I'm building Gundams in America

The next morning, Mike found a homeless shelter, took a shower, put on his clean work clothes, sprayed on deodorant, and headed towards the supermarket where he worked.

He arrives very early every day, usually to clean the entire supermarket first, before moving goods and organizing shelves.

The goal was to make a good impression on his supervisor, Oliver, and avoid being fired.

Soon they arrived outside the supermarket. Mike straightened his clothes again, sprayed deodorant on again, put on a professional smile, and walked into the supermarket.

Unexpectedly, his colleague Paul had already started cleaning earlier than him.

"Mr. Paul," Mike greeted Paul.

Upon seeing Mike arrive, Paul said with delight:

"Brother Mike, what brings you here so early today? Actually, I should thank you."

"Thanks to the street psychic you introduced me to last time, who helped me exorcise the evil spirit, my pneumonia is completely cured and my sprain is healed! Now I can get another job."

"By the way, how is that gentleman doing now? I'll go thank him another day... and bring him a bowl of meat soup that my wife made herself."

Thinking of the clandestine surveillance Wayne is currently facing—the corrupt doctor Steve, the corrupt cop Jimmy, and the fact that the Seta Group is still active with new dangers lurking at any moment—Mike forced a smile and said:

"fine."

Then they began moving goods and organizing the shelves.

Unaware of Mike's deep concern, Paul continued working enthusiastically while talking:

"To be honest, I'm so grateful to that gentleman for helping me keep my job. Otherwise, I really don't know what I would have done. I might have already been kicked out of the apartment..."

"If that happens, my wife, children, and I will be homeless... and we might be arrested by ICE and put in an immigration jail. That's my worst nightmare."

"Good people like you, sir, are truly rare... It seems this world doesn't allow good people to exist, only rewarding demons..."

Mike nodded, about to answer, when a sharp voice rang out:

"Mike! Damn it! Are you blind? Do you have genital warts in your eyes? Why hasn't this stain been cleaned yet!?"

It was the voice of Oliver, the supermarket manager.

When there are no customers, Oliver's words tend to be particularly sharp and insulting.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Oliver, I haven't cleaned that hallway yet. I'll be right there."

Mike reluctantly picked up the mop and went to the hallway to start cleaning up a stain.

Oliver said coldly:

"You'd better work harder and not forget how hard it was for you to get this job! You have to finish moving all the goods and tidying up the shelves before nine o'clock... Paul, don't help him, this is his punishment."

"Yes, Mr. Oliver," Mike nodded and began scrubbing the floor vigorously.

The floor was covered in a mixture of syrup and urine, suggesting that some drug addict or other pranksters might have sneaked in, or perhaps it was one of those street teenagers who liked to play pranks.

After finally cleaning up all the stains, Mike quickly began moving goods and tidying up the shelves.

However, due to the cold weather these past few days, sales of many goods in the supermarket have increased significantly, so more restocking is needed than usual.

Faced with mountains of goods, he tried his best to move and organize them, but he was still somewhat overwhelmed.

"Brother Mike, I can help you..." Paul said quietly to Mike while doing his work, "I heard Oliver lost money betting on the game yesterday, and he's definitely going to vent his anger today..."

Mike shook his head and declined Paul's suggestion, saying:

"No, please, Paul, that will only get you into trouble. Oliver really will make you lose your job..."

As he spoke, he gritted his teeth and carried several large buckets of milk to the high shelf.

However, there were simply too many goods, and wiping the stains on the floor had already wasted a lot of time. Even after he had finished organizing most of the goods, there were still some left.

It was already nine o'clock.

Just then, Oliver swaggered out of the supervisor's office, a folder in his hand. He walked up to Mike, glanced at the neatly arranged shelves and then at the remaining goods, and said expressionlessly as he took notes:

"Failure to complete shelf organization within the stipulated time will result in a $100 fine. In addition, due to your negligence, a customer complained about the stains last night, resulting in a $200 fine."

Mike gritted his teeth, his chest heaving, struggling to suppress his anger, and said:

"Thank you, Mr. Oliver."

The stain appeared after he got off work, so there was no way anyone could have complained. The other party was just deliberately humiliating him and picking a fight.

Just then, Oliver sniffed, a look of disgust on his face, and said:

"Damn it, you filthy bastard, haven't you showered in days? Why do you stink so much?!"

