[04:30 AM, The 13th Street]

  The dust finally settled.

  The row of arrogant sonic weapons had turned into a pile of scrap metal scattered across the clearing. The Landlady's earth-shattering roar didn't just shatter the Guild's equipment; it seemed to shatter the invisible shackles weighing on the neighbors' hearts.

  "Come out! They ran away!"

  Someone shouted into the quiet morning.

  One by one, the residents who had been cowering in their homes pushed open their windows.

  Old veteran Harry walked out leaning on his cane; Uncle George, the hot dog vendor, came out clutching his tongs; even Tom, the timid homeless man, crawled out from behind a trash can.

  They looked at the messy construction site and the Guild technicians fleeing in disarray. The fear in their eyes was gone, replaced by a long-suppressed anger.

  "Those bastards! Not letting people sleep in the middle of the night!"

  "Smash it! Smash these cursed things!"

  This wasn't an organized riot. It was the rawest, most desperate form of venting.

  Everyone rushed forward, kicking and stomping on the ruined speaker columns. Someone even brought paint and scrawled "GET OUT OF 13TH STREET" in huge letters. It didn't have much actual lethality, but it was an attitude.

  An attitude that screamed, "I've had enough."

  John stood on the rooftop, watching the scene. He didn't go down to stop them. He knew that once this pressure was released, the people would stand united.

  But he didn't celebrate.

  He turned and went back into the clinic, calling Bone and Grace (via wristband projection) to him.

  "Meeting time."

  John's face was serious. He held a pen and was scribbling on a piece of scrap paper.

  "Boss, we won! Why the long face?" Bone was trying to pop a loosened rib back into place, clearly in a good mood.

  "Won? We just didn't lose."

  John wrote a single word on the paper in heavy strokes: [LEGAL].

  "The Guild used the cover of 'Municipal Engineering' this time. They had permits and a construction crew. They stand on solid legal ground. And us..."

  John pointed at himself, then at Bone.

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  "We engaged in violent resistance. We destroyed public property. If they come tomorrow with police and court summons, what do we do? Fight again? Then we're officially branded as 'Terrorists'."

  Grace nodded, her expression grave. "The Boss is right. Moriarty is an old fox; he excels at playing people to death with rules. The sonic attack was just a probe. If the next wave is a team of lawyers, we're screwed."

  "So," John circled the word on the paper heavily, "We must upgrade. Not just in force, but in brains."

  "We need to keep up with their rhythm. If they play dirty, we play dirtier. If they play legal, we find the loopholes."

  "Now, inventory check."

  John dumped all their "assets" onto the table.

  Cash: A few hundred New Currency (barely enough for instant noodles).

  Merit Points: 0 (Still deep in debt).

  Loot:

  The large-caliber handgun snatched from Butcher (only 3 bullets left).

  The Mech Core Chip (Damaged, but Grace said it's fixable).

  The Necromancer's Space Ring (Contains a few low-grade Spirit Stones).

  A pile of scrapped sonic speaker parts (Bone just scavenged them).

  "That's it?" Bone looked at the pile of junk, deflated. "What can we do with this? Build a Gundam?"

  "Can't build a Gundam, but we can build something else."

  John picked up the Mech Chip and handed it to Grace.

  "Grace, can you crack this? I want to know the energy logic of this thing. If utilized, the energy inside this chip is enough to power this building for a month, maybe even drive something else."

  "Piece of cake!" Grace accepted it confidently. "Give me two hours. I can not only crack it but also flash a 'Crypto-mining firmware' onto it to make some side cash."

  "Good."

  John picked up the Space Ring and tossed it to Bone.

  "Bone, this is for you. It's not big, but enough to hold some gear. Don't carry bags around like a scavenger anymore. We need to look professional."

  "Oh! Thanks, Boss!" Bone happily slipped the ring onto his finger bone. It was a bit loose, so he tied it with a red string.

  Finally, John looked at the pile of speaker parts.

  Those were high-intensity magnetic coils and oscillators. The casings were broken, but the cores were intact.

  "As for these..."

  Images of Tesla's tower and the Landlady's Lion's Roar flashed through John's mind.

  "We don't need giant speakers. We need... Precision Strikes."

  He sketched a design on the paper.

  It was a compact device that could be worn on the wrist. The principle used high-frequency currents from a Tesla coil to drive a miniature sonic oscillator.

  "What if we turn this into a 'Sonic Grenade' or a 'Directional Jammer'?" John's eyes lit up. "If we meet a mech, slap it on to shatter its sensors. If we meet a mage, disrupt their chanting frequency directly."

  "Boss, you've gone bad," Grace smirked. "But I like it."

  "This isn't being bad; this is Tactics."

  John stood up and walked to the window. The neighbors downstairs were still "kicking them while they were down." The noise gave him a rare sense of security.

  But he knew this security was fragile.

  "Next, we split up."

  John issued new orders.

  "Grace, you monitor the network, especially the Guild's legal movements. Notify me the moment there's a lawyer's letter or indictment. We need to find someone who knows the law."

  "Bone, go to the black market. Find 'Blind Man'. Use these Spirit Stones to trade for materials to build the 'Jammers'. Remember, don't get tailed."

  "What about you, Boss?"

  John looked at the unfinished talisman paper on the table.

  "Me? I need to... take a remedial class."

  He recalled the [Daoist Basic Cultivation Manual] Singularity had left him. Although the Five Animal Frolics and Plum Blossom Piles looked rustic, it was exactly that "calmness" trained on the edge of life and death that kept him from fainting immediately during last night's battle.

  "I need to master this 'Tai Chi Heart Sutra'. Next time I faint from blood, I want to do it with some dignity."

  Night deepened.

  The 13th Street finally returned to silence.

  But inside the small clinic, three oddballs were undergoing a metamorphosis named "Evolution" for the sake of survival.

  They were no longer passive victims.

  They were becoming... Hunters.

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