Chapter Five: Planet Daily, LexCorp, Wayne Technologies

But the sensation of being watched quickly passed overhead. Elia felt suspicious for a moment, sensing it was some kind of warning.

He hadn’t been noticed yet, but if he kept chatting like this, Superman or someone else might arrive within three seconds.

On the other hand, could this sense of impending danger also be a power of the Book of Fate? After all, anyone bold enough to brand themselves with the word “Fate” must have some precognitive ability.

Unfortunately, Elia’s external aid came without a manual. For now, as long as it could serve as a decent screwdriver and quietly provide an unscrupulous contract without overstepping, he would be satisfied.

He didn’t talk much more with the small-time boss. Though he originally wanted to learn Superman’s weakness, this was not the right moment. After giving the man a second chance to surrender, he quietly returned to his residence.

Ophelia was clearly starving, devouring bread with her hands, strawberry jam smeared all over her mouth. Even when Elia watched her, she just shrank her neck a little and ate even faster. Unable to bear it, Elia poured her a cup of hot water, then used the staff formed from the Book of Fate to push the cup toward her.

“...Thank you, Dad.”

The words were so low he thought he might have imagined them.

He sighed and shook his head, thinking he should ask Ophelia someday how she came to live here, what happened before, and why she feared “him.” But that would have to wait until he reduced the threat he posed and improved his English enough to communicate.

Glancing at Ophelia again, he suppressed the pity that any normal person would feel for a little girl, intending to rest briefly in his bedroom and then consider how to deal with the International Gang.

Just then, a very familiar yellow streak of light suddenly flew before him!

It bore a metallic ring, with a black disc at its center. The white lines forming the pattern on it matched perfectly with another ring Elia had tucked into his pocket.

They looked like mass-produced items.

“Earth’s Elia Esposito, you possess the power to instill profound fear.”

“Welcome to the Senesto Legion.”

“You have been summoned to represent star sector 2814.”

The opening lines were no different. With Ophelia’s help, Elia roughly translated: the first said he was frightening enough; the second indicated the ring belonged to something called the Senesto Legion; the third was more complex, with “star sector” apparently a proper noun, which even Ophelia didn’t understand.

Elia examined the ring with mixed feelings, then pulled out the spoils he'd collected over the past three days:

Two pistols seized from the International Gang.

Two unsolicited rings that had flown into his home.

The pistols were standardized—perhaps even the bullets came from the same batch—and the two rings placed side by side looked like exact duplicates.

They lay in a row on the old dining table in Elia’s cheap apartment, creating a mysterious atmosphere utterly at odds with his miserable daily life. Anyone stepping in might think it was the lair of a wanted criminal or a cultist.

Still skeptical, Elia tried slipping the second ring onto his finger—then something stranger happened.

Though lively when it first flew over, the ring quickly lost power after attempting to dominate him and went inert, just like the first.

“Remaining energy level: 0%...”

This left Elia puzzled about the origin of the rings: Was this Senesto Legion even legitimate?

Their electronic birthday candles could sing continuously for 24 hours, but their rings died after three seconds—what a failure!

Avoiding Ophelia, Elia went to his bedroom and subjected the rings to fire, water, and gunfire tests. They were impervious to physical damage, quite plausible as hardware, but now they were like titanium phones without batteries—useless except as blunt objects.

After some thought, Elia decided to keep the rings with him.

On one hand, they were difficult to dispose of—throwing them in the trash might attract attention. On the other, in a pinch, wearing one might serve as an improvised weapon.

He urgently needed reliable gear. Though he had two guns and the Book of Fate, the former required professional training and could run out of ammo, and he had no idea where to find spare bullets of the same caliber.

The latter was a dangerous thing altogether.

Though the rings verbally threatened to conquer Elia, they were ultimately empty threats—useless snacks. The Book of Fate, on the other hand, had truly transformed him into this half-human, half-ghost state.

If he had to sacrifice one item to the river beside Metropolis, he would rather give up the Book of Fate.

The reason he needed equipment was simple—

Elia wanted to strike the International Gang first.

Since his transmigration, the troubles he faced could be divided into three categories.

First was near-starvation.

This was a very down-to-earth and common predicament but not an easy one to solve. Elia checked the past of this body. The good news was there was nothing proving he wasn’t himself; the bad news was there was nothing proving he was.

