Chapter 6
It was autumn. A cool breeze swept through the streets, swirling the fallen red maple leaves along the roadside.
Alex stepped out of the house. The morning sunlight brought a touch of warmth to his cold, sharp face, softening the reflection on his glasses. A chilly autumn wind blew toward him, gently lifting his hair and brushing against his skin with a faint tickling sensation.
His expression remained emotionless as he walked out the front door and headed toward the garage on one side of the yard.
He felt almost nothing about lightly beating Barry earlier — no satisfaction, no guilt. In his mind, what Barry had done to him in the past deserved far worse than a few broken ribs. The fact that he hadn't crippled Barry was already showing considerable mercy.
Beep.
He pressed the button for the automatic garage door. Before it fully opened, Alex ducked inside and quickly closed it again. The rolling door descended slowly behind him.
Click.
He flipped the switch on the wall.
Bright white incandescent lights instantly flooded the dark garage.
The space was large — ten meters long, six meters wide, and four meters high. In the center, displayed like a prized exhibit under the lights, stood a sleek Lightning LS-218 motorcycle. Its silver-and-black body gave off a powerful technological aura, like a savage metallic beast forged from cutting-edge science.
This motorcycle had been heavily modified by Alex. Its appearance was now far more aggressive and advanced. The enhanced nitrous burst accelerator and most of the custom upgrades had cost a fortune. Its top speed could reach an insane 450 km/h — faster than most supercars.
Such velocity was beyond what any normal human could handle. The upward airflow alone at high speed could easily lift an ordinary rider off the ground. Even professional motorcycle racers would face extreme danger at these velocities.
If the enhanced nitrous system was activated, the acceleration would become truly terrifying — the force of the air itself felt like it could tear a person apart.
Even Alex rarely turned on the full nitrous boost.
He walked past the Lightning LS-218, unplugged the charger, and moved to the far end of the garage. This was a hybrid motorcycle — gasoline, electric, and nitrous — a true three-in-one beast.
Alex lifted a heavy steel floor panel, revealing a hidden entrance. With a light leap, he jumped down into the darkness.
He bent his knees to absorb the impact, then felt along the wall for the light switch.
Click.
The lights came on, revealing a large underground room connected to the house's panic shelter. The design made it easy to enter or escape during an emergency, whether from inside or outside the house.
At the far end, the lighting was dimmer, giving the impression of an endless tunnel.
The walls were lined with wire mesh racks heavily loaded with firearms of all kinds.
On one side hung dozens of handguns: Colt M1911/M1911A1, Yarygin Grach 6P35, Browning Hi-Power 1935, CZ75, HS2000, HS95, CZ100/101, Desert Eagle, and many more.
On the opposite side were assault rifles: Heckler & Koch G36, Steyr AUG, H&K G3, IWI Tavor, AK-47, H&K HK416, M4A1, and others.
There were also shotguns, sniper rifles, and grenade launchers.
Boxes of ammunition were neatly stacked along one wall.
The arsenal here was far more complete and powerful than anything found in a regular gun store.
Alex took down a silver Desert Eagle from the handgun rack. He pulled back the slide, confirming the chamber was empty, then released the magazine into his other hand.
He opened a nearby ammo box and began pressing .45 caliber rounds into the magazine one by one. The shiny brass bullets clicked into place under his fingers. Combined with his cold, sharp expression, the scene made him look like a ruthless, icy killer.
He also selected several special rounds: armor-piercing tipped bullets, small high-explosive rounds, hollow-point bullets filled with liquid, green poison rounds, and paralyzing chemical rounds — each clearly marked by color.
Bert had modified this Desert Eagle so it could safely fire all the custom ammunition Alex and he had created.
Every gun and bullet in this room had been acquired or modified by Bert and Alex for one purpose: to protect their family.
Seven years ago, after Bert took down a gang, the gang retaliated and nearly killed Aunt Mary. After moving to the safer Alman neighborhood, Bert and Alex decided to build this private armory. Unless someone rolled up with a tank, no one could threaten their home. Sniper fire from hundreds of meters away or a direct armed assault — none of it mattered. They had enough firepower to make any attacker regret their life choices.
Alex inserted the magazine, racked the slide, and felt the familiar cold weight in his hand. Satisfied, he engaged the safety and tucked the Desert Eagle into the small of his back. He also took two spare magazines and hid them on his person.
Although Alex had reached the absolute peak of human physical strength and technique, he never relied solely on his body. He would use any tool available to crush his enemies without hesitation.
After all — if you could shoot someone, there was no need to beat them with your fists.
Winning and surviving — that was what mattered.
After checking that everything was in order, Alex turned off the lights, climbed the metal ladder, and pushed open the steel floor panel.
Back in the garage, he grabbed the black motorcycle helmet hanging on the wall, adjusted it slightly, and put it on. He flipped down the dark visor, instantly tinting his vision.
He pressed the garage door opener. Once it rose fully, Alex swung his leg over the silver-and-black Lightning motorcycle, lowered his body, and gripped the handlebars like a rider mounting a wild, high-speed beast.
Vroooom…
As the garage door reached its highest point, Alex twisted the throttle lightly. The tires gripped the ground, the exhaust roared, and the silver-black machine shot out of the garage like lightning. It tore down the street, kicking up a swirling trail of fiery red maple leaves behind it.