138. Sudden and Unexpected

The seven of them went to a car rental company to book a stretch Lincoln for the night of the prom.

Over the next few days, every night they would go to Abby's house to practice dancing against the backdrop of upbeat music.

They tried the Waltz, the Tango, and even the Flamenco. They didn't need to master them in such a short time, as long as they remembered a few simple routines so they wouldn't stand frozen like wooden posts at the party.

At this point, Level 3 Combat brought Dean some unexpected joy. To some extent, dancing and combat both required physical coordination, flexibility, and endurance... The only difference was that combat involved explosive confrontation and striking training, while dancing required more rhythm, pacing, and aesthetic grace.

Dean had a foundation in combat, and his agility attribute exceeded that of ordinary people, which was an innate, unique talent.

A Waltz that ordinary people would struggle to grasp even the basics of in one or two weeks took Dean just two nights to master; his basic steps and gentle turns already looked quite proficient.

As a sports enthusiast, Gretchen also had some background in dance from childhood, and the two quickly began to dance gracefully and skillfully around the courtyard, spinning tightly together.

"Ah!" On the other side, beneath the willow tree, Jenny let out a muffled grunt, lowered her head to look at her red, swollen instep, and glared at the dance partner holding her. "Clumsy hands and feet! Can't you learn from Dean?"

"Oh god, I'm a normal human being. How can I compare to a monster?" Baker turned his head to look at the glare, shifting the blame elsewhere. "If you want to compare, compare with Last!"

Last was standing in place at a loss, while opposite him, Britney sat on the edge of the flower bed, rubbing her instep with a resentful expression; she had lost count of how many times she had been stepped on.

"It'd be nice even to get your foot stepped on," Abby muttered mournfully in the corner, spreading her arms to embrace the empty air as she began to dance alone.

...

The dance practice intervals coincided with the day Holden left Las Vegas.

369 Fifth Avenue, Southern Henderson.

A brand-new, two-story white cottage had risen from the ashes of the property once consumed by fire.

The new owner of the house, Alvin Garcia, warmly entertained his two long-lost old friends.

They set up a grill and brought out several crates of beer and soda.

Surrounded by a ring of bright sunflowers, they enjoyed a barbecue feast together.

"The house is built, and you've found a job. Is the next step to take a wife?" Dean bit into a golden-brown, crispy pork rib, turning to look at Alvin, whom he hadn't seen in a year.

The once decadent and sloppy street vagrant was now dressed in a plaid shirt and khaki casual pants. His face had a healthy flush, his eyes were bright and energetic, and he looked much younger than before.

"I owe whatever I am today entirely to the help of the two of you." Alvin's gaze swept over Dean and Holden with gratitude, and he raised his beer can toward them. "If you ever have any trouble in the future, just come find me. I will do everything in my power to repay you."

Dean raised his Pure Premium juice and clinked glasses with him.

"Oh, right, I just remembered something," Alvin took a sip of beer. "Over a month ago, a television crew came to interview me, asking me to talk in detail about my entire experience of cancer spontaneously curing after the fire, and then turning it into an episode to be broadcast. They even promised me a two-thousand-dollar reward."

Dean suddenly had a strong sense of familiarity. Didn't Abby say something similar? "Was it an East Coast production crew that claimed to specialize in collecting bizarre folklore?"

"That's right."

"Did you tell them everything?" Dean quietly crushed the aluminum can in his hand.

"How could I? I promised to keep your secret," Alvin patted his chest. "I didn't mention a single word about you and the psychic. I just said that I happened to be caught in the fire while asleep."

Dean thought for a moment and asked, "Did the crew leave you a business card?"

"Wait a moment." Alvin stood up and went inside, returning two minutes later with a crude white business card lacking any job title or address, showing only a name and a phone number.

Jacqueline Bourgeois
Phone: 001-702-XXX

"A local Las Vegas number." Holden, standing nearby, put down his empty beer can and glanced at the card. "Did they say specifically which program they were in charge of?"

"According to them, the show was still in the confidential planning stage and they didn't disclose it to me."