No driver’s license, passport, social security card, lease, or pay stub—

Of course, no diploma either.

In short, Elia was a single parent with no legal identity. During the day, with nothing better to do, he handed out resumes to street-side shops, predictably receiving polite replies: “Next time for sure.”

This left him with hardly any other path but to do some borderline or illegal work without violating his conscience too much.

The second difficulty was supernatural objects, represented by the Book of Fate and the Senesto Legion rings.

Unlike poverty, these were two extremes—neither down-to-earth nor common.

While poverty might be soothed by online tips like “One Life Hack a Day,” no universal solution existed for threats posed by supernatural forces. Their secrets were so complex that after initial pressure, Elia grew indifferent—since he couldn’t figure it out quickly, he’d just let it be for now.

The third was man-made disaster—the International Gang.

They were a byproduct of the first problem, poverty, but unlike poverty’s slow, silent erosion, the gang’s investigation over him was like a sword of Damocles hanging above his head. It wouldn’t kill him immediately but created a tension like a needle poised before his eyes.

In contrast, the International Gang was actually the easiest to deal with. Elia knew their boss was the owner of a communications company in Metropolis, which made matters simpler.

He immediately decided to schedule a “chat with Morgan Edge,” hoping everyone could keep the peace for Superman’s sake; otherwise, as the saying goes, the barefoot aren’t afraid of those wearing shoes. At worst, he’d find out whether the Book of Fate’s spine was tougher or the Mafia’s guns stronger.

He rested at home for another night. Early the next morning, Elia changed into rarely worn clothes, threw on a hooded sweatshirt to conceal his face, and took the subway quietly to downtown Metropolis.

It was his first glimpse of the city’s most prosperous and peaceful side. During rush hour, the streets bustled with traffic; skyscrapers soared to the heavens; the sky was a washed blue, and warm sunlight fractured into mottled patches amid the crowded pedestrians. Footsteps, engine roars, horns, shouts, broadcasts, giant billboards, music, news reports...

Passersby mentioned that Superman hadn’t been seen for a while; Elia listened discreetly, silently hoping Superman was still out in the cosmos.

Yet, he dared not be overly optimistic—Metropolis was, after all, Superman’s home city.

The International Gang boss’s Galaxy Communications Company was located in the far eastern district of New Troy, separated from Elia’s suicide slum by an entire island.

After more than an hour on the skyline subway, he finally arrived. A glass skyscraper bore a huge red “g”—the initial of Galaxy.

Several notable buildings stood nearby.

Two blocks west lay the famed Daily Planet headquarters. To the north of Galaxy Communications stood the iconic spire of the tech giant LexCorp; to the south were Wayne Enterprises’ Metropolis branch and Wayne Tech Labs.

The Daily Planet, LexCorp, and Wayne Tech formed a triad that surrounded Galaxy Communications, imposing an indescribable pressure. Elia paused involuntarily upon entering the building.

In some ways, Morgan Edge’s psychological resilience was impressive...

Such a man was unlikely to be swayed by words, but Elia was not here to negotiate.

He studied the fire escape map on the first floor to familiarize himself with the building’s layout.

A staff member spotted him and hurried over: “Sir, how may I help you...?”

Elia turned, revealing his entirely black, featureless face without any attempt to hide it.

The Galaxy Communications employee recoiled in fright, stepping back with a terrified expression, only to hear Elia ask, “Where is Morgan Edge?”

***

Ten minutes later, Elia stood before Morgan Edge. The whole process had been unbelievably smooth—he could only attribute it to the intimidating aura naturally exuded by the Book of Fate. Everyone he encountered lacked strong willpower, surrendering faster each time.

Morgan Edge was theoretically the last man standing on the grasshopper’s noose.

Elia had no intention of sending the International Gang boss to Strick Island Prison across the West River. He knew that a dying camel was still bigger than a horse; what he had seen today was merely the tip of the dark forces Morgan Edge controlled, the most publicly visible and least threatening part.

He only wanted Morgan Edge to understand they had no conflicting interests—and better to avoid any conflict, as that would benefit neither side. If Morgan Edge were sane, he would realize this.

Yet, something unexpected happened:

Morgan Edge didn’t even recognize who Elia was!