Chapter 6: Time to Run
Inside the estate's private gym, Marcus finished his preparations, took a shower, and came here to familiarize himself with his new body.
Thud, a punch.
1,686 pounds!
Marcus struck the punching power meter with moderate force, looking at the displayed number.
It had indeed exceeded human limits.
This kind of punching power would basically send an ordinary person flying—a skull-crushing attack.
The average person's muscle utilization rate is around 20% to 30%.
Even with professional training, it's only around 40%—any more would damage the body.
If an ordinary person could utilize 100% of their muscles to deliver a blow, they could generate over a ton of force.
Of course, the result would be shattered bones and ruptured organs after the punch.
But Marcus was different.
He had tested his physical capabilities, exceeding human limits by more than double.
And because his core was his heart, he could also break through the brain's safety restrictions on muscles, delivering a self-destructive, all-out blow, then recovering afterward through blood absorption.
His phone buzzed, and Marcus picked it up to check.
Inside were text messages, all from PI-1, PI-2, and so on up to PI-20.
They were divided into ten teams of two, responsible for reporting on the activities of Kirsty's family of three living in Brooklyn, as well as Frank in Morocco, 24 hours a day.
The messages indicated that Kirsty's father was listing their current property for sale, and that Frank had withdrawn $10,000 worth of Moroccan dirhams from a bank an hour earlier.
Marcus then reviewed the property records on the table. Of Larry Cotton's four properties, only this house in Staten Island matched the description in the story.
It was about to begin; he needed to find Kirsty and get the hell out of there quickly.
The ice-themed Cenobites might discover his soul had escaped their dimension at any moment.
Being a damned soul was useful, but like a prisoner escaping custody, if caught, even the soul would be lost.
With Marcus's current abilities, if discovered, he would definitely be dragged back to their realm.
His soul would be tortured and twisted, making another escape impossible.
He activated the security systems set inside the bunker.
He handed over the five gang members tied up in the storage room—the ones who had damaged his car—to the police department, then turned and left the estate.
These thugs were his backup plan, in case the collected stored blood couldn't be used, but fortunately, he didn't need them.
The ice Cenobite's intermediary was just an ordinary person obsessed with their realm.
When they came to the bunker to retrieve the ice puzzle box, he believed that fully automatic defenses and high-explosive charges would give them a surprise.
Cenobites generally wouldn't bother with ordinary people who had no soul value, so the safety of the staff at the estate wasn't a major concern.
Far away in Africa, Frank was sitting in a café in Morocco, the heat making him sweat profusely despite wearing a white tank top.
As a hedonist who indulged in extreme pleasures, he had long grown tired of worldly delights and began to seek more intense experiences.
Frank threw a stack of bills on the wooden table.
An old man in traditional robes sat across from him. He slowly asked, "What do you seek?"
"A box."
The old man took the bills and placed a cube-shaped box covered in intricate brass patterns, with geometric designs on each face, on the table.
"Take it, it is yours."
Frank picked up the box and turned to leave.
The old man sat there impassively, staring at Frank's retreating figure, and said ominously, "It will always be yours."
"The contract is signed, here's the payment."
"Excellent, sir. This shop now belongs to you. Best wishes for a prosperous business."
Inside "Whiskers & Wings" pet shop in Staten Island, Marcus signed the contract, watching the former owner, an elderly woman, walk out of the shop.
This pet shop was where Kirsty would be looking for work in a few days.
Marcus checked his phone; Frank had already boarded his return flight and was expected to arrive tomorrow morning.
Marcus fed all the cats, dogs, and birds in the pet shop, making sure they were all well-fed.
Then he took his camera, locked the shop door, and followed the map westward along the main avenue.
Staten Island isn't a large area; after about 20 minutes, he found his destination.
A colonial-style house stood on a well-maintained lawn.
White clapboard siding with black shutters—this was the home of Dr. Channard, a doctor at the local Brookhaven Psychiatric Hospital.
Although it was daytime, there weren't many pedestrians on the street, and Channard was working at the hospital, making it a perfect opportunity to infiltrate.
Confirming he'd found the right place, Marcus leaped, grabbed the edge of the eight-foot-high pitched roof, and with a powerful pull, climbed through the attic window.
Channard's living room was filled with anatomical models and medical diagrams.
He went to the bedroom, searched it but found nothing significant, and returned to the living room. On the right side, he found another room.
He twisted the doorknob and pushed hard; the door was locked.
Remembering the key he'd seen in the bedroom drawer, Marcus went back, retrieved it, and returned.
After some trial and error, click—the door opened.
The walls of the room were covered with various anatomical diagrams and technical drawings of the Lament Configuration.
On the mahogany desk in front of the bookshelf were five glass display cases, each containing a replica puzzle box.
Marcus couldn't help but admire Channard's reckless ambition.
Of all the configurations he could replicate, why did he have to choose this one—the one associated with the Hell Priest himself, Pinhead?
There were simpler ones available, but he went straight for the highest difficulty.
Marcus chose the ice-themed puzzle box because that particular Cenobite wasn't considered especially powerful among them.
Ignoring the replica boxes on the desk, Marcus began searching for the main target of this infiltration.
A manila folder lay on the table.
Marcus opened it.
The first page was a black-and-white photograph of a Cenobite, his head pierced with a grid of pins driven into his skull.
A note was tucked into the folder, covered in densely packed text containing information related to Leviathan.
Marcus picked up his camera and began photographing the documents as he reviewed them; this information was crucial for future plans.
He quickly found what he was looking for: a black-and-white, half-profile photograph of a young man in military uniform.
The caption below read:
Elliott Spencer, attended boarding school, and due to family tradition, joined the British Expeditionary Force during World War I, becoming an officer.
The brutality of the Battle of Passchendaele caused him to lose faith in humanity and God. He buried his trauma through hedonism and excess. In 1921, he discovered the Lament Configuration in British India and vanished without a trace.
Marcus carefully examined the photograph, surprised that the Hell Priest Pinhead had been quite handsome in his youth.
He took out his camera, focused on the photograph, and only felt relieved after confirming he had captured a clear image.
This photograph, in the second part of the story, would awaken Pinhead's humanity; it would be insurance against him.
Marcus then photographed all the remaining documents, closed the folder, and put everything back in its original place.
After checking that no one was outside, he climbed out the window again and returned to the pet shop.
Marcus began reviewing the footage. He didn't take the manila folder, not wanting to interfere with the plot of the second film.
At 30% exploration progress, Marcus had obtained a story world entry ticket.
Although he didn't know its exact use yet, he guessed it would likely allow re-entry into that world.
However, this exploration progress was hard to obtain. Although Marcus seemed to have easily reached 35%, he had actually died once, entered their dimension to "register," and completed two story missions to get it.
There was a reward for 30% exploration progress; he wondered how much he could achieve after completing all the story missions, and if there would be additional rewards.
Now that he had Spencer's photo as his trump card, all that remained was to wait for Frank's return.
Marcus stood at the pet shop window and looked up at the sky.
The evening clouds stretched from west to east, burning crimson as if the sky were ablaze, like smoldering hope.
He could almost see Frank flying in from the west, traversing the clouds, unknowingly heading towards damnation.
(End of Chapter)
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