Lu Chenzhou leaned against the support column. The surface of the concrete was rough and cold, seeping through his shirt into his skin. Something was churning deep within the gunshot wound in his left leg—not pain, but a searing, slowly rotating pressure, like a rusted screw tightening within the muscle fibers. He clenched his back teeth, compressing that sharpness into a background hum. At the edge of his vision, the corner of his left eye began to twitch. Once, then again, as if a fine thread was twitching beneath the skin. The communicator's screen glowed with a blue light, cutting out a glaring patch of light in the almost pitch-black garage. He stared at the deciphered line of text. His gaze moved from "Night Owl" to "Black Box," then scraped over "Clean Point C" and "Boss requires verification." Each word carried the tactile sensation of Shen Moqing's fingerprints. On-site verification. Encrypted hard drive. He switched off the screen. Darkness instantly swallowed everything. Only the sound of breathing remained—his own, slightly ragged from the pain, echoing faintly in the vast expanse of steel and concrete. He needed a trap. He needed time. He pushed himself up abruptly. His left leg buckled, and he pitched forward, his palm instinctively slapping against the fuel tank of a nearby abandoned motorcycle. A dull *thud* exploded in the silence. He steadied himself, sweat already beading on his forehead. His fingertips touched the gas cap—cold, its edges rough with rust. He unscrewed it. The smell of gasoline surged out. Pungent, thick, carrying the sour taint of aged metal corrosion. —Available materials: this motorcycle, a few old cars with flat tires, scattered maintenance tools on the ground. A rusted crowbar. A few lengths of wire. Half a roll of electrical tape. The power distribution box in the corner, its door lock broken. The crisscrossing ventilation ducts overhead, coated in a thick layer of oily grime. —Limitations: his left leg could not bear weight for more than three seconds, or the wound would tear open completely. The dizziness from blood loss hung like a thin mist on the periphery of his thoughts. Enemy equipment unknown. Arrival time unknown. But that heavy metal door could be pushed open at any moment. —Objective: seize the hard drive. Ensure the hard drive is not damaged. Ensure he gets out alive. Step one. He tore a length of plastic hose from an abandoned seat and inserted it into the motorcycle's fuel tank. The gasoline flowed slowly, meandering into a dark, reflective trail on the ground. The smell grew stronger, choking his throat. He ripped off the hem of his shirt, soaked it in gasoline, and stuffed it into an empty tin can he'd picked up. Step two. He opened the power distribution box. Dust cascaded down. The wiring inside was a mess. He located the main lighting circuit and a nearby backup outlet circuit, using pliers to strip away the insulation. Bare copper wires were exposed, gleaming dully in the dim light. He wrapped two wires around iron nails, fixing them on either side of the gasoline-soaked cloth strip, the distance precise to the millimeter. An arc igniter. The range was too small. Step three. Setting the tripwire. He moved a heavy old tire, a tearing pain shooting from the wound in his left leg as he exerted force with his core. Cold sweat trickled down his spine. He tied one end of the wire to the tire, looped the other end around a column, and stretched it across the path to the garage entrance, fifteen centimeters off the ground. The tin can hung from a wooden block extended by the tripwire, filled with a few rusty nuts—a noise source, not for killing, for location. Step four. Hiding spot. He looked up at the ventilation duct. There was a rusted gap at the duct's edge. Height: two and a half meters. Dragging his injured leg, he moved beside an old car and stepped onto the hood. The sheet metal groaned under his weight. He grabbed the edge of the duct, the muscles in his arms tensing, pulling his body upward. The pain in the wound abruptly escalated, turning into a searing, piercing spasm. His vision went black for an instant. His teeth sank deeply into his lower lip, tasting a metallic, bloody flavor. Can't let go. He engaged his core, pushed off the wall with his right leg for leverage, and curled his whole body upward, rolling into the duct opening. He lay panting heavily inside the duct. Darkness enveloped him, with only the faintest slivers of light leaking in from below through cracks. The air was stifling, heavy with the smells of rust and years of accumulated dust. He slowly adjusted his position, fishing out His breathing gradually settled, compressed into a near-inaudible stream. The pain was still there, but forcibly pressed deep into his body by sheer willpower, becoming a constant, background hum. He stared at the shard of mirror. In the mirror, the garage door was a dim, motionless rectangle. Then, the light at the edge of that rectangle, ever so slightly, darkened. Not the door opening. Something outside was blocking the light—a car’s headlights? A figure? The image in the mirror showed no further