"It's a matter of urgency..."
Originally, Blaine had wanted the black marinated egg to reach 100 billion before accepting the task. But, as he'd said, the decision was ultimately his. If he didn't act, the United States wouldn't have peace for even a day, and losses would run into tens of billions. Blaine, a bounty hunter, lived for money. He was no savior, no living Bodhisattva—he didn't care about anyone that much. His heart was made of stone.
Yet, when the black stewed egg begged, Blaine found himself reconsidering. He hadn't planned to yield, but the pressure wasn't unbearable; everyone was pleading, the evidence had reached its limit, and it represented the entire United States. If cooperating now meant future opportunities, Blaine would take it—for the time being.
One didn't sacrifice a small sesame seed now for a big watermelon later. Blaine had principles: he cared about money, yes, but he also knew everything had to be done with measure. Besides, he'd been bored lately, fully rested, and with no underworld activity or assignments, it was better to vote in favor of this task.
"Count it up. The last six billion will hit my account in three days..."
The thought of the 84 billion arriving in three days made Blaine almost giddy. Add that to the 20 billion in his balance—this would break records again. 100 billion… He dared not imagine it, truly didn't dare.
"Then, Mr. Hunter, please act as soon as possible. I'll go ahead..."
Nick's words ended, and he strode off, his expression blank. Blaine almost wanted to lose his temper. If Nick had listened the night before, what could have been done with a few billion now cost seven or eight to feel right. Such a pain—but still, Blaine had invited him in the end. Truly, it seemed the law of "true fragrance" governed the world.
Watching the black stewed egg scowl behind him, Blaine felt an odd surge of joy. With that stubborn temper, he couldn't be fooled. Born to be taken advantage of, indeed.
"Now I'm afraid this task won't even make it into the system after the upgrade… Then I'll cry to death, with no one to accompany me..."
Blaine shook his head, banishing the unlucky thought. His focus was clear: locate Electro, eliminate him, and complete the task. Arrest? Not even a consideration. The price was the same—why bother?
Currently, there were two ways to track Electro. One was via TV news, though it was often inaccurate. Electro was always on the move, and following news reports didn't reveal his real-time location. The other was tracking paper cranes. Sometimes there were tens of thousands—effective, but slow and inefficient.
Blaine pulled a tracking paper crane from Hunter's space, focused his mental power, and immediately located Electro without unnecessary chatter.
His eyes followed the crane's flight across villa districts, the Queens District, and past the Hongqi Building in Jinbin. Seeing the building, Blaine thought of more than one person. Deadpool, that little brat… if he were gold and locked in a safe, would his body remain intact? Would he deform? The thought flickered briefly, unsettling but amusing.
The paper cranes continued past New York State into New Jersey, and finally, at five in the afternoon, Blaine located Electro in Canada—his presence marked by an intense blue glow. As soon as he arrived, he was already noticed.
Losing contact briefly, Blaine raced to Canada. Morning had turned to afternoon, and night would be approaching by his arrival. Such was the disadvantage of tracking origami cranes—a problem for after the system upgrade.
Teleporting to cover maximum distance, Blaine rushed frantically, fearful that Electro might move again. After a dozen teleportations, dizziness struck him. Even his demigod physique and mental strength strained under repeated 100-meter jumps. This would need compensation when he had more money.
He chose to run instead; flight was impractical. Its top speed barely surpassed ICBMs, and, like teleportation, it couldn't be sustained. Legs were faster, more reliable.
After a meditation session to restore his mental strength, Blaine let loose with a sudden explosive burst. He shot forward like a fully drawn arrow, accelerating with every moment.
A young man exiting a bar felt only a violent rush of air. His body twisted involuntarily, and in the next second, everything was gone. Blaine had already surpassed the speed of sound. Ordinary eyes couldn't follow him.
Was this the limit? Not at all. Blaine drew a breath and pushed harder. Without his Hunter suit, his clothes would have burned from air friction.
Suddenly, a heavy truck appeared ahead.
"Hey-hey..."
Blaine grinned mischievously, ignoring the detour.
In the next instant, he was before the truck. Something strange happened—the truck hadn't even been touched, yet split perfectly in two as if cut by a laser. The compressed air in front of Blaine had reached its limit; the mass ahead had turned into a blade. Trucks, even Iron Man's armor, would be no match.
Blaine felt his legs lighten, his body floating as speed continued to climb. In mere seconds, he had crossed all of New York City—supersonic, terrifyingly fast.
Near a farm's convenience store, a hooded robber prepared to drive off. A gust of wind passed… inexplicably.
Along the way, Blaine noticed the robbery and a mischievous idea formed. Initially uninterested, he looped back in a drift turn.
The robber's hand still on the car door, Blaine was already beside him. Time seemed frozen, movements drawn out infinitely in his view.
With a playful tap, Blaine nudged the man and streaked away again. The robber felt only two gusts of wind—then nothing.
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