"How many members were there, and what did they look like?" Dean interjected.

"Three Caucasians. Two men carrying camera equipment, and a female reporter." Alvin lowered his head in thought. "The two men were around thirty years old, white, and solidly built. One had black hair and the other was blonde, both about six feet tall with ordinary looks."

"The lady looked under thirty, petite with a sweet appearance, and long red hair... yeah, that's about all I remember."

"They were quite professional when handling their equipment, giving me my first taste of what it feels like to be on television."

Alvin chatted a bit more about the television crew before raising his beer can once again.

"Dean is graduating, and Holden is heading back to Virginia. I don't know if we'll ever have the chance to meet again. I can only pray for you both. May God bless you and keep you healthy forever."

...

"Is there something wrong with that crew?" After bidding farewell to Alvin, Holden got into the car with Dean.

"I just have a bad feeling about it. Not long ago, they also went to interview Abby's house."

Dean had been involved in both cases investigated by the crew.

"Worried they might pose a threat to you?" Holden pondered. "I'll help you look into it and delay my departure by a few days."

Hearing this classic jinx, Dean's eyelids twitched, and he rejected the offer without room for argument.

"You can't delay! I'm taking you home right now to pack your bags and put you straight on a flight back to Virginia!"

"Why so emotional? Fine, let's go then."

"That's more like it. How is Bradley at the precinct lately?" Dean wondered if this FBI agent was investigating him in secret.

"The case of the Red Dragon Club ultimately failed to catch the killer, and he left Las Vegas the day before yesterday."

"He's already left?" Dean breathed a sigh of relief, and the atmosphere inside the car lightened considerably.

Holden looked out the window.

"Man, before I go, I still want to speak from the heart. My biggest takeaway from this year in Las Vegas was meeting you. You have shades of my younger self in you."

"Just as talented, and just as cynical. I originally wanted to guide you to grow slowly, starting as a police officer and gradually joining the FBI, grinding it out for a few years until you won recognition from above, perhaps eventually establishing a supernatural investigation department. But you chose a different path."

"Since when did you get so sentimental?" Dean honked the car horn.

"This is called speaking from the heart. Alright, no more nagging. Last thing: I hope you uphold the justice in your heart, and don't let money and impulses rule you and turn you into a wanted criminal." Holden pulled a small black pager with a number sticker on it from his briefcase and handed it over. "Stay in touch. If I accidentally run into trouble and page you, remember to reply."

"No problem. If I ask you for help, don't leave me hanging either." Dean smiled as he took the pager and tucked it away. Having a friend in the FBI was by no means a bad thing for him; it meant he finally had "someone high up in court."

...

Dean watched Holden board the flight at McCarran International Airport, then transformed his appearance in the airport restroom into that of an unfamiliar middle-aged blonde man. He found a roadside payphone and dialed the number on the television crew's business card.

"Ms. Jacqueline, I heard your production crew is collecting leads on folklore anomalies. I have some explosive news. I wonder if you might be interested?"

"Sorry, sir. The lady and the production crew you are looking for were the previous tenants of my house," an elderly male voice came through the phone. "They moved out a week ago."

"Do you know where they moved to?"

"They mentioned at the time that they had gathered enough material for the show and were taking a flight back to Chicago."

"Which television station in Chicago do they work for?" Dean asked again.

"Sorry, I'm not clear on that."

"Well, you see, I've been meaning to rent a place recently. Would it be convenient for me to come take a look at your house?"

Soon, the shape-shifted Dean rushed to a mid-range residential complex in North Las Vegas and met the homeowner—a vigorous and healthy elderly man.

By the sofa opposite the fireplace, Dean offered him a Marlboro cigarette and brought up the television crew.

"They brought a bunch of recording equipment. Looked both professional and expensive."

"They left early and returned late; I didn't have many chances to talk to them."

"But Jacqueline was enthusiastic and lively. She once took the initiative to chat with me about the material they collected—over thirty pieces of material in total. Not just Las Vegas, Nevada; they also visited the home of the Texas Butcher Family, Zombie Road in Missouri, Sacrifice Cliff in Montana, and so on..."

