Mr. Fisher, Mr. Fisher! Please wait!"
Fisher, who had only intended to go downstairs for a coffee and a piece of cake, looked at the woman rushing towards him, feeling a headache.
Was it Christine or Christina? This woman was the female reporter who had slept with Stark before. To be honest, Fisher didn't know why this CNN reporter wasn't clinging to Stark but instead came to him for an exclusive interview.
"Is there something, Ms. Christina?" Fisher held his jacket in his hand and pushed open the coffee shop door.
"A latte, and a chocolate mousse!" Fisher snapped his fingers at the shop owner. "I'll cover the lady behind me too, let her order for herself!"
"Thank you, but my name isn't Christina, it's Christine!" The female reporter put down her bag, pulled out a chair, and sat opposite Fisher.
"Alright, Christina, no problem, Christina!"
"Let's skip this topic, Mr. Fisher. Have you agreed to my exclusive interview?"
"If I don't agree, will you keep staking me out?" Fisher took a bite of the small biscuit the waiter brought.
"I must first apologize to you. Not long ago, I mocked you as a blood-soaked merchant of death!"
"No need for that, I am one!" Fisher said casually.
"But Gigas has saved hundreds of thousands of civilians in the Middle East, protecting them from the ravages of war, and just yesterday, you even protected a refugee camp that was attacked by missiles!"
"These people will soon become part of Gigas's workforce, producing a large amount of goods for us, and they only require a small salary! All we provide is some bread and mineral water that even the US military doesn't eat!"
A vein slowly pulsed on Christine's forehead. She really wanted to know how Fisher, with such a venomous tongue, had managed to live so long.
"Because ever since I was little, my fists were always bigger than others! In elementary school, I was the student council president, in high school, I was the student body president, and in college, I even joined a fraternity. You can only be so arrogant when you have backing!" Fisher flashed a benevolent smile.
Just kidding, although his psionic abilities hadn't been developed much yet, he could still carefully sense the thoughts of untrained ordinary people like the female reporter. Fisher had closed many deals with this trick back in the day; his business partners all said he could see through people's hearts.
"Alright, next question, will you close your weapons division? Like Mr. Stark did!"
"No!"
"Can you tell me why?"
"The precision lathes that process missiles can also build rockets, and the rolling mills that manufacture aircraft carrier hulls can also be used to create space station shells. Arms trade provides Gigas with a continuous flow of funds, and these funds are then used by Gigas to develop new technologies—aerospace, exoskeletons. For Gigas, arms are just a springboard, an engine driving Gigas forward!"
"Outer space?" Christine was a little surprised. "Isn't venturing into outer space a bit too early, or rather, isn't the current technology not mature enough?"
"Not mature? Ms. Christine, NASA sent people to the moon last century. Are you telling me the technology isn't mature now? Deep space is a treasure waiting for us to explore, but unfortunately, humanity's focus remains on this small patch of Earth!"
"It's hard to imagine Gigas already has these plans. So, what are your plans for the future?"
"That's a trade secret, but I can tell you one thing: we're planning to build a mass accelerator in Florida!"
After confirming that Fisher's words were not a joke, Christine truly realized that the big boss of Gigas was playing a grand game. What sent shivers down her spine were Fisher's subsequent words.
"Whether they agree or not, a new arms race has already begun!"
...Well, one of the main reasons Fisher wanted to start this arms race was that his Star Beacon was fully charged. A new world meant new opportunities, and at this moment, everything about this world was thrown out of his mind.
"Kate, I'm taking a month's leave. All company affairs are entirely in your hands. If there's a problem, hand it over to Shepherd!"
"But…" Kate still wanted to say something, but Fisher had already hung up the phone.
"Ah ah ah ah!" The female secretary now wished she could hang Fisher under a Falcon gunship and execute him by cannon fire. That dog of a man never spoke a word of truth except for "I'm in." Last time, he disappeared for a full three months, and she was so anxious she almost mobilized the Ghost Squad to the Amazon rainforest to see if Fisher had been swallowed by a python. Now he was doing it again, not even saying where he was going. If this were any other company, he would have been sidelined long ago. It was only because Gigas's core team and shareholders were all his people that Fisher could disappear for a period without consequences.
