novelsite Chapter 15 First Test of Skill
Chapter 15 First Test of Skill
8 PM, Wang Zhengyang's apartment.
The computer screen displayed satellite maps and a 3D terrain model of the southern suburbs of Potsdam. The information Li Ming sent was very detailed: the abandoned freight station was built in the 1970s and ceased operation after the collapse of East Germany in 1990, remaining abandoned ever since. The main building was a steel-structured factory building approximately 150 meters long and 40 meters wide; the roof had partially collapsed, and the concrete floor was cracked in many places. There were no residential areas within a three-kilometer radius, only a dilapidated asphalt road connecting it to the main road.
Inside the factory: The eastern area is relatively intact, with the original railway tracks and several concrete piers; the western roof has completely collapsed and is filled with rubble; the central area has several large maintenance trenches, about 2 meters deep, with some water accumulation.
Possible routes of entry: three. The main road (severely damaged, but barely passable by vehicles), a dirt road on the west side (hidden, but requires passing through a small grove of trees), and a small stream valley from the south (the most hidden, but with complex terrain).
Possible escape routes: There are three routes, but we need to consider the possibility of an ambush. The best option is not to return by the original route after the transaction is completed, but to cross the abandoned railway bridge north of the freight station and leave via another route on the other side of the river—that route is outside the agreed-upon area and the other side may not be on guard.
Wang Zhengyang memorized the map details. He needed to arrive at the scene four hours in advance to conduct on-site surveys of every key point: suitable locations for transactions (open, with escape routes, and not easily ambushed), suitable locations for observation (able to monitor the entire area), and suitable locations for setting up emergency supplies (weapons, jamming equipment, escape tools).
He opened another file containing information about the seller provided by Li Ming: Max Weber, a 42-year-old former electronics engineer at the "Hessen Dynamics" laboratory, was laid off due to project cancellation and is currently semi-unemployed and financially strapped. He is withdrawn, has a mild technical obsession, but a strong need for money. He has no criminal record, but is said to have sold laboratory technical data privately multiple times and is somewhat notorious in the gray area.
Risks: First, the seller might set up an ambush for robbery—carrying a large amount of cash to a secluded location is a classic trap. Second, the seller might trade fake or incomplete documents. Third, a third party (such as a laboratory or police) might set up an ambush for arrest. Fourth, Zhang Yiqiang's people might be tracking him—although unlikely, it cannot be ruled out.
Countermeasures: First, divide the cash into smaller portions, hiding most of it outside the transaction point and carrying only a small sample amount. Second, carry portable devices to verify the integrity of the data on-site (laptop, external hard drive, encrypted verification program). Third, set up multiple observation points (remote cameras, motion sensors). Fourth, prepare emergency weapons and jamming equipment. Fifth, arrange a backup plan—have Chen Yishang drive five kilometers away to wait, maintain communication, and call the police if he cannot be contacted within two hours (but do not disclose the transaction details, only that he has disappeared).
This was Wang Zhengyang's first high-risk solo mission since his rebirth. But he had to go. The electromagnetic reactive armor technology was too important; if it could truly be combined with his superpowers, it would be key to the "Dragon Abyss" surviving the apocalypse.
He inspected the prepared equipment: a decoy backpack filled with waste paper, with only the surface of the bills being genuine; three sealed bags containing a total of 60,000 euros in the waterproof lining of his tactical vest; an encrypted satellite phone; a stun gun (the legal possession limit in Germany); a multi-tool tactical knife; a high-powered flashlight; and a 30-centimeter-long alloy crowbar.
In addition, he had prepared a special "insurance" measure—a trap designed based on his mechanical affinity. If the opponent actually made a move, he could use his ability to quickly destroy the surrounding metal structures and create chaos, such as causing rusty steel beams to fall or suddenly shifting trench covers. However, this required extreme maneuvering and would expose his ability, so it was a last resort.
The furnace is red-hot, the hammer is raised. But the hand holding the hammer must be steady, and the timing of the strike must be precise. Any mistake could reduce everything to ashes in the sparks.
He closed his eyes, mentally rehearsing the entire process one last time. Every step, every variable, every possibility.
Then, he opened his eyes, his gaze as cold and hard as steel after being quenched.
What's meant to happen will happen. And he's ready.
At exactly 11 p.m., the abandoned foundry on the northern outskirts of Potsdam lay shrouded in darkness, while the lights of Berlin in the distance were blurred into a hazy mass in the mist.
Wang Zhengyang turned off his motorcycle and parked it deep in the woods 800 meters away, then walked through waist-high weeds. The night wind carried the distinctive smell of rust and chemical waste from the factory area—and a faint scent of fresh blood, from three hours earlier.
That's not his blood.
An hour earlier, on his way here, he had taken a shortcut through an alleyway on the edge of an immigrant neighborhood. Three figures emerged from the shadows, holding not knives, but guns—old Makarovs, which could be bought on the black market for two hundred euros. Their accents were a mix of Arabic and broken German, and the meaning was clear: East Asian faces, traveling alone at night, were prime prey.
