Awakening the Daily Intelligence System

Lin Mo twirled the obsidian ring on his left ring finger, the switch to activate the "Eye of Judgment." A pale blue data stream appeared on his retina:

[Target A: Emily Dawson][Remaining Lifespan: 12 years 3 days][Physique Strength: 61][Mental Pollution: 68][Judgment Points: 69]

As he turned his gaze towards the other two slutty girls, the nose-pierced Latino girl suddenly clutched her eyes and screamed in agony. In their retinas lingered the fleeting golden patterns in the man’s pupils; those designs were like the Eye of Judgment recorded in ancient religious texts.

"Thirty seconds," Lin Mo’s voice carried the distinctive mumble of the West Coast, his right hand already reaching for the custom baton at his waist, "Kneel down and apologize to Catherine, or..." He kicked away the twisted iron door at his feet, revealing behind it a litter of broken surveillance cameras, "keep company with these electronic eyes."

Emily spat out her gum residue, her rhinestone-studded nails digging cruelly into her palm. This freak, self-proclaimed "Dark Night Judge," had been active in Brooklyn for three months now; six mid-level members of the Hell’s Angels Gang had already been left with broken limbs on the steps of the police station by him. But tonight was different—she quickly pulled out her phone and sent a location message—their backup, the gang’s second-in-command "Razor" Jack, was currently at the strip club three blocks away.

"You think you can scare us?" The redhead suddenly pulled a spring knife from the back pocket of her hot shorts, its blade shimmering blue under the emergency light, clearly smeared with a neurotoxin, "Know about the cop who was skinned last week in Queens? His eyeballs are still with Jack’s..."

Her boast was cut short by the whooshing sound. The moment the baton struck her wrist with precision, Lin Mo had already ghosted into the ring formed by the trio. Amidst the clattering of the fallen blade, he seized Emily’s studded jacket to cover the pouncing Latino girl, the fabric tearing and the dull thump of hitting the wall exploding in the corridor.

Catherine, curled up in the corner, struggled to open her swollen eyes. She would never forget the scene before her: that mysterious man creating a miniature storm in the less than two meters wide hallway. His combat style blended the sweeping legs of Brazilian War Dance and the throwing techniques of Russian Sambo, each elbow strike precisely hitting the body’s most vulnerable neural clusters. When Emily lifted a fire axe to chop, the man even had the leisure to adjust the length of his baton, the metal’s telescopic clicking and the sound of the axe slicing the air forming a bizarre duet.

"Playtime’s over." Lin Mo suddenly pressed the tail end of the baton against Emily’s throat, his other hand drawing a miniature taser from his tactical belt. As blue electric arcs flickered, the sound of heavy footsteps approached from the end of the hallway, twelve burly men emblazoned with the Hell’s Angels insignia blocking the exit.

Razor Jack pushed his men aside and stepped forward, the scar from brow to cheekbone on his left face twitching. The six-foot-three Russian thug eyed Lin Mo’s black combat boots—just beneath the cuff lurked a dark red bloodstain, perfectly matching the wound location when his cousin was thrown into the East River three days prior.

"Heard you like to sort out the trash?" Jack withdrew a serrated combat knife from behind his back, deliberately sparking the blade against the fire door, "Tonight, let’s play a game." The lights of seven or eight powerful flashlights came on behind him. "Either you lie down to the morgue or," his lascivious gaze sweeping over Catherine’s disheveled shirt, "the little med school chick gives us some thrilling playtime." Find adventures on NovelBin.Côm

Lin Mo suddenly laughed. The sound of that laugh, like rusted gears grinding bones, collectively stunned the thugs. Pulling down his mask to reveal his face scarred with burns, he slowly licked his cracked lips, "Know why I chose this building?" He swiftly threw out three micro EMP devices, "Besides the load-bearing walls, the other partitions are made of asbestos from 1978."

The lights in the building instantly went out, but the night vision goggles worn by the thugs started frantically alarming. As they scrambled to remove their gear, Lin Mo had already donned special goggles. On his retina, the red outlines representing life signs perfectly overlaid the building layout—an army-grade tactical eyepiece he’d traded for in the black market with three gold bars.

"The first," his whisper dissipated in the darkness just as the baton hit someone’s common peroneal nerve at the side of the knee. Amidst the piercing screams, Lin Mo spun away from a blind slash, his elbow ruthlessly striking the second man’s Adam’s apple. As a third knife came thrusting, he purposefully took the hit with the ballistic plate in his shoulder, pushing the assailant towards a corner piled with building materials.

Jack, swinging his combat knife wildly, could only slice into the backs of his own men. The veteran who had experienced the Chechen War suddenly realized that the narrow corridor was turning their numerical advantage into a deadly trap. Reaching for the pistol at his waist, he found the trigger jammed by some gel-like substance—a trap the devil had set in advance of their arrival!

"Like my little gift?" Lin Mo’s voice echoed unpredictably, a thug’s shin bone snapping crisply under the heavy baton strike, "Polyurethane Rapid Gel, exclusively used in FBI interrogation rooms, can render firearms useless in three minutes." He suddenly burst out from behind a fire hydrant, executing a standard Israeli disarm move—an instant stab of the combat knife into the wall, his knee heavily slamming into Jack’s stomach.

As police sirens approached from three blocks away, Lin Mo squatted beside the unconscious Jack. The Eye of Judgment displayed a Judgment Points total of 89 for the man, high enough to trigger the "Level 2 Punishment" protocol. He drew a specially made ceramic razor—stolen during his night shifts at the Columbia Medical College morgue—and with precise strokes, severed the man’s wrist tendons and Achilles tendon.