Chapter 15: Anarchic Community

This report surprised Roger.

Because its reward was even more generous than the previous two, and silver coins appeared for the first time.

What did this mean? Did it imply the investigation for this report was more difficult?

But the first report also had a skill reward, yet it didn't seem very hard.

Or was this report simply more important?

Roger carefully analyzed the report; every word and line seemed to radiate danger. This novel is originally published on Tiantian Kan Xiaoshuo, with extensive collections, ttks. tw, offering you error-free, properly ordered reading.

After all, a serial killer who had committed multiple murders within the same community and remained at large, bold yet meticulous, sounded far from easy to handle.

He might even be armed.

Thinking of this, Roger grew restless. He stepped out of the tent and took the pistol they had obtained from Gideon from Juan's hands.

He also took all the bullets.

Sitting inside the tent, Roger played with the pistol.

The gun was a Glock 43X, a civilian portable concealed handgun. Entirely black, with a 6-round magazine.

But the spare ammunition was scarce; including the magazine, there were only eight rounds total.

Perhaps due to the skill, whenever Roger looked at this gun, he felt an uncanny familiarity with it.

To verify this, he placed the pistol before him and held his hands suspended in midair.

After calming his mind, he quickly pressed the timer button on his phone, then began disassembling the Glock.

Magazine, slide, recoil spring…

Various parts were removed from the gun; within just forty seconds, he had disassembled the Glock into its individual components.

After completing the disassembly, he reassembled the parts back into a pistol.

Once he confirmed the pistol was intact, he pressed the stop timer button.

"One minute twenty-five seconds. Not bad."

Compared to special forces who could disassemble and reassemble blindfolded in a minute and a half, his level was only equivalent to that of a soldier with one or two years of service.

But it was more than sufficient for an ordinary person.

"Phew, now I feel a bit safer."

Roger shoved the pistol under his pillow, kept his hand beside it, and fell into a deep sleep.

Perhaps because he now had a weapon for protection, tonight's nightmares felt gentler, not jolting him awake suddenly.

He woke up the next morning.

【SAN Value +2】

【Status: Rift Edge → Unstable Cognition】

"First, eat. Then head to the Jie Ji Ting."

Today, Roger did not plan to go directly to the Xin Yidunweier Shequ mentioned in the report; instead, he intended to investigate first and prepare.

After all, Meilijian communities were extremely complex, each with its own unique conditions.

His first priority was to determine what racial group primarily resided in this community.

If it was a Black community, he should consider abandoning this mission.

Because Black communities often did not welcome White people, and sometimes even harbored hostility toward them.

He would risk being shot if he entered recklessly.

After planning briefly, he grabbed his phone, slipped the pistol into his waist-side bag, stepped out of the tent, and saw Juan returning from walking Jose.

"There's a relief station nearby for breakfast today—sandwiches, donuts, and yogurt," Juan pointed toward the northern street.

"Thank God, we won't have to eat those rock-hard bacon strips anymore. Let's go together."

Afterward, the two left Jose inside the tent; this time Juan deliberately zipped it shut, fearing another homeless person might spot the pitbull and steal it.

Under the blazing sun, they arrived at the relief station, waited in line for half an hour, and received their breakfast.

But when Roger took a bite of the seemingly appetizing donut, his face immediately twisted in disgust.

"Damn it! My insulin!"

He quickly spat out the donut and swallowed some yogurt to rinse his mouth.

This thing was far too sweet—like it had been made with fifty times the normal amount of syrup.

"Shit, if I ate this, I could walk from Seattle to New York!"

"You don't like it?" Juan asked, puzzled.

Seeing Juan's expression was normal, Roger handed him the donut: "Here, take it."

"Thanks."

Juan took the donut and stuffed it into a plastic bag.

Roger shook his head, took a bite of the nearly meatless sandwich, and finished the yogurt.

After breakfast, he and Juan parted ways, and Roger went alone to Old John's Jie Ji Ting.

On the way, he searched online for information about the Xin Yidunweier Shequ.

Unfortunately, there was very little information—even the name itself was rarely mentioned.

Roger only found that Eatonville was the name of a famous Black autonomous town in Florida.

"So it really is a Black community?" He felt the situation had grown complicated.

He searched further, and suddenly found scattered mentions of the community on a Seattle city forum.

"I heard the police have completely withdrawn from the Xin Yidunweier Shequ."

"That's right—it's become just like Capitol Hill."

"My brother who works at the police station says there are an average of two shootings and four robberies in that community every day. I really wonder if everyone living there is already dead."

Better they all die, a bunch of lazy trash.

Roger stared at the terms "Capitol Hill" and "Anarchic Community," and seemed to finally understand the situation of Xin Yidunweier Shequ.

Still, to confirm, he sent a text message to his only current contact: intern reporter Vanessa.

"Do you know Xin Yidunweier Shequ?"

After sending the message, he walked into Jie Ji Ting; the 8-bit music immediately filled his ears.

He sat in front of the pinball machine, played two rounds with twenty-five-cent coins, then dropped in a Bronze coin.

The round, bronze-colored ball rolled down, bouncing repeatedly between the pins, finally landing in the prize zone.

"Damn!"

Roger sighed in disappointment, staring at the prize outlet.

There sat a round, red object.

"What the hell is this?"

He picked it up and saw it bore an American cartoon pattern: a bearded, glasses-wearing Doctor Octopus, each of his eight tentacles gripping a bottle of Pepper Spray.

The thing looked like a child's toy.

But when Roger read its description on the System Panel, his eyes widened.

【Pepper Grenade: When thrown at the ground, it fills a ten-meter radius with intense pepper fumes, rendering all unprotected individuals within range unable to resist.】

"This thing is awesome!"

Roger was thrilled—it was practically a life-saving artifact, even better than a pistol.

Too bad there was only one.

He shoved the Pepper Grenade into his crossbody bag; his phone suddenly rang.

It was Vanessa's call:

"Hello?"

"Got any news? About Xin Yidunweier Shequ."

"You know that community?" Roger asked.

"Of course—I'm a reporter; I naturally know Seattle's Forbidden Zone," Vanessa said.

"Forbidden Zone?" Hearing that term, Roger realized something was wrong.

Vanessa frowned: "You didn't know? Then where did you hear that name?"

"Never mind where I heard it—tell me about the community first."

"Sorry, I have no obligation to tell you," Vanessa rolled her eyes.

"I can trade you a piece of information."

Vanessa fell silent for a moment: "Fine, I'll keep it brief. Xin Yidunweier Shequ is one of Seattle's few Anarchic Communities. No police, no hospitals, no public facilities, no taxes. A multiethnic residential area long controlled by multiple gangs, with frequent murders and robberies."

"Sounds dangerous."

"Not just dangerous—it's extremely dangerous," Vanessa said. "If you plan to enter that community, you'd better give me your friend's number—I'll have him take your Informer slot."

"And your information?"

Roger replied: "Don't worry, you'll know in two days."

With that, he hung up without giving Vanessa a chance to react.

He could imagine the female reporter was now furiously cursing him.

But that didn't matter—what mattered was that Roger now had a clear idea of Xin Yidunweier Shequ's situation.