Chapter 4: Black Hood Investigative Team

【Respected Navigator, arrived at the New World】

【Duration: Ten days】

【Anchor this world?】

【To establish a fixed anchor point in this world, 1000 units of Source Power are required】

【Remaining Source Power: 0 units】

【Remaining Energy: 0.1 units】

【Please replenish energy promptly...】

The warning from the Navigator System forced Alvin to consider replenishing his energy as soon as possible.

“Ten days is too short,” he instinctively pinched his brow, raised his wrist, and looked at the Navigator System: “What is Source Power? What does anchor point mean? And if I replenish energy, can I extend my stay?”

【Source Power: Exists in life forms under the world’s primordial attention; their decisions largely influence the world’s trajectory】

【Anchor World: After fixing an anchor point, the Navigator may return to it at any time without consuming energy; carrying multiple people or items requires additional energy expenditure】

【Respected Navigator, replenish energy promptly: every 10 units of energy extend your stay in this world by one day】

Listening to the Navigator System’s explanation, Alvin’s furrowed brow relaxed.

Source Power, according to the Navigator’s description, must refer to the protagonists, key supporting characters, and villains within the plot world.

As for how exactly to obtain it, he would need to explore gradually—there was no rush.

Eat one bite at a time; accomplish one task at a time.

Alvin pinched his brow: “Indeed, the biggest problem now is to replenish energy as soon as possible.”

He had a habit of organizing his thoughts and prioritizing tasks by urgency—a crucial lesson learned from years of slacking off at his past job.

After briefly sorting his thoughts, Alvin outlined his next course of action.

First, he must find a way to solve the energy problem, so he could stay longer.

Only with sufficient time could he proceed with his plans—or, rather, follow the plot’s trajectory to gradually secure what he desired.

Though he had nearly forgotten the plot, he still remembered the major turning points clearly.

The Black Hood Investigative Team is an anti-superhero-themed setting.

The greatest mastermind behind the plot, Vought International, publicly operates as a pharmaceutical company, managing and operating hundreds of superheroes under its banner.

In this world, superheroes are no longer rare anomalies but a highly sought-after profession.

Many are born with awakened superpowers.

The types of superpowers are wildly diverse, even evolving into astonishingly bizarre abilities depicted in the plot.

Here, Alvin had to admire America’s boundless, transgressive sexual freedom—truly unparalleled, rivaling even the Spirit Clan; Lust would be ecstatic.

Back to the matter at hand.

Those with superpowers undergo rigorous selection and ultimately become members of Vought International.

Like celebrities, they are heavily packaged, beautified, and marketed with elaborate personas, performing before the public to generate profits for Vought.

But the truth is, Vought controls a substance known as Compound Five, capable of unlocking latent human superpowers.

To monopolize greater influence, Vought secretly injects Compound Five into infants nationwide, fabricating a vast population of “naturally” born superhumans.

The so-called superheroes are, in fact, manufactured products!

Of course, Alvin didn’t care whether superheroes were manufactured—he only cared about Compound Five in the plot.

“I must find a way to obtain Compound Five.”

Alvin clenched his fist tightly—Compound Five... he would claim it at all costs!

Injecting Compound Five carries many side effects, but as a scavenger from the Undercity, he had never had a choice to begin with.

Never overestimate the bottom line of scum, and never expect anything from scum.

He