"What's the plan?"
William lowered his voice, his eyes rapidly analyzing the dynamic possibilities of the surroundings, searching for potential observation points and escape routes.
"Do you need me to set anything up in advance?"
Jessica pulled out a miniature voice recorder and several photos from the inner pocket of her leather jacket. The photos showed Emily Chen's sunny smile.
"I'll go in first to scout, and you'll be on standby outside.
If I don't come out within fifteen minutes, or if there are signs of a violent conflict inside, you call the police, then leave immediately."
"Wait."
William grabbed her sleeve, his hand meeting cold, tough leather.
"Ms. Jones, you promised earlier to let me experience 'front-line business environments.' What kind of experience is standing outside in the cold? How is that different from watching the news?"
Jessica raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by the insurance salesman's insistence, who had appeared a bit nervous moments before.
"Are you sure? There might be armed personnel inside, and..."
She paused, her gaze sharp as a knife.
"The scene could be very bloody, beyond what you imagine for 'risk data.'"
William remembered the gruesome dent on his briefcase, the crisp sound of bones breaking in the alley, and the scorching heat in his palm.
His heart rate accelerated again, but this time, amidst the fear, that craving for an unknown power and the urge to prove himself, like a long-suppressed volcano, was stirring.
"Perhaps I can help a little at a crucial moment?"
He was referring to the keen perception of danger brought by Trajectory Prediction.
At a critical moment, even a little early warning could change the tide of battle.
Jessica looked at him deeply.
Her gaze was complex and hard to decipher, containing scrutiny, surprise, and finally seeming to transform into a faint hint of... approval?
"Alright. But there are two conditions, commit them to memory."
She held up two slender fingers.
"First, follow my command in all actions. No acting on your own, no making unnecessary noise.
Second, if I judge the situation to be out of control and tell you to retreat, you must run immediately, right away, without looking back, understood?"
"Deal."
William nodded without hesitation. This was exactly the "practical training" he had hoped for.
Jessica took out a pair of miniature wireless earphones from her pocket and handed one to William.
"Put it on, keep the channel clear."
The two quickly circled to a relatively hidden side of the warehouse. Jessica soon found a rusty small iron door, locked only by a bolt from the inside.
She pulled a slender metal wire from her boot, fiddled with it a few times, and with a soft "click," the lock opened.
She gestured to "follow" and then, like an agile black cat, silently slipped inside.
The interior of the warehouse was much larger and darker than it appeared from the outside.
The first floor was a huge, high-ceilinged space, haphazardly piled with discarded mechanical parts, broken wooden crates, and chemical drums emitting pungent odors.
The air was thick with the smell of mold, gasoline, and a faint, almost imperceptible... scent of blood.
Suspiciously colored stains on the ground and several unstable stacks made him instinctively adjust his steps, narrowly avoiding them.
Faint light and muffled voices emanated from the second floor.
Jessica pointed to a crude iron staircase leading to the second floor in the corner, then lightened her steps, creeping like a ghost towards that direction.
William followed closely, his briefcase feeling unusually heavy in his hand. Every step was cautious, fearing he might step on something and make a sound.
Each step on the staircase produced a "creak" of metal friction, which sounded particularly harsh in the deathly silent warehouse.
William held his breath.
Countless possibilities flashed and played out in his mind.
Which connection point of the staircase was weakest, which tread was most likely to make a sound.
Even the possible patrol routes and blind spots on the second floor formed vague but crucial warnings in his mind.
Relying on his prediction, he carefully chose his footing, minimizing sound as much as possible.
The layout of the second floor was completely different from the first.
The originally open warehouse space was divided into several independent rooms by rough wooden boards.
A narrow corridor was lined with a few flickering old incandescent lamps, casting a dim glow.
A relatively brighter light shone from under the door of the room at the very end, and the voices came from there, sounding like some unsettling transaction was taking place.
Jessica pressed against the cold, rough wall, moving forward slowly and steadily like a gecko.
Just as she was about to step onto a seemingly sturdy wooden board.
William's Trajectory Prediction caught a tiny premonition of wood fiber breaking—the board was hollow underneath, and its edges were already rotten!
He instinctively reached out, lightly touching Jessica's arm, pointed at the board, then quickly shook his head.
Jessica's eyes narrowed. Her tiptoe stopped half an inch off the ground. She immediately understood, gave him an approving glance, and deftly bypassed it.
William felt a little relieved, it seemed his ability was indeed proving useful.
The closer they got to the room, the clearer the conversation inside became.
"...When will the next batch of 'goods' arrive?"
A hoarse male voice asked.
"Tomorrow night at the latest, three of them."
Another slightly shrill voice replied, with a barely discernible Eastern European accent.
"They're all hand-picked according to your requirements, guaranteed 'fresh' and potent."
William felt his stomach churn, a wave of acidic bile, mixed with anger and disgust, surged up his throat.
"Goods"?
They actually used such a term to describe living people.
Girls who went missing innocently, just like Emily!
He clenched his jaw tightly, every word like a poisoned steel needle piercing his conscience.
His fists creaked, his nails almost piercing the Resilient Skin. For the first time, he so hated his powerlessness.
And for the first time, he so craved power—the power to crush these scumbags!
Jessica glanced back at him, the chill in her eyes almost freezing the air.
She mouthed "calm down" to William, then continued forward.
"What about the one named Emily? How is she 'adapting'? The client specifically requested someone with a rebellious spirit."
The hoarse male voice carried a lecherous chuckle.
"Still making a fuss, but it doesn't matter. She'll be obedient soon enough. Our 'trainer' is very experienced."
His nails dug into his palm. Resilient Skin made him feel almost no pain, only boundless Fire burning in his chest.
William even clearly sensed the killing intent emanating from Jessica. It was a cold, bone-chilling anger and murderous intent, almost solidified, like a volcano about to erupt.
He knew Jessica was about to make her move.
Jessica slowly turned her head, her gaze meeting William's, and she mouthed two words with perfect clarity: "Get ready."
Then, she took a deep breath and, without warning, kicked the closed door with all her might.
"Bang—!"
The heavy wooden door exploded inward as if struck head-on by a battering ram, accompanied by the loud crash of splintering wood and a shattered doorframe!
The private investigator of Hell's Kitchen—Jessica Jones.
At this moment, officially declared open for business.