The aftermath of the assassination attempt was handled with chilling efficiency.
Sun Jiao simply pressed the intercom, reported "unwanted visitors," and within minutes, a cleanup crew arrived. They worked with practiced detachment—spraying coagulant on bloodstains, bagging bodies like garbage. The hotel manager offered perfunctory apologies; compensation in the form of mutated beef steak was politely declined.
In this world, death warrants less fuss than a spilled drink, Jiang Chen mused, watching the professionals erase all traces of violence.
A Banquet in the Wasteland
The suite's microwave hummed as it reheated canned delicacies—curry chicken, mapo tofu, bamboo shoot pork—while the rice cooker performed its miracle. When the fragrant steam rose, Sun Jiao's eyes gleamed like a child's on Christmas morning.
Jiang Chen no longer bothered hiding his spatial storage ability. Sun Jiao no longer pretended not to notice. Their silent understanding was more intimate than any physical contact.
The meal disappeared at alarming speed. Enhanced metabolism from the C-Grade booster meant Jiang Chen consumed twice his normal portion—yet still paled next to Sun Jiao's five-bowl performance.
"Worried about feeding me?" she teased, patting her improbably flat stomach.
Jiang Chen smirked. "Eat all you want. I'll always provide."
The casual promise made Sun Jiao's cheeks flush. For a woman raised on nutrient paste, being cherished for her appetite was a novel luxury.
Planning the Heist
Later, sprawled across the bed, Sun Jiao activated a device that made Jiang Chen's jaw drop—a pen-sized projector casting a fully interactive holographic blueprint of Qingpu's commercial bank.
"Two approaches," she explained, fingers dancing through shimmering corridors. "Option one: blast through the vault door with explosives. Option two—" she zoomed in on a control room, "—hack the mainframe to disable security."
Jiang Chen inhaled sharply as she highlighted threats:
- Radiation Hotspots (Yellow Zones)
- Confirmed Meat Mountain Sightings (Red Icons)
- Possible Deathclaw Territory (Pulsing Black Hexagons)
The latter made his blood run cold. According to the data, these apex predators could smell prey from two kilometers away, outrun motorcycles, and shrug off small arms fire.
"Option two," Jiang Chen decided. "Where do we find a hacker?"
Sun Jiao grinned. "The slums outside. Talent's cheap when survival's expensive."
The Trap Springs
Their strategy session concluded with darker matters.
"The Gray Mold Mercenaries won't quit after one failure," Sun Jiao warned, stretching like a contented panther. "They'll stalk us tomorrow—probably strike when we separate."
Jiang Chen's lips curled. "Let them. I have an idea..."
His plan—whispered against Sun Jiao's neck—made her eyes glitter with predatory delight.
"Clever bastard," she purred, nipping his earlobe. "I'll make sure their ambush becomes our hunting ground."
As the lights dimmed, Jiang Chen marveled at this new reality: plotting murder felt as natural as dinner conversation. The wasteland was changing him—one bloody lesson at a time.