Contact

On a June afternoon in Las Vegas, the golden sun hung high in the sky like an immortal deity, casting boundless golden radiance to banish the impurities of the mortal world.

Three ambushers marched in close succession into the parking lot.

They wore matching Kevlar ballistic vests, with tactical daggers and pistols hanging from their belts. Steel helmets and goggles concealed the greater part of their faces, leaving only their chins and firmly pressed lips visible.

The leader held a massive shield, its surface reflecting a dark, ominous sheen in the sunlight. The broad-backed, brawny second man cradled a McMillan TAC-50 rifle, aiming and maintaining vigilance.

Walking third, a petite female simply let her hands, encased in black tactical gloves, hang loosely by her sides with a soft grip, carrying no weapons whatsoever.

As their gazes swept over the multiple tranquilizer darts embedded in Dean's body.

Two of them began to secure the perimeter, while one squatted down, removed his gloves, and produced a pair of silvery handcuffs and heavy leg irons. The iron chain connecting the shackles was easily three times as thick as standard restraints.

Clack, clack.

Dean's hands and feet were locked.

The man then searched him, retrieved the teardrop-shaped planchette he carried, dropped it into a black plastic bag, and spoke into the walkie-talkie clipped to his chest, "Clear."

A white van swiftly pulled into the area outside the parking lot.

The trio opened the rear doors of the vehicle and lifted Dean into a vertical, coffin-shaped black container positioned inside the back.

Locked. Closed.

"Go!"

The van sped away from the quiet plaza, leaving only the solitary, elongated Lincoln behind.

...

The van merged onto Interstate 15.

Four people sat inside the cargo area, surrounding the "coffin" on the left and right.

Bradley Lincoln, dressed in a black windbreaker, lit a Camel cigarette and took a deep drag. The white smoke exhaled from his nose curled around his gloomy visage and narrow eye slits, a flash of fleeting delight crossing them.

The cigarette was passed to the black-haired man beside him, who had just removed his helmet. The man possessed utterly ordinary features, the kind that would disappear completely in a crowd.

Yet, with an affected flourish, he flicked his short black hair, took a puff of the cigarette, and handed it to the burly blond man sitting opposite. Next came the turn of the sweet-looking red-haired woman.

One drag each, akin to some solemn and silent ritual.

Finally, the cigarette reached a rugged-looking black-haired woman in the front seat gripping the steering wheel. After taking a deep pull, she raised the cigarette high backward, flicked the ash with her bent finger, and called out,

"Cheers!"

"Guys, what did I say earlier? Keep your composure to savor the finest delicacy! Three million is in the bag!"

"No, Miller, this Asian guy possesses two types of super abilities. He didn't even break skin when your partner shot him, barely breaching his defense," Bradley said with a smile as he scanned his companions. "He's worth at least six million."

"With this money, we can live comfortably for another two good years." The blond man wrapped his arm around the red-haired woman's shoulders, affectionately parting the stray locks from her forehead, pressing his nose against hers. "We can even pay off the final installment on our villa."

The woman smiled sweetly, hooked her arms around the man's neck, and offered a passionate kiss.

"Hey, hey, you two, this isn't a bedroom..." The black-haired man snapped his fingers at the couple, tapping the central coffin lid with a look of apprehension. "How long does the anesthetic last? Could the cargo wake up halfway?"

"Don't you trust my work?" The rugged female driver turned and smiled. "The dose of anesthetic injected into him is enough to knock out an elephant for two days. Our shackles and coffin aren't just for show either. Trust me, even if the apocalypse struck suddenly, he wouldn't wake up. Even if a mummy resurrected, it would have to lie down and behave inside there!"

Following the woman's repeated assurances, the black-haired man finally nodded.

"Everyone, let's talk business. To flush out this big fish, I took a massive risk." Bradley clapped twice to capture his companions' attention. "Once the higher-ups find out, I'll spend the rest of my life in a lightless secret prison. And if the target had noticed, the one lying in the coffin right now would be me."

A cunning gleam flickered in Bradley's eyes.