Hearing this, Dean's expression softened slightly, and he passed over a few hundred-dollar bills. "I have some explosive news here. As long as it's recorded into a show, it's guaranteed to be famous nationwide, and you'll be able to appear on all sorts of television shows and make money until your hands cramp. If you can help me contact them, this money is yours."

"I can't earn this money. I drove them to the airport myself, and I didn't keep any contact information." The old man pushed the money back, every weathered groove on his face showing reluctance to part with it. "If you want to contact them, you'll either have to go to Chicago yourself to look for them, or wait until the show airs."

"What a pity."

Dean chatted with the old man for two hours, scanned the entire house with his God's Eye perspective, and used the psychological tricks Holden taught him to confirm that the other party was not lying, before bidding farewell and leaving.

...

Over the next two days, Dean did not let down his guard. Every night, he hid in the bushes, tree crowns, or neighbors' roofs near his home, scanning and observing with a sniper rifle's high-magnification scope while activating the God's Eye "recording" function to backtrack and scrutinize suspicious signs around him.

Using a public payphone, he called Marco to confirm Robin's safety.

Before the prom, Dean even brazenly packed a large pile of luggage, deliberately staging an escape act by catching a flight to Los Angeles and taking a quick trip around.

Then, he shape-shifted and monitored his own residence.

Even so, he was not intercepted in the slightest, nor did he find a single trace of any pursuer's existence.

Everything was calm and peaceful.

The day of the graduation prom arrived. Dean finally put down his hanging heart, drove a white stretch Lincoln, picked up his friends one by one, and headed toward Britney's house, which was closest to the school.

The streets were exceptionally lively today, even without festive decorations.

Along the way, every few hundred meters, one could spot luxury cars like Ferraris or Lamborghinis. Las Vegas seemed to be holding a grand luxury car parade.

And the drivers were all a bunch of energetic, youthful high school students.

The boys were all dressed uniformly in white shirts with ties, formal suit jackets, and slicked-back hair.

The girls wore gorgeous prom dresses with delicate, light makeup.

Everyone leaned out of the car windows, shouting and screaming like crazy, greeting their peers in the "next lane" in their own unique way.

The brilliant sunlight made every youthful face glow with a rosy flush, and the avenue turned into an ocean of joy.

"Cheerleader sisters! Where are you whores going in those rags?"

Jenny suddenly thrust half her body out of the Lincoln's rear window, raising her middle finger in a friendly gesture toward a driving-parallel Cadillac.

In the Cadillac, a group of youthful, glamorous girls had been holding hands and swaying their bodies to create a human wave. One of the blonde hot girls leaned out of the window, raised her middle finger in return, and playfully stuck out her tongue, a tongue stud glittering brilliantly in the midday sun.

"Idiot Jenny! Guess what? We're on our way to fuck your daddy!"

"Then you'll have to go down and apply to His Majesty Satan first before you can meet my deadbeat old man!" Jenny laughed and started rapping.

"Shut your stinking mouth! You talk like a lawnmower, so annoying! A bunch of idiots!"

Unable to win the verbal sparring match, the hot girl prepared to retreat back into the car, but her gaze suddenly swept over the driver in the front of the Lincoln, who was concentrating intently, and her eyes instantly lit up.

"Sorry, my bad! Not all of you are idiots!"

As if her expression was controlled by a face-changing mask, she smiled sweetly, crooked her soft little finger at the driver, batted her fake eyelashes, and blew a kiss.

"Dean, don't waste your time with this bunch of boring nerds! Come play in our car instead. Tonight, we'll all be your dance partners!"

Immediately afterward, a row of girls inside the car threw their chests out, straightened their long legs, and displayed their graceful figures.

"How about teaching us shooting and kung fu all night?" Another cheerleader in the passenger seat draped her ample chest over the window frame, her cleavage rising and falling like waves as she blew flying kisses.

Dean smiled and shook his head.