Actually, Fisher didn't want to do this either, but he wasn't a time controller and couldn't freeze the world's time. However, he was fortunate to discover that no matter where he went, the time flow ratio with the main world was always ten to one.
Weapons, first-aid kits, compressed rations—Fisher carefully checked his travel bag and breathed a sigh of relief after confirming everything was in order. He knew his current strength wasn't enough to withstand bullets with his bare body, so a first-aid kit was essential. The first time he traveled, he didn't bring anything due to lack of experience, and ended up in a battlefield, even getting hit by a stray bullet.
From then on, Fisher learned his lesson and brought all necessary supplies. As a psionic, he could store items in subspace, and it was an infinite capacity kind. The only limit to storage was that storing items consumed psionic energy; larger items consumed more. So, for now, he could only carry light weapons at most; large items like tanks and planes were out of the question.
After packing his items, Fisher hailed a taxi and asked the driver to take him to an abandoned manor in the suburbs of Washington.
"Hey, buddy, that place has been abandoned for many years. What are you going there for?" The Black driver, chewing gum, looked at the heavily bundled Fisher in the rearview mirror. The latter wore a baseball cap, an outdoor jacket, and sunglasses that covered half his face, looking rather intimidating.
"Here's a hundred. You just need to take me there, then shut your mouth and don't ask questions, and it's yours!"
"Alright!" The Black guy looked at the large bill, swallowed, and then said, "No problem, you know, we Black people are the most tight-lipped. Don't worry, I'll pretend I never saw you today, no matter who asks!" With that, the driver thumped his chest hard, indicating his reliability.
"I hope so!" Fisher slid the banknote through the partition window of the driver's compartment.
The Black driver took the 100-dollar bill, immediately shut his mouth, and quietly started driving, also turning off the hip-hop music in the car.
After dropping Fisher off at his destination, the driver watched Fisher disappear into the manor, muttering, "Damn, I hope I didn't just drive a killer! This is too cool, I must tell my grandma!"
Fisher had no idea the Black guy had imagined so much. This manor was a safe house he secretly set up. The owner was a Mexican-American, Black, gay animal rights activist who was a vegetarian and currently practicing in Iceland. Of course, this homeowner didn't actually exist, but all the information about him was real, you could even find his flight and seat number from the air traffic control agency.
The main reason for setting up this safe house was that he couldn't tell anyone about traveling between worlds, and Fisher wasn't sure if he might bring back some virus or alien monsters, so he specially prepared a complete set of decontamination equipment and defense systems.
After entering the manor, Fisher did not go to the main building but directly to the tool shed behind it. The entrance to the safe house was there.
After iris scan, fingerprint scan, and voice verification, the tool shed floor slowly sank, revealing a flight of stairs.
Fisher didn't dare to hire an engineering team to build this safe house. He dug out the space inside himself, shovel by shovel. Then, he used the renovation project as a recruitment test for the engineers applying to Gigas, choosing the best design. That designer was then sent to Mali, Africa, where Gigas was contracted to provide logistical support for the coalition forces. Now, that designer can skillfully perform local ethnic dances.
"Alright, recording starts now. Fisher Adams's third Crossing !" Fisher threw his backpack into subspace and picked up a camera, placing it in the center of the room, facing himself. He had placed cameras during previous travels as well, but nothing was ever captured; the devices seemed to be exposed to strong radiation and were burned out. This time, he used a radiation-proof one, wanting to see how he actually disappeared.
With everything ready, Fisher stood in the center of the room and silently closed his eyes. In his mind, the golden-glowing Star Beacon grew increasingly bright. Then, a golden lightning bolt erupted, leaving a room full of ionized char smell, and Fisher vanished from the room.
Nausea, dizziness, chest tightness—these were Fisher's current sensations. He opened his eyes, and what greeted him was a void of stars. Dust clouds traced paths through space, and specks of starlight flickered faintly within them. Golden psionic flames enveloped Fisher's entire body, slowly disappearing into this void… "Hail Mars!"
This was the first thing Fisher heard after opening his eyes, still not fully grasping where he was.