"I bore the greatest risk, so I take an extra ten percent of the earnings this time."

The expressions of the remaining four tightened upon hearing this, and the previously relaxed and harmonious atmosphere in the compartment grew subtle.

"You participated in the investigation too, so you should know how formidable this guy is." Bradley's emaciated palm gently stroked the coffin lid, as if he could feel the prisoner's heartbeat within, then shook his head in wonder. "Millionaires, supercriminals, cannibals—he slaughtered his way through them all... Not a single living soul left behind from start to finish, and the number of ghosts under his hands adds up to at least a hundred."

Bradley lit another cigarette, began puffing away, every deep wrinkle on his face writhing as if coming to life.

"Yet his hands and feet are spine-chillingly clean. He never leaves a single clue at any crime scene that could expose him, and even used shapeshifting to manufacture a pile of realistic fake evidence, running that bunch of LVPD jackasses in circles."

"According to the intelligence I gathered, this guy isn't just a criminal genius; he's also a master detective, helping the department crack quite a few murder cases, and he does it with terrifying speed and bizarre methods."

"Moreover, he is extremely vigilant and possesses a keen sense of smell."

"Do you have any idea how terrified I was while investigating him? I didn't dare get within a hundred yards of him, nor did I dare utter his name to my colleagues. All I could do was wander around Las Vegas with a group of people, putting on a show of searching for that scapegoat bodyguard, just for fear of catching his attention."

"It took me half a year to figure out that he was entirely alone from beginning to end, with no accomplices whatsoever. Otherwise, how would you dare make a move?"

The few young people fell silent, staring absentmindedly and in unison at the coffin in the center. Only the driver in the front continued to turn the steering wheel.

"Right, almost forgot. You went to interview about the cases of Abby Clark and Alvin, didn't you?" Bradley picked up a water jug from the side and took a sip to moisten his throat. "Based on my analysis, the perpetrators of both cases are legendary non-human entities."

"You should understand how terrifying non-human entities are. Even that sort of thing was handled by this high schooler—just how dangerous is he?"

Bradley watched his four companions' faces grow quietly solemn and nodded with satisfaction.

"Is it really excessive for me, the mastermind behind this trap, to take an extra ten percent?"

The red-haired woman exchanged a glance with her companions, snatched the cigarette from Bradley's hand, and said,

"No matter how powerful this guy is, didn't he still fall into your hands?"

...

"A slip in a thousand details," Bradley explained leisurely. "From the perspective of details, he made every case look flawless. But from the grand perspective, he made one fatal mistake."

"Across so many cases, although there's no direct evidence proving his involvement, his shadow looms behind every single one of them."

"In the consecutive deaths of the Locke father and son, he was at bitter enmity with Bob Locke and got into a massive physical fight at school."

"In the massacre of that gang of Latino thugs, he had a conflict with those thugs at a classmate's birthday party."

"In the Layton Stone family case, he once thwarted Drew Stone's child abduction attempt at the mall, forging a mortal feud with the Stone family."

"In the case where Grace was sacrificed by the Red Dragon Club, he was the close friend of Grace's son."

Sentence after sentence, Bradley's eyes grew brighter and brighter.

"He possessed the motive for every single crime."

"Once or twice could be a coincidence, but with so many facts laid out before us, even God couldn't conscientiously call him innocent."

"Dean Liu is simply too young. Within the span of a single year, in a place like Las Vegas, he has committed so many astonishing major crimes in succession."

"If this guy were given a few more years—oh, no, give him just one more year—I wouldn't dare oppose him or plot to capture him." Bradley cast a lingering, apprehensive glance out the car window. The vehicle had already left downtown Las Vegas, leaving low, barren mountains piled with yellow sand on both sides of the road.

"I'd run as far away as I could."

...

"All right, old pal, I suppose you have a point." The red-haired woman gathered the long hair by her ear and sighed. "You take thirty percent of this deal."

"A wise decision." The FBI agent patted his knee, a smile cracking across his gloomy face. "Don't worry though. I'm taking advantage this time, but during our next operation, you might end up taking an extra share."

...

Mm...