"You horny little bitches, go to the zoo and find yourselves some chimpanzees!" Gretchen stuck her head out from the second-row window and hurled half a bottle of water straight into the blonde hot girl's face.

"Fuck you, bitch!"

Gretchen retreated back into the car with a deeply satisfied look.

Dean tacitly cooperated, accelerating to pull away from the Cadillac.

After this small interlude, the seven of them chatted and laughed as they entered Britney's house.

The four girls occupied the bedroom, shut the heavy door, pulled out a dazzling array of lipsticks, foundations, nail polishes, and various cosmetics, and began helping each other with makeup and weaving intricate, elaborate hairstyles.

They wouldn't come out until evening.

...

"Three gentlemen, it's your turn to shine! Which one of you industrious fellows is going to drive to the flower shop and bring back our corsages and boutonnieres?"

Jenny's lion roar echoed from behind the wooden door.

"Three boutonnieres, four corsages! Remember the colors, don't mix them up!"

Last and Baker exchanged a tacit look, grinning as they said, "We unanimously vote for the most popular Dean to be our 'flower-protecting envoy'."

...

"Two lazy bums!" Dean helplessly walked out the door, got into the stretch Lincoln, and headed back to the flower shop.

Nearly all the high schools in Las Vegas held their graduation proms on this very day, and the parking lot was packed to capacity.

"Shit, can't even find a parking spot?"

Honk honk!

A Chevrolet right behind the Lincoln started honking like crazy.

Dean helplessly circled the shopping mall once before finally managing to squeeze the car into a remote spot behind the back door. This area was so quiet you couldn't even see a ghost, forming a stark contrast to the lively hustle and bustle at the front.

"Gretchen and I have blue tulips."

Dean recalled the flower colors as he walked out.

"Baker and Jenny have red roses."

"Last and Britney have white chrysanthemums."

"Wait, what flower does Abby have?!"

Dean walked beneath the back door's iron railing, his footsteps halting as he experienced an inexplicable, needle-like, mild, and brief pricking sensation on his right thigh.

Instinctively, he activated his God's Eye perspective and looked around. Within a thirty-meter radius, the semi-flat plaza was empty and quiet.

A gentle breeze blew, the sunlight was scorching, and the air surged with the passionate abandon of summer.

This should have been a perfect day to wildly enjoy the graduation prom.

But at this very moment.

The wind stopped, all sounds vanished without a trace, and the Creator seemed to have pressed the pause button on the entire world.

A perception exceeding 13 gave Dean a lingering sixth sense deep within his mind—

A terrifying monster lurking in the dark was staring fixedly at him. A strong sense of crisis transformed into an electric current piercing through Dean's body. A suffocating fear and dizzying palpitation welled up from deep within. In a split second, every hair on his body stood on end like a startled cat, and goosebumps broke out across his skin in a massive wave!

Run!

Escape!

"Shadows of the Past!"

Dean roared madly in his heart, a ghostly armor instantly enveloping his body as he rolled across the ground like lightning!

Pop!

A sound of the air rippling to an extreme degree echoed out, carrying terrifying kinetic energy. It crossed hundreds of meters in an instant, tore through the air, and struck his right thigh.

The densely condensed ghostly armor was shattered instantly, flickering unsteadily before dissipating into the void.

A large, boat-tail-shaped bullet exhausted its kinetic energy and dropped to the ground at Dean's feet.

Immediately afterward, a few muffled sounds came through the air like darts thrown into a paper dartboard.

Dean dropped to both knees and lowered his head—a series of specialized bullets equipped with sharp needles had pierced through his suit trousers into his thigh, waist, and back.

His ten fingers shook uncontrollably.

A strong sense of frustration clamped onto his throat and blurred his vision, but the chemical substances injected by the needles, rich to the extreme, rapidly drained away his strength.

Fatigue and drowsiness surged over him like a tide.

Thud!

Dean collapsed limply, falling backward. As his eyes slowly closed, several figures holding massive, rock-thick black shields and wearing black tactical suits walked into his fading vision.

(End of this chapter)