I'm building Gundams in America

He lay among seven gruesome corpses.

The surroundings were dimly lit, dilapidated, and even contained some buildings and decorations that clearly did not belong to this era.

A dozen or so ragged, sinister-looking men with fanatical eyes surrounded him.

A man with a stubble beard, black hair, and black eyes sat casually cross-legged, looking over with a gentle expression.

Just moments ago, this man had cut off four bloody tongues and nailed them to the wall.

A yellow flag covered in grime, bearing strange Eastern characters, was unfurled and hung in the center of the wall.

Old Joe, the man with the bottle, was trembling all over, not understanding where he was.

Tonight, he's in his newly rented apartment in Chinatown's international district. He's hired two streetwalkers, opened a bottle of champagne, and even stocked up on some new fentanyl concoctions, all in preparation for a good time.

I bought ten bottles of baby lubricant alone.

Who knew that just as they were warming up, someone broke down the door, then tied them up, wrapped them in a bed sheet, and sealed them inside something.

I could feel myself being constantly moved around, and I was even thrown to the ground once. It seemed like other people were being crammed in as well.

When he saw the outside world again, he was already here.

"Who...who are you? Am I in hell? Almighty Lord, please forgive my sins..."

"Old Joe the bottle," he murmured.

The man sitting cross-legged asked calmly:

"Old Joe, my friend, don't you recognize me? I thought we were friends a long time ago."

Old Joe, completely intimidated by the other party's imposing manner, quickly put on a fawning smile and said:

"I'm sorry, sir, I... I used too many enhancement agents, and they're too old. I'm almost forty, and my memory is always failing me... I really can't remember you..."

Before he could finish speaking, the black-haired man in front of him slowly said:

"You once paid Edward twenty dollars to kill me, and you also had that black guy who plays the violin assassinate me. My friend, if you have any grievances against me, you can tell me to my face. I think we will clear up the misunderstandings. I have always been a gentle person."

Upon hearing this, Old Joe, the man with the wine bottle, showed a look of terror on his face. He finally realized who the person in front of him was and said in a trembling voice:

"You...you are...you are..."

Old Will's face darkened, and he said loudly:

"Before you stand the saints of the streets of Seattle, the righteous men of this world, the agents of God's will!"

Old Joe, now realizing who had him, felt all his strength drain away, and tears streamed down his face as he pleaded:

"Sir, I...it's all a misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding...please! If I had known you were a saint, I would never have dared...I beg your forgiveness...I beg your pardon! I have heard of your benevolent name!"

Wayne, with a look of pity on his face, said:

"Tell me, who told you to do this? Or was it all your own idea? My friend, I never imagined my existence would make you so unhappy."

Old Joe, the wine bottle, trembled all over and shouted:

"Sir, please forgive me. I have never had any personal grudge against you. This was just a job Mr. Steve gave me... He... he is my family doctor, and I have been buying medicine from his clinic..."

"A few days ago, he told me that a homeless man who could cure people had suddenly appeared on the streets nearby—under the guise of exorcising evil spirits. He said that this would mislead the good neighbors living here and was harming people, saying that this homeless man was an apostle of an evil god, so..."

"He gave me some money and enough enhancement agents to last me for several months, and asked me to help get rid of this homeless man—that is, you."

Old Joe, speaking haltingly, gradually helped Wayne understand what had happened.

Infighting among peers.

Cutting off someone's livelihood is like killing their parents, which makes sense.

In the nearby Vietnamese community, a man named Steve runs an unlicensed clinic.

The other party has always had a stable customer base.

However, the news that Wayne had been practicing medicine on the street these past few days also reached Steve's ears.

Although Steve's illegal clinic catered more to lower-middle-class and lower-class regular communities, Wayne's actions did not affect him.

But to prevent any unforeseen circumstances, Steve approached his longtime client, Old Joe the Bottle, and offered him a hefty reward to eliminate Wayne.

In Steve and Old Joe's view, in the South Side of Seattle, especially in the chaotic streets of Chinatown, getting rid of a homeless person was an extremely simple matter.

Wayne nodded.

That is indeed the case.

If he didn't have the system, and didn't have those attribute points, he would have died in a tent on the street long ago, or been stabbed in the heart and lungs by a dagger and died on the street.

No one cares if one homeless person dies at the hands of another homeless person.

The upper echelons of the entire social system treat them like air, subconsciously expelling them from the human race and pretending they don't exist.

At Xida University, homeless people are not considered human.

For Steve, it was just a little money and some worthless fentanyl.

It was as if he was casually sweeping up the trash on the roadside.

Unfortunately, Steve had the wrong person.

Wayne smiled gently and said:

"I think there must be some misunderstanding between me and that Mr. Steve. I'm just a street medium who exorcises evil spirits. What he did went too far."

Old Joe nodded frantically, agreeing with Wayne's words, and said:

"Yes, sir, you are right. I also tried to dissuade Steve, saying that his treatment of a saint on the street would be divinely punished... but Steve was stubborn and wouldn't listen..."

David, standing to the side, cursed:

"You're talking nonsense! You're such a liar, I'd rather believe Epstein is a virgin than believe you! If you really stopped that Steve guy, why did you keep trying to kill my brother Wayne?! He almost died! Three times!"

Old Joe, the wine bottle maker, immediately began to cry:

"Sir, you may not know this, but Steve is backed by the Jose Gang. His clinic is a distribution point for the Jose Gang's enhancement products, and the Jose Gang is affiliated with MS-13..."

Speaking of MS-13, Old Joe couldn't help but shudder.

Upon hearing the name, everyone present looked astonished, and some of the homeless men's eyes flashed with panic.

Wayne also narrowed his eyes.

The so-called MS-13 is the El Salvadoran Ant Gang, also known as the "Savage Salvadorans".

This gang is considered one of the bloodiest organized crime groups in the world.

The original core members of MS-13 were mainly teenagers whose parents had come to the United States to escape the El Salvadoran civil war, and all of them suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder.

Later, it expanded to include people of Guatemalan and Honduran descent, including many former guerrillas. They are ruthless, militarily capable, and their total number in the United States exceeds 1.

This group is most notorious for their absolute cruelty and ruthlessness; their favorite pastime is public torture and dismemberment.

Meanwhile, the entire MS-13 was composed of loosely organized small groups and regional project leaders, without a unified supreme leader, and was highly autonomous.

In the business of enhancers, if established Mexican conglomerates like Zeta are involved in large-scale wholesale and smuggling of enhancers, then MS-13 is more like a street distributor in the enhancer business.

According to Old Joe, behind this Steve is an MS-13 group called the Jose Gang, which is active in the nearby neighborhood.

Wayne squinted and asked:

"So, Officer Jimmy was also bribed by Jose's gang?"

Old Joe, the wine bottle, was taken aback and said:

"What, Officer Jimmy?"