere were staggering figures like zombies, with homeless people wrapped in rags in the shadows at street corners.

At this moment, a tall woman was walking alone on the sidewalk, walking with a brisk pace. Her back view looked extremely dashing. Although she was ridiculously tall, there are always people who like big cars.

In the shadows by the roadside, a young Black man was smoking when he saw the tall woman on the street. He was mesmerized by her back view and swallowed hard.

He casually tossed the cigarette butt on the ground, pulled up the hood of his hoodie so that half his face was hidden underneath, stared at the figure's back, quickly approached, and casually whistled.

In this godforsaken place, such a rare find is extremely scarce.

He quickly followed, calling out flippantly, "Hey, beautiful, all alone? This place isn't safe, maybe..."

The young man grinned and reached out to put his hand on the "woman's" shoulder. But before his hand could even touch the hem of her clothes, the figure in his line of sight suddenly stopped and turned around.

It was indeed an extremely handsome face, but it didn't have much of a feminine softness. Instead, it had a masculine feel. The next second, he felt a blur before his eyes, and his wrist felt like it was being gripped by pliers. Then, an irresistible force came from his neck.

"Ugh—!"

His feet were off the ground, and he was grabbed by the neck with one hand and dragged into a dead-end alley like a chick.

With a loud bang, the young man was slammed against the wall.

He tried to resist, but his dagger and gun were quickly taken from him.

Deep in the alley, Rosen held the silver-white pistol in one hand, the muzzle pressed against the young man's chin, his Adam's apple bobbing, his voice deep and magnetic:

"Want to play? Do you still want to play now?"

The young Black man's pupils contracted sharply; it was a man's voice!

Then, the woman in front of him reached out and pulled off her chestnut-colored wig, revealing her originally angular face.

Rosen looked at the young black man with a playful smile on his lips, but his eyes were somewhat cold.

The young Black man was cornered against the wall, feeling the coldness of the gun barrel against his chin; his legs trembled uncontrollably.

"Hey! Hey! Big brother! It's a misunderstanding! It's a misunderstanding!"

The young man raised his hands, his voice trembling with tears:

"I was blind, I was really blind. I thought she was... I thought she was a girl out 'doing business'. I thought... I didn't mean anything by it, I just wanted to strike up a conversation!"

My home is nearby, I'm not involved in any gangs, really, please don't kill me. I have two hundred dollars in my pocket, you can have it all.

Seeing the young man's tearful state, Rosen suddenly smiled gently, lowered his gun, and straightened the man's disheveled collar, drawing out his words:

"Hmm, seems like a sensible kid. I understand, young people are hot-tempered."

He turned to the side and waved his hand: "Alright, get lost."

"Thank you! Thank you, brother!"

The young man was overjoyed, his expression of surprise and delight undisguised. He scrambled past Rosen and ran wildly toward the alley entrance.

After running five or six meters, reaching the bright light at the alley entrance, a strange look flashed across the young man's face.

He instinctively turned around, wanting to remember that face. In that instant, what he saw in his pupils was Rosen's mocking smile and the raised muzzle of his gun.

boom!

A bloody hole instantly appeared between the young man's eyebrows, and the corpse fell forward with the momentum, landing on the ground with a thud.

Rosen blew on the muzzle of his gun and curled his lip: "You know where I am, and you still want to leave?"

He strode forward, grabbed the corpse's ankles with his black-gloved hands, and dragged it back into the depths of the alley.

There happened to be a large, abandoned wooden crate in the corner.

Rosen skillfully folded the body and stuffed it inside, then closed the lid. He bent down to pick up the Glock pistol and dagger scattered on the ground, wiped them off, and put them into his backpack.

After doing all this, he dusted off his hands, hummed an unknown tune, and walked out of the alley.

In this chaotic community known as "Gunfire Corner," countless dirty transactions and deaths occur every day.

The death of a cocky hoodlum is like the death of a rat in a ditch.

Nobody will care. His drug-addicted parents won't care, and neither will the police station, which only collects corpses.

---

A writer's musings 2: Sometimes I feel very dangerous. In order to write about American crime, I researched a lot of money laundering and explosives manufacturing.

I really hope the FBI can track me down through the internet and arrest me. That way, I'll have a reason to stop updating, and I can also get free jail food without having to worry about what to eat next.