Berlin has changed in the last two years. In some areas, police patrol cars only appear during the day. Some rules have reverted to a more primitive state.
Wang Zhengyang was carrying an ordinary tool bag, looking like a maintenance worker coming off a night shift. He didn't run, nor did he immediately take action. 0.41% of the Caldova gene engine silently activated deep within his consciousness, and his perception spread like mercury across the ground—the shape, stress, and trajectory of the metal within the area were all constructed into a clear perspective in his mind.
Three guns. One had a slightly loose hammer spring, another had severely worn rifling, and the third had a stuck safety mechanism that required force to turn.
Their positioning was amateurish, obstructing each other's field of fire. Emotions were conveyed through the grip on their guns: tension, greed, and a certain cathartic excitement.
In a fraction of a second, Wang Zhengyang made his judgment: there was no way to avoid them; the alley was too narrow. He couldn't let any of them escape, or there would be more trouble. He had to be quick, quiet, and leave no trace for anyone to investigate.
He turned slightly to the side, as if afraid to back away, his right hand hanging naturally towards his tool bag. This movement attracted the attention of the person directly in front of him.
At that very moment, he released his superpower at the lowest possible level.
Instead of directly attacking the human body, which would leave inexplicable scars, he opted for a more precise method:
The Makarov hammer in the rightmost man's hand has a hammer spring that undergoes a 0.3-millimeter elastic deformation due to the microscopic interference of mechanical affinity—just enough to prevent the hammer from returning to its normal position.
The safety catch on the middle man's gun was pushed by a slight force and locked with a "click".
The man on the left was about to pull the trigger when he discovered that the friction between the trigger linkage and the sear suddenly increased fivefold, as if it had rusted instantly.
The three of them froze, looking down at the guns in their hands.
Wang Zhengyang made a move.
Without any superpowers, it was purely the killing skills he had honed during the five years of the apocalypse in his previous life. A thirty-centimeter-long alloy crowbar slid out of his toolbox—the real weapon he would use for his "work" today.
The first strike landed precisely below the rightmost man's Adam's apple, rupturing his trachea and carotid artery simultaneously. The man collapsed with a groan, without even letting out a proper scream.
The second man had barely looked up when a crowbar swept across him, sinking his temple. A brain contusion caused him to lose consciousness instantly; intracranial hemorrhage would kill him within twenty minutes.
The third man finally dropped his malfunctioning pistol and tried to run, but Wang Zhengyang stepped forward, plunged a crowbar into the kidney area from behind, and twisted his wrist, shattering the organ. The man collapsed to the ground, convulsing violently, but blood loss and neurological shock would calm him down within minutes.
The whole process took no more than eight seconds. Only heavy, fading breathing and the faint sound of a television in the distance remained in the alleyway.
Wang Zhengyang crouched down and quickly searched the premises. He took all three guns, along with cash from two wallets—about four hundred euros, enough to buy a batch of urgently needed electronic components. He carefully avoided surfaces that might leave fingerprints, wiping the crowbar and other areas that might have been touched with the corner of the other man's clothing.
Finally, he dragged the three bodies into a nearby, partially collapsed garbage shed and hastily covered them with old furniture. Tomorrow morning, a sanitation worker or a homeless person would find them. The police would register it as a gang shootout or drug overdose—several cases happen in this area every week.
The slight stinging in his right shoulder now is a minor cut from being scratched by one of the men's belt buckles during the move, nothing serious.
Most importantly, he now had three more guns. Although they weren't in great condition, after his special abilities tinkered with them, they would be far more reliable than before. Moreover, no one had seen his face, and no surveillance cameras had captured a clear image of him—he had already thoroughly explored the blind spots in this area.
Standing amidst the weeds outside an abandoned foundry on the northern outskirts of Potsdam, Wang Zhengyang dismissed the stinging pain in his shoulder as background noise. Deep within his consciousness, the gene engine whirred at a low frequency, its perception spreading.
All the metal states are clearly visible: the fatigue stress of the rusted iron door hinges, the lattice defects inside the steel beams of the factory roof, and... deep inside the workshop, the metal objects carried by two humanoid targets.
One of them had a pistol (Glock, with moderate wear on the metal parts) on his waist, and the other had some kind of precision instrument in his backpack (metal casing, with a miniature motor and circuit board inside).
Wang Zhengyang reached into his toolbox and grasped one of the recently captured Makarov rifles. The cool metallic touch sent a jolt through him, and he instantly scanned the gun's condition using his supernatural abilities: magazine full, 7 rounds of 9mm ammunition, hammer spring repaired, rifling worn but still usable.
He slowly exhaled, and the white mist dissipated in the cold night.
Berlin is decaying, and he needs to obtain something to survive before this decay completely consumes everything.
He strode toward the half-closed iron gate of the foundry.