changes. But he heard sounds. Extremely faint, muffled by the heavy metal door and a distance, as if coming through water—the low growl of an engine, approaching from afar, then dying. The crunch of tires over gravel. Not one person. At least two. Their steps were steady, evenly spaced, landing lightly, but in the dead silence of the garage, transmitted through the pipes and building structure, they became a dull, rhythmic pressure. Lu Chenzhou’s fingertips unconsciously scraped at the rust scale on the pipe’s inner wall, fine powder pattering down. He forced himself to let go. The left corner of his eye began twitching again. He closed his eyes, using the darkness to block out the image in the mirror, relying only on his ears to capture everything outside the door. The sound of a lock being picked with a tool. Very professional, almost no noise of metal scraping. Immediately after, the door hinge let out an excruciatingly slow, grating *creak—*. The door was pushed open a crack. A narrow wedge of light sliced through the garage’s internal darkness, falling on the ground, illuminating swirling dust. A hand reached in from the crack, holding a pistol fitted with a silencer. The muzzle slowly moved, sweeping across the visible area. Then, the hand withdrew. A figure slipped in sideways, swift and silent, immediately pressing against the wall beside the door, gun aimed into the garage’s depths. A second figure followed, also hugging the wall, the two forming a crossfire covering the entrance area. The first one to enter was taller, wearing a dark tactical jacket and a balaclava, only his eyes visible. The second was slightly shorter, similarly dressed. Neither advanced immediately, instead using tactical flashlights to quickly sweep the garage corners, under the car, the ceiling. The beams swept past the pipe where Lu Chenzhou was hiding several times, but never angled upward. The shorter man nodded and began moving along the wall to the left, gun muzzle always pointed toward the garage’s center. The taller man remained in place on alert, his gaze scanning like a hawk’s. They were professionals. Coordinated seamlessly. Not reckless. Cold sweat seeped from Lu Chenzhou’s palms. His preset tripwire was positioned slightly to the right of the garage’s center. If they kept hugging the wall... The shorter man had already bypassed the tripwire’s range. He stopped by a pile of discarded tires, shone his flashlight inside, then shook his head. The taller man finally began moving forward. He walked slowly, each step planted firmly, his center of gravity kept low. His path would take him over the tripwire. The tall man’s boot toe touched the wire, fifteen centimeters off the ground. The suspended tin can was violently jerked, the nuts inside crashing wildly against its walls, erupting into an ear-splitting racket! In the absolute silence of the garage, the sound was like a bomb exploding! The tall man instantly dropped low, gun aimed at the source of the noise! The shorter man also whirled around, gun trained on the direction of the swaying tin can! Lu Chenzhou pressed the remote switch hidden in his hand. The broken speaker connected to the car stereo blared. A distorted, static-filled male voice abruptly erupted from the other side of the garage: “Confirm… cleanup.” The voice was fuzzy, but the tone carried that distinctive, gentle yet authoritative rhythm, each ending syllable slightly lowered—it was Shen Moqing. It was the brief two-second clip Lu Chenzhou had extracted after listening over a dozen times to a captured communicator. The tall “Night Owl” snapped his head toward the source of the sound—the discarded speaker. His eyes beneath the balaclava contracted sharply in the dark. He unconsciously muttered something, very softly, but in the abrupt silence and eerie echo of the recording, it was clearly captured by Lu Chenzhou, hidden in the pipe: “Mirror Flower, Water Moon… confirmed as the boss’s order.” *Now.* Lu Chenzhou’s other hand grabbed the insulated rope prepared earlier and yanked it down with all his strength! A dazzling blue-white electric arc exploded between the iron nails embedded on either side of the gasoline puddle! The instant high temperature ignited the oil-soaked cloth strip, flames *whooshed* up, immediately setting the ground ablaze! A wave of Lu Chenzhou landed. A tearing, excruciating pain shot from the wound on his left leg. He grunted, dropping to one knee, but the pry bar was already swinging again, sweeping low! "Night Owl" dodged the first strike but couldn't fully avoid the second. The pry bar smashed heavily into his shin bone with a sickening, muffled crack! He staggered a step, but his gun was already raised, pointing at Lu Chenzhou's face! Lu Chenzhou threw himself forward violently, grabbing a handful of sand with his left hand and hurling it hard into the other's eyes! The suppressed gunshot was dull and short. The bullet grazed past Lu Chenzhou's ear, the scorching airflow plowing a burning, bloody furrow across his skin! Lu Chenzhou had already rolled to "Night Owl's" feet, thrusting the pry bar upward with force, striking the gun-holding wrist directly! The pistol flew from his hand, landing in the distant shadows. "Night Owl" howled in pain, his other hand drawing a dagger and stabbing backhanded! A flash of cold light aimed straight for the throat! Lu Chenzhou parried with the pry bar. *Clang!