The next day, Robert finished settling the moving details.
Though it was technically moving, most of the work involved dealing with the pile of firearms, ammunition, and materials cluttering his apartment.
To be honest, transferring so many items was a headache. If the police got wind of it, it could spell major trouble.
Fortunately, Weasel had a solution. Robert hired a professional team, and within half a day, everything was safely transported to his new place—including the motorcycle that Francis had brought him.
At the same time, Robert's first shipment arrived. Among the items was the Barrett M82A1 sniper rifle he had been eagerly anticipating—the legendary anti-material rifle.
Its capabilities needed no explanation. For Robert, already a sharp shooter, having a rifle with a 2,500-meter range in his hands was like giving wings to a tiger. It would give him the confidence to eliminate even someone as powerful as Gina in no time.
However, Robert felt that the Barrett might not be enough.
If his opponent was hiding behind thick walls or inside a building, even the Barrett might not do the job. The best solution would be to obliterate the entire building—and anyone inside it.
With that in mind, Robert carried the Barrett into the garage and started modifying it...
That morning, Robert woke up in the garage, lying on the floor.
He grabbed his phone, checking the time—it was already 7 AM.
Looking at the half-finished Barrett on the workbench, he couldn't help but laugh. "I have to admit, this is much more fun than a video game. I worked all night without realizing it. No wonder Tony Stark is so obsessed with his Iron Man suits."
Suddenly, he remembered his personal goal and felt a little melancholic.
He still had no clue about the high-tech battle suit he needed to create. Meanwhile, Tony Stark's suits had gone through several upgrades. If this continued, Robert might eventually be facing anti-Hulk armor.
He checked the mission again:
"Defeat Iron Man's steel battle suit using a high-tech battle suit made by myself (0/1)"
A high-tech battle suit built by himself?
Robert paused, thinking. "It doesn't say I need to invent a new high-tech battle suit, just that it has to be made by me. So as long as I build it myself, it counts as mine, right?"
That idea made the task seem far less daunting.
After all, Robert wasn't an inventor; creating something from scratch was nearly impossible. But he could assemble something from existing tech—maybe even modify it to suit his needs. That would still count as "making it himself."
The next problem was finding a professional technician to help.
Creating a high-tech battle suit was like building a Lego set without instructions—you needed an expert to understand how the parts fit together.
But who could help him?
Robert thought about it. Apart from Stark, he knew of a few other high-tech suits: Ant-Man's suit that could shrink and expand, Black Panther's vibranium armor, and even the villain from Iron Man 2, who could make his own battle suits.
The problem was, none of these people were easy to reach—and most of them had difficult personalities.
"Well, I'll just steal their blueprints and find someone willing to help me build it," Robert decided. "Problem solved."
With that, Robert focused on finding a suitable technician. He needed someone with knowledge as advanced as the original creators, or else the whole endeavor could turn into a mess.
With a new plan in mind, Robert walked out of his house, ready to find breakfast.
Just as he stepped outside, he heard shouting from the house across the street.
A beautiful woman was arguing with a young black man. They were both holding onto a courier box, refusing to let go. A small boy, visibly frightened, huddled behind the woman.
Robert didn't hesitate. He walked over to investigate.
"This is obviously my package! The name's on it!"
"Damn it! It's mine! Let go!" the man yelled, his voice growing more frantic.
His grip tightened, shaking the box violently. The woman couldn't match his strength and was thrown to the ground by the force.
"Aunt May..." the boy sobbed, trying to help her up with his small hands.
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