Then came the important part: getting identities and some cash. After all, if they wanted to live normally in this world, they couldn't exactly walk around as nameless strangers. Paperwork and money—those were the foundations of survival here.
With that in mind, Luke set his sights on the one place in New York where such things could be arranged quickly, no questions asked—Hell's Kitchen.
The neighborhood had a reputation, and not a flattering one. It was the kind of place where shady deals were made in back alleys, where gangsters leaned against rusted cars pretending to smoke while watching every stranger that passed.
Drug dealers loitered near cracked street corners, and the air carried the mixed scents of smoke, grease, and cheap alcohol. Signs flickered, graffiti covered walls like tattoos, and the sidewalks were littered with old flyers and bottle caps.
To most, it was dangerous. To Luke, it was exactly what he needed. Here, he could trade some of the gold he had "acquired" from his previous world—his version of the Robin Hood principle, robbing the rich to support his poor self—for forged documents and the kind of cash flow that didn't ask for tax reports.
"So… do you know where we're going? Or are we just walking in circles?" Selene asked, clearly skeptical, her eyes scanning the dim alleys.
They had been walking for nearly fifteen minutes, slipping through narrow backstreets where the number of people grew fewer and fewer.
"No, I know exactly what I'm looking for," Luke replied, glancing at the bag on his back.
A corner of a gold bar peeked out on purpose, catching the dull light. Luke knew this neighborhood wasn't the type of place you walked around in with shiny treasure sticking out unless you wanted trouble.
Hell's Kitchen was filled with human scum—gangsters, druggies, petty thieves, and shady hustlers on every corner. People who survived by preying on weakness or opportunity. Carrying gold like this was basically an open invitation: come and rob me.
And that was exactly the point. He wasn't careless—he was baiting. The less crowded alleys, the silence, the watchful eyes from shadowy doorways, all of it was perfect. Trouble would bite sooner or later.
Luke's real goal wasn't just to fight off random thugs, though. No, he wanted them to take the bait, to circle him, to think they had found an easy target. Because once they came after him, he could ask—in his own "nice" way, of course—where he could get the things he needed: IDs and a place to exchange gold into proper cash.
Of course, "nicely" in Luke's terms wasn't exactly what most people would call gentle.
Then a smug voice called out from behind, cutting through the quiet of the alley.
"Hey… you mind giving me that bag?"
Luke and Selene turned together. Five men were standing there. Their appearances screamed "street scum." One wore a torn leather jacket, another had a hoodie with the sleeves cut off, and two had cheap pistols stuck carelessly in their waistbands.
Another twirled a rusted knife in his hand, grinning like he was already imagining the outcome.
They looked like the type of men who lived off intimidation—predators who preyed on anyone unlucky enough to walk into their path.
Luke, however, didn't tense up. He only smiled faintly. Good… exactly what I wanted. His plan had worked.
"Oh, no, you can have it," Luke said. His voice was calm, even casual. He slid a hand under the strap of his bag and lifted it slightly, as if offering it up. He didn't look threatened in the slightest—if anything, he sounded bored.
The thugs glanced at each other, confused at first. It wasn't the reaction they were used to. Normally people panicked, begged, or ran. This guy looked like he was almost inviting them.
"But before that…" Luke continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're going to show me where I can get some fake IDs. And a place that can exchange gold for cash."
There was a short silence before the entire group broke into laughter.
"Yo, listen to this clown!" the tallest one barked, almost choking on his laughter as he slapped his buddy's arm. "He thinks we're running some tourist service or something!"
The one with the knife shook his head, grinning wide. "Man, this is rich. First time I've heard somebody offer directions before handing over their stuff."
Luke tilted his head, unfazed by the mocking. "I'll give each of you a thousand dollars if you show me. Easy money."
That only made them laugh harder, their voices bouncing against the brick walls.
"A thousand bucks?" one of the men sneered, his eyes glued to the shiny edge of gold sticking out of Luke's bag. "Why the hell would we take that? We can just strip you of everything right now and walk away with ten times that." His smirk turned ugly as his gaze slid toward Selene. "And maybe… enjoy the view while we're at it."
The others chuckled darkly at that, exchanging knowing looks. Their faces said everything—they had done this before. In Hell's Kitchen, that was life. Killing, robbing, and taking what they wanted from whoever was unlucky enough to cross their path. It wasn't just survival for them; it was entertainment.
Selene's arms tightened across her chest. Her expression unchanged but her eyes like cold blades. When she spoke, her voice carried a razor-sharp edge.
"Try it."