The four people engaged in heated discussion inside the vehicle completely failed to notice the faint, mosquito-like groan emerging from the coffin.

Dean awoke from the darkness, his entire body aching intensely, his eyelids as heavy as if he hadn't closed them for three days and three nights.

Moreover, the space he occupied was extremely cramped and stifling, seemingly a sealed, oppressive iron box where he couldn't stretch his hands or legs at all.

Cold, rigid, and sturdy handcuffs and leg irons were still locked around his wrists and ankles.

Dean didn't struggle rashly. His fatigued brain slowly began to revive and function.

Where am I?

A flash of insight crossed his mind!

After the shopping center plaza, I was ambushed by a sniper rifle and tranquilizer darts and locked up.

A thought stirred in Dean's mind.

His consciousness detached from his body, instantly piercing through the surrounding dense iron plates and entering the interior of the moving van.

The sunlight streaming in through the car windows illuminated five people and a pitch-black coffin.

Three fully armed men and two women had sniper rifles, assault rifles, and various weapons placed at their feet, armed practically to the teeth.

As his God's-eye perspective swept across their faces, Dean inside the coffin realized the truth.

Weren't these the exact three people from the Jacqueline production crew he had investigated, along with the emaciated, gloomy FBI agent Bradley Lincoln?

"My intuition was right. These bastards were investigating me. But they sure know how to exercise patience, waiting until today when I was completely relaxed before making a move."

Having experienced quite a few major scenes, Dean didn't feel excessive tension or fear, only a trace of latent anger.

"Shooting me with a sniper rifle and tranquilizer darts—what a wonderful greeting."

Fortunately, the intermediate Iron Man trait, upgraded once, had saved him. The trait's high resistance to abnormal bodily states played a miraculous role, allowing him to shake off the anesthesia and wake up long ahead of schedule.

...

"Adapt to circumstances and look for an opportunity to 'return the favor'!"

Having made up his mind, Dean lay honestly inside the coffin, suppressing his breathing and movements, stretching his God's-eye perspective to its limit to quietly observe the goings-on inside the vehicle.

...

"Oh right, I searched this gadget off him. Take a look at what this is," the black-haired man said, taking a teardrop-shaped planchette out of the plastic bag and displaying it on his palm.

The red-haired woman rubbed her chin, took the board, felt it, and examined it.

"Isn't this the planchette from the traditional Halloween seance ritual? Pair it with a board carved with letters and numbers to attempt communication with the dead. Of course, ninety-nine percent of people lack that kind of talent and can only use it for self-amusement."

Dean, eavesdropping from inside the coffin, closed his eyes and sensed.

At this moment, the Shadow of the Past was not locked inside this iron coffin with him; it was lingering within that planchette.

"Don't you guys find it very strange?" The blond man looked around. "This high schooler is about to attend his graduation prom, yet he carries neither a wallet, cash, nor car keys, but brings along such a strange planchette. What is he trying to do? Poke all his prom classmates to death with a planchette?"

"Stop joking! This isn't an ordinary planchette." The red-haired woman, studying the planchette closely, noticed a tiny, exquisite mark, her pupils shrinking as she read it aloud: "Sleepless Man."

The moment these words were uttered.

The air in the compartment grew as heavy as if it had been filled with lead.

"Sleepless Man? What the fuck!"

The female driver in the front seat changed expression drastically and slammed the horn. The harsh noise jarred everyone in the car back to full alertness.

She said in a rough voice,

"Did we just kidnap someone from a lunatic organization?"

Everyone's expression turned exceptionally ugly, their darting eyes recalling some unpleasant memories.

"I don't think so!" Bradley calmly pressed his hands downward to signal everyone to quiet down and sat back. "Although this guy has killed quite a few people, the targets he chose were all individuals who severely threatened the safety of his friends or his own life."

"His actions were logical; he is definitely not a crazy Sleepless Man. Most likely, he snatched this planchette from a real Sleepless Man!"

"Besides, I have another thought. Based on what I've learned in the department, his methods for solving cases are extremely peculiar and baffling." Bradley rubbed his protruding chin with sudden realization. "But if he possesses mediumship abilities and can use this planchette to converse with the ghosts of case victims to gather clues, then this so-called peculiarity is easily explained."

"The planchette is his tool of the trade, so naturally he carries it with him."

"You mean he's not only a highly skilled, shape-shifting shapeshifter with instantaneous defensive barriers, but he also possesses mediumship traits?" The blond man rubbed his chin in amazement. "He's so versatile he doesn't even sound human. Have we ever run into this kind of cargo in all our years in this business?"

Dean's heart sank inside the coffin. These fellows had some genuine skills; they'd actually investigated him this accurately.

They had almost completely seen right through him.

"We struck gold this time." The female driver turned from anger to joy, a broad smile spreading across her masculine features. "The company has never seen cargo with multiple super abilities. The price will at least multiply several times—twenty million?"

Suddenly, everyone's breathing in the compartment grew heavy.

"With this money, I can retire early." A trace of greed flashed across Bradley's eyes as his right hand slowly stroked the coffin lid, as if looking at a peerless treasure.

Meanwhile, the red-haired woman rubbed her throbbing temple, her jewel-like blue eyes on her sweet face staring thoughtfully at the coffin, giving rise to an impulsive idea tied to her special status.

"Guys, I've changed my mind. Do we really have to sell such a precious all-rounder to that disgusting company for human experimentation?"

"What do you mean?" The blond man looked at his girlfriend in incomprehension.

"Why not recruit him? Persuade him to join us!" The woman lifted her slender neck, looking earnestly at her companions around her, her voice clear and forceful. "Shapeshifting, defense, mediumship... With his outstanding super abilities, he can provide powerful support for our team and help us earn far more than ten million!"

"Did you catch something early, Clety?" The black-haired man shook his head vigorously, casting a reproachful glance at the blond man as if blaming him for failing to discipline his girlfriend properly. "Did you forget we just ambushed him with a sniper rifle? We're already at irreconcilable odds with him—how could we possibly recruit him?"

"He didn't suffer any injuries; our ambush didn't cause irreversible consequences."

"Once we let him know the benefits of cooperation, the massive profits, and the terrifying fate he's about to face, this thing has a shot!"

Clety scanned her companions with burning eyes.

"Think about our investigation results—he was willing to kill a bunch of high-and-mighty rich people in Las Vegas just for a few ordinary mortals. He's a principled person worth befriending!"

"Are you out of your mind? Have you been charmed by the spell of the guy in the coffin?" Bradley squinted at the red-haired girl, his tone gloomy. "Give up tens of millions in cash that's about to hit our account, and take massive risks to chase an uncertain answer?"

"I won't join you in playing the fool, and I won't allow you to act up at a time like this. We must transport him to the company as soon as possible and take our money!"

"Clety, control your emotions. Don't let your sympathy run wild," the female driver in the front urged, shaking her head. "Things have come to this; we have no other choice."

...

Amidst the fierce debate among the five people in the car.

A patch of bright red notification suddenly flashed across Dean's eyes inside the coffin.

Triggered Emergency Event — Contact

Agent Bradley Lincoln betrayed the FBI and the government, colluding with four outsiders to set a trap on the afternoon of the graduation prom, ambushing and capturing you.

You woke up from the anesthesia ahead of schedule and used your God's-eye perspective to overhear their conversation.

This gang appears to be veterans, specializing in capturing super-powered individuals hiding in society and selling them to "Company" in exchange for bounties.

Yet facing an anomaly like you with multiple abilities, an internal split has occurred among them.

One side wishes to follow the old routine and sell you directly for cash, while the other side wants to recruit you to join and strengthen their team.

...

Now it is your turn to make a choice —

1. Strive to gain their trust and successfully join the team as a member.
2. They ambushed you with a sniper rifle, imprisoned you, and planned to sell you off as cargo—this is a grave offense to your dignity, and you will slaughter them all, leaving no survivors!

Event Difficulty: Medium
Progress (0/100)
Deadline: Two hours
Reward: 150 Experience Points + Special Reward (based on choice)
Penalty: None