The distance from Cap-Haïtien to Port-au-Prince turned out to be even greater than the journey from Guantanamo Bay. If the Black Pearl remained submerged, they wouldn't arrive until nightfall.
But Luoshu had no choice. This country was far more backward than he'd anticipated.
Sailing along the coastline, even the so-called "cities" marked on world maps were little more than fishing villages. Here, finding a car was a pipe dream—even boats with fuel-powered engines were rare.
And the Ford F-150, the base model for Luoshu's Pickup Truck Transformer, was a luxury among pickups. Even its lowest configuration required tires sized 315/70R17 or larger.
(Author's Note: 315mm = tire width; 70 = aspect ratio; R17 = wheel diameter. These tires are over twice the size of standard passenger car tires.)
In these fishing villages? If you could find a tire larger than 205/55R16, Luoshu would eat his hat.
Port-au-Prince it was.
By nightfall, the Black Pearl finally reached the capital. Luoshu stored the bottled ship Negro Perta, left the immobilized Pickup Truck Transformer on the beach, and trudged into the city dragging the portable Scranton Reality Anchor—now shrunk to the size of a rolling suitcase.
Port-au-Prince, nestled deep in the bay on Haiti's western coast, held the dubious honor of being the filthiest capital on Earth. Luoshu saw why the moment he stepped ashore.
The streets were a maze of shanties, raw sewage, and garbage piled mountain-high. Most buildings stood one or two stories tall; anything over three floors qualified as a skyscraper. Even the most rundown coastal town in China's southeast could put this "capital" to shame.
Luoshu began doubting he'd find the parts he needed—until he spotted a Ford F-150 parked near a market.
Jackpot.
He decided to "borrow" this F-150 for spare parts. Tracking the vehicle, he waited for an opportune moment to commandeer it.
(Some might ask: Why go through the trouble? Just use Silicon-Based Intelligence to turn this truck into Pickup Truck Transformer #2!
Luoshu's reply: "I'm sentimental. I won't abandon my ride-or-die pickup.")
Meanwhile, the original Pickup Truck Transformer whimpered telepathically:
"Master, hurry back! A bunch of Haitian kids are eyeballing me—they look like they want to strip me for parts!"
To ordinary eyes, the transformer appeared as a junked vehicle. In a wealthier nation, no one would glance twice. But here in Haiti, one of the world's poorest countries, every screw on its body was currency.
When the first child lunged for a "part," the transformer had no choice:
"Autobots, transform!"
The kids scattered like spooked birds. Crisis temporarily averted.
The Hunt Begins
Back in Port-au-Prince, Luoshu trailed the F-150 to a banana plantation—one with a conspicuously lavish estate. The truck parked near the kitchens, where servants unloaded groceries.
(Unaware of his pickup's ordeal, Luoshu activated Unobservable Memetics and waited patiently. Even "borrowing" required basic courtesy—let them finish unloading first.)
But fate had other plans.
Haitian police had just received a report: "A Transformer on the beach!"
Normally, Haiti's sluggish bureaucracy would've taken until dawn to investigate. But today was different.
The Foundation had alerted every Caribbean nation:
Asian male sighting?
Transformer involved?
Instant notification + massive bounty.
Money talks—especially in a place this desperate.
Thus, after 20 hours of flawless stealth, the Black Pearl's cover was blown... by a sentient pickup truck.
In the world of anomalies, Luoshu's transformer was the only autonomous vehicle outside Anomalous Item-100's domain. The Foundation didn't even need verification—this had to be Luoshu.
Now, the question was: How to kill him?
Nuclear strikes had failed four times:
Neutron bomb in the U.S. capital
Site-CN-06
Chinese grassland city (Demonic Slogan incident)
Guantanamo's double-tap
This wasn't luck. The Foundation concluded Luoshu had multiple escape methods, even against spatial containment.
MTF Alpha-1 ("Red Right Hand") proposed a new approach:
"Try assassination. Deploy Delta-5."
MTF Delta-5 ("Front Runners")—a network of covert cells specializing in preemptive acquisition of anomalies—got the green light. Short of nuking Haiti off the map, this was their best shot.
The Foundation mobilized:
Satellites locked onto Port-au-Prince, scanning at decimeter resolution.
"God" himself became a courier, using spatial tunnels to deploy Delta-5 assassins.
Minutes later, they found their target.
Well—indirectly.
Satellites couldn't see Luoshu (Unobservable), but they spotted something telling:
A silver rolling suitcase.
To anyone else, it was luggage. To the Foundation?
The missing portable Scranton Reality Anchor—stolen from Achilles' Gulfstream G700.
"Got you, Luoshu."
The Shot
As the estate's servants finished unloading the F-150, Luoshu prepared to move.
Then—a sudden, visceral dread.
His Malice Perception flared.
Threat: 1 kilometer out.
Sniper.
A tiny projectile streaked toward him at supersonic speed.
Bullet.
Luoshu rolled aside—but his danger sense kept screaming. The round was already within 300 meters, impact in <1 second.
("Won't dodge in time. Must be an AOE round.")
Acting fast, he locked onto a distant figure and—
Teleport.
He reappeared on the estate's second-floor terrace, behind a wiry, middle-aged Black man.
The bullet curved midair.
Headshot.