* Metal clashed, sparks flying. His left leg was useless, and he was forced backward by "Night Owl's" weight and momentum, his back slamming hard into an old car's bumper! The intense pain made his vision go dark. "Night Owl" seized the chance to press down, changing the dagger's thrust to a slash, aiming for the carotid artery! Lu Chenzhou jerked his head aside. The icy blade swept past his neck, slicing open the skin, a burning pain following instantly. Warm blood gushed out. Paying it no mind, he released the pry bar with his right hand, his fingers hooking like claws, clawing viciously toward "Night Owl's" waist—there was a hard object there, square, with edges, secured by a tactical pouch. "Night Owl" sensed the intent, his left elbow smashing down hard onto Lu Chenzhou's ribs! Lu Chenzhou nearly suffocated from the pain, but his fingers had already grabbed the pouch's buckle, yanking outward with all his might! The Velcro was torn open by force. A cold, silver metal cube slid out. "Night Owl's" eyes turned red. He abandoned the dagger, both hands going for the hard drive! Lu Chenzhou was a step ahead, grabbing the hard drive with his blood-stained hand! The metal surface was piercingly cold, its edges scraping across his palm, leaving fresh wounds. He clenched it desperately, his body rolling to the side using the force of "Night Owl's" lunge! The two of them wrestled, rolling into the puddle of gasoline flames that hadn't yet died out! Scorching air seared their skin, the acrid black smoke from burning oil choking their lungs. Lu Chenzhou slammed his forehead viciously into "Night Owl's" face! "Night Owl" turned his head, the impact landing on his hood, but the force still dazed him for an instant. Lu Chenzhou broke free, grabbed the fallen pry bar, and with all his strength, swung it down at "Night Owl's" temple! "Night Owl" turned his head aside at the last moment. The pry bar grazed past his temple, bringing up a spray of blood and torn hood fabric. "Night Owl" grunted, rolling away and crashing into the wall, motionless. Lu Chenzhou collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. Every inhalation tugged at the intense pain under his ribs and the wound on his neck. Blood dripped down his jawline, falling onto the cold cement floor. He still clutched that silver hard drive in his hand, its metal edges digging painfully into his palm bones. Only the engine oil was still burning weakly, emitting faint *crackles*, making the surroundings flicker between light and dark. Black smoke spiraled upward. He jerked his head to look at the short man's previous position—empty. Only the wall. Escaped? Or hiding in the darkness? Struggling to sit up, he leaned back against a wheel, the pry bar laid across his lap, his eyes scanning every shadowy corner. No movement. Only the faint, almost imperceptible sound of police sirens, filtered through the thick walls from far away. Qin Wangshu? Or backup called by "Night Owl's" accomplice? He looked down at the hard drive in his hand. Silver metal casing, slightly smaller than a palm, heavy. There was an obvious, slightly recessed area on the side—a fingerprint scanner. It gleamed with a cold, faint light in the firelight. A one-way biometric lock. Requires a live or recent fingerprint. Lu Chenzhou twitched the corner of his mouth, wanting to laugh, but only tasted blood in his throat With the last word spoken, his head tilted to the side, completely still. Only his eyes remained half-open, reflecting the flickering flames in the distance, staring emptily at the grimy ceiling of the garage. Lu Chenzhou propped himself up on the crowbar and slowly stood. His left leg had gone numb, and the wound on his neck was still oozing blood. He walked over to the "Night Owl's" corpse, squatted down, and used the relatively clean inner lining of the other's tactical jacket to wipe off most of the blood and grease from the hard drive's casing. The metal surface regained its cold texture. He tucked it into his inner pocket, pressed against his chest. Cold, hard, like a block of ice, yet also like a burning ember. He took one last look at this underground garage—the burning oil stains, scattered tools, twisted tripwires, the corpse in the corner. The air was thick with the heavy, mingled smells of motor oil, blood, dust, and death. "You completed the cleanup mission," he whispered to the corpse. Then, dragging his nearly useless left leg, he shuffled step by step toward the broken ventilation duct deep in the garage that he had scoped out long ago, the one leading to the adjacent abandoned boiler room. As he pressed his palm against the cold concrete wall to support himself, he paused for a moment. The distant sirens seemed closer now. More than one. And that metal hard drive in his inner pocket pressed heavily against old scars with every beat of his heart.