As he spoke, he continued writing down his notes:

"Inappropriate appearance, does not meet company requirements. According to regulations, the fine is... $100. I heard you've been hanging out on the streets with thieves, rapists, murderers, and what's that, and apparently there's some damn wizard too. You need to understand, for the company, if you..."

Before he could finish his sentence, his voice suddenly stopped.

A dark shadow loomed over him.

Mike stopped what he was doing and walked over to him.

His face was calm, but his eyes burned with anger as he looked at Oliver and said, word by word:

"I took a shower this morning. Also, you're not allowed to insult my friend."

A flicker of panic crossed Oliver's eyes, then he suddenly remembered something, straightened up, and raised his head to reprimand:

"Mike, what do you think you're doing?! Do you want to get fired? Do you want to sleep on the streets? Think of your uncle!"

Mike's eyes were resolute as he opened a large bucket of milk and said to Oliver:

"Oliver, since you've been so kind to me, here's some milk for you."

As he spoke, he grabbed Oliver by the neck, shoved the mouth of the milk bucket into his mouth, and began to pour the milk down his throat rapidly.

Oliver struggled desperately, but found that Mike's hands were like iron clamps, and he couldn't break free at all.

The milk he forced into his mouth was immediately choked up after he swallowed a few mouthfuls, and it gushed out along with the food in his stomach.

Mike let go, and Oliver immediately collapsed to the ground like a lump of mud.

Mike poured the remaining half-bucket of milk all over Oliver, staring at him as he slowly said:

"You can call the police. I know where you live. Just like you said, my friends are thugs and murderers."

Oliver's initial bluster was completely exposed, and he lay trembling in the vomit, not daring to move an inch.

At that moment, he suddenly realized that when this dark-skinned man completely broke free from the shackles of social rules, he would become a ferocious beast.

The chain on the other person's body appeared to have been torn off by his own hands.

Mike ripped off his apron and threw it at Oliver, saying:

"Mr. Oliver, you're fired."

With that, he turned and strode away from the supermarket, leaving without looking back.

His entire salary for this week has been deducted, and he has no reason to stay here anymore.

I originally wanted to prove myself little by little through my own efforts and return to a normal life.

I was just too naive and ridiculous.

This society and this country would never give him such an opportunity.

Or rather, such an opportunity exists, but it is not prepared for someone of his skin color and background.

Mike touched the roll of US dollars in his pocket, looked at the sunlight and the street outside, and suddenly felt a sense of relief.

He's made up his mind; he's going to give the Wayne brothers a surprise tonight...

……

Around noon, White, who had shaved his beard and changed into a relatively clean set of clothes, walked briskly across the bustling street in a pair of worn-out leather shoes he had picked up from a trash can.

This is the Vietnamese community in South Seattle.

There are many homeless people posing in strange ways on the street corner, and White was once one of them.

There is a technical term for this: fentanyl folding.

This is because fentanyl severely suppresses the central nervous system and respiratory system, causing muscle stiffness. Users will involuntarily adopt this posture to keep their airways open.

They just stood there, like a group of living dead.

Several homeless people sat by the roadside, their arms and calves covered with dark purple, festering wounds—a side effect of toluenethiazide.

The combination of toluidine and fentanyl can prolong orgasm, but the side effect is that it can cause severe skin ulceration and necrosis.

White touched the revolver in his pocket and felt a sense of relief.

He had been slowly rotting away on the streets and in the sewers until he met Wayne.

The other person saved his life and his soul, giving him a shining goal.

What he couldn't forgive himself for was that he had betrayed the other party... even if it was unintentional.

Now is the time for him to atone for his sins.

Turning around, White quickly walked into an alley and entered a somewhat dilapidated neighborhood.

A white shop appeared at the corner of the street, with a barber's tricolor lamppost standing at the entrance.

Steve's Barber Shop.

Because the store also sold enhancers, it was quite well-known among the locals. White knew several friends who had bought enhancers from the store.

This time, however, White came as an avenger.

For Mr. Wayne.

His gaze was resolute. The moment he pushed open the door, he was ready to find the store manager named Steve, empty all the bullets in the magazine, and keep only one for himself.

But as soon as I entered, I suddenly heard a familiar voice:

"Mr. Steve, thank you, I look much better."

White looked up sharply and saw the barber named Steve cutting someone's hair, and sitting in the barber's chair was...

Mr. Wayne!?