It was 8 PM at the Garden Station.

Thomas Smyth stood on the lowest level of his hideout.

Tessia Thorne handed him several items. "Here's the leather pants, listening device, surveillance cameras, and tracker you asked for, boss."

Thomas stashed the items in his backpack, then smiled at the young Lop standing worriedly behind Tessia. It was Eight. "Alright, kid, you and Tessia keep an eye on things here while I'm gone."

"Got it, Mr. Smyth!"

Ruffling Eight's furry head, Thomas gave a curt nod to Tessia before vanishing.

Eight stared at the spot where Thomas had disappeared and turned to Tessia. "Ms. Thorne, why does Mr. Smyth still have to go out on these dangerous missions? We have so much stuff already, and the [Flea Market] trading platform."

Tessia considered this for a moment. "Eight, I think you might have it backwards."

"Backwards?" Eight was confused.

Tessia smiled, her gaze lingering on the spot where Thomas had vanished. "It's not that he goes out despite what we have. He goes out because of what we have. It's his constant risks that got us all this in the first place. All this stuff, this hideout... it's all thanks to him."

"Understand?"

Eight nodded slowly, lost in thought.

"If you want to help the boss, do what he asked you to do. That way, he doesn't have to worry about the little things. That's the best way to repay him." Tessia continued, "Me too. I'm going to check on the [Flea Market] platform, see if there's anything I can improve, and buy supplies for the next disaster. We're fighting alongside the boss, just in a different way."

Eight nodded with renewed determination, and together, they headed downstairs.

Meanwhile, Thomas had reappeared at Good Hope Station. This was the station closest to the Crimson Cabaret, as well as the most direct route to Pinewood Hotel and Apartment 15. Thomas knew this area like the back of his hand.

The station was pitch black. It looked like a fierce battle had taken place here recently. As he moved through the station, he saw numerous impact craters and the scorch marks of grenades.

In the green glow of his night vision, Thomas could see the station's main hall was covered in dried blood. It was a grim sight.

"Things got pretty intense here," he muttered.

He quickly exited the station and emerged onto the street.

The Crimson Cabaret was located just across the street. Driven by curiosity about the rebels' armored vehicles and the destructive power of their rockets, he stuck to the shadows and made his way to the cabaret's entrance.

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A gaping hole, two meters in diameter, marred the building's facade. Rubble littered the ground, and the mangled remains of a metal door lay amidst the debris. It was clear that without comparable equipment, regular survivors wouldn't stand a chance against such heavy weaponry.

He took one last look at the shattered remains of the Crimson Cabaret. "What a waste. That was my property. I'll have to settle the score someday."

Leaving the cabaret, he continued towards Pinewood Hotel.

This wasn't his first time approaching the hotel, so he wasn't as nervous as before. Still, he remained cautious, sticking to the shadows.

The moon was dim tonight, obscured by occasional clouds—a boon for Thomas's mission.

When he was about 200 yards from the hotel, Thomas stopped, taking cover behind a trash can. He peered through a gap, adjusting the focus of his night vision goggles, and scanned the hotel, carefully examining every nook and cranny.

A minute later, he exhaled slowly. "This is going to be tougher than I thought."

In that short time, he had spotted at least two snipers. Moreover, several windows on the hotel's seventh floor were covered with a special alloy, making the place virtually impenetrable. It would be impossible for anyone unfamiliar with the layout to determine Stephen Chow's location from the outside.

These were new developments since the first disaster.

Thomas didn't dare step into any exposed area, even under the cover of darkness. He couldn't be sure that the snipers weren't equipped with night vision. If they were, even with his [Nightwalker] title, he'd be as exposed as a naked woman in a spotlight.

"I need a plan."

On the seventh floor of Pinewood Hotel, Scorpion was making his rounds, checking the night watch.

"Remember to rotate the rooftop guard. Get some rest when you're done," he told the guards in one room.

The seven or eight refugees in the room grinned. "Hey, Scorpion, we heard Mad Dog and his crew are moving to a new base. Is it true?"

"Yeah, what's going on? Spill it."

Scorpion chuckled. "Heard someone snuck into the Trading Center last night and caused some trouble. But don't worry about it. Drinks are on me tomorrow!"

"Really? We'll hold you to that, Scorpion!"

As Scorpion turned to leave and head to the next room, two loud explosions rocked the building.

BOOM... BOOM...

"What the hell was that? Everyone, on alert! Sniper positions one and two, report! What happened?" Scorpion barked into his radio.

Even before Scorpion's order, the refugees were already grabbing their weapons and gear.

The voice of the sniper on the roof crackled through the radio. "Position one reporting. Two large explosions on the north side of the street. Cause unknown. Position two and I are monitoring the area."

North side.

Scorpion quickly visualized the streets around the hotel.

Why would there be explosions?

Were survivors fighting each other? Or was it The Butcher's men? But that didn't make sense. The attack was planned for tomorrow.

"Alright, stay alert. Report any developments immediately."

Ending the transmission, Scorpion turned to his men, who were now on high alert. "Three of you, go to the next room and cover the north street. The rest of you, get back to your posts."

He then headed towards room 709.

Knock, knock, knock...

"Mr. Stephen, it's Scorpion. I have a situation to report."

There was no sound from inside. Scorpion waited patiently.

After about ten seconds, a click sounded, and the door opened from within.

A middle-aged man wearing gold-rimmed glasses and a white lab coat stood before Scorpion.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice tinged with fatigue. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

Scorpion quickly relayed the events.

"So, it was an accident. I see." Stephen Chow said. "By the way, tell Black Dog I need to see him."

"Yes, Mr. Stephen."

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