Luke sighed, and the warmth in his eyes disappeared. Cold, sharp steel replaced it. The "nice way" was over. They had chosen this path—the moment they looked at Selene like prey, their fate was sealed.
"Take care of the two on the left," said Luke.
One of the thugs stepped forward, swaggering, a cheap pistol dangling in his hand. "Hand it over, pretty boy. Don't make us get rough."
Luke loosened the strap and let the bag fall to the ground. The solid clink of gold bars hitting asphalt echoed in the alley. Instantly, greedy eyes lit up. The thugs lunged, ready to snatch it.
But Selene moved first.
She blurred into motion, faster than their eyes could follow. Her body flowed with the grace of a predator, every step silent, every strike aimed with terrifying accuracy.
The first thug didn't even register what hit him. Selene's kick slammed into his chest with the force of a car crash. Bone cracked like glass—his ribs shattering inward, puncturing his lungs and heart. He flew back into the dumpster, blood spraying from his mouth before his body slumped lifeless against the dented metal.
The second thug barely had time to scream before Selene spun, driving her heel into his sternum. The impact echoed through the alley, a deep thud followed by the sharp crunch of breaking bone. His ribcage collapsed inward, his heart crushed under the force. He hit the ground twitching once, then went still.
Trash and broken crates scattered from the violent impacts, the alley echoing with the sharp clang of the dumpster and the choking gasps of dying men.
The other three froze for a second too long, eyes wide in shock. Then panic set in. Guns rattled in shaky hands as they scrambled backward, fumbling to take aim.
"Shoot her! Shoot that bitch now!" one of them screamed, his voice cracking.
Luke's expression didn't even twitch. He stomped his foot into the concrete.
'Stone Spike.'
The ground beneath two of the gunmen erupted, jagged pillars of rock bursting upward with violent force. The spikes impaled them clean through, tearing out of their backs with a wet, sickening crunch.
Their mouths opened in silent screams as blood poured down their torsos, staining the concrete dark. Their weapons clattered uselessly to the ground as their bodies twitched, then went limp—skewered like dolls on a spit.
Only one remained.
He had dropped his gun without realizing it. His body was trembling so violently that it looked like he couldn't control his own limbs. He stumbled backward until his spine hit the brick wall, eyes darting between the bodies of his fallen comrades and the two figures standing calmly in the middle of the carnage.
Luke stood relaxed, his bag at his feet, looking down at him not with anger—but with the quiet, detached gaze of someone staring at an insect.
The man's knees buckled, and he slid down the wall, hands shaking as he raised them. His voice cracked and broke as he stammered, "P-please… please don't kill me…"
Luke bent down, his eyes cold but amused, the shadows of the alley sharpening the edge of his expression.
"Now… do you know why we left you alive?" he asked with a faint, almost playful smile that only made the thug tremble harder.
The man's face was pale. Sweat dripped down his temple. He shook his head violently, words stumbling out of his mouth. "I… I… I don't know?"
Luke leaned closer, his voice lowering into something calm, almost teasing, but with steel underneath. "Because you might be useful. That's the only reason. If you cooperate, you walk away. In Hell's Kitchen, that's about as good as winning the lottery."
Straightening up, Luke patted the thug awkwardly on the shoulder—almost like a teacher humoring a terrified student. "So… tell me. Where can we get IDs? And maybe turn a few gold bars into cash?"
His inner thoughts were sharper than his tone. If this guy doesn't know, I'll kill him and find another. Sooner or later, someone in this cesspool will have answers. No scum in Hell's Kitchen is innocent—men like this survive by killing and stealing.
The thug's jaw went slack, eyes wide as if he were staring at death itself. "I… I know! I can take you! I can!" he stammered, his voice breaking every other word.
"Good," Luke said, his smile widening, the faint humor in it making the man flinch. "Then take us there. Carefully. And remember—don't get clever. Your friends didn't get that luxury."
The thug gulped so loud it echoed in the quiet alley, nodding like a madman.
The trip after was quick. Luke didn't waste time once their little alleyway adventure was over.
Fake IDs? Acquired.
Cash? Oh, plenty of that.
For all the gold bars he carried, the backroom "dealers" tried to pull the oldest trick in the book—offering him scraps, like he was some clueless tourist wandering into Hell's Kitchen for the first time.
Unfortunately for them, Luke didn't like being underestimated. Especially not when a pistol pressed gently on the forehead of the man across the desk.
Luke's smile never wavered as he tilted the gun just slightly. "Let's try again. How much is it really worth?"
In the end, they didn't argue. They couldn't. He walked out with ten million dollars in fresh, untraceable cash. Every single bill was tucked neatly away in his inventory, safe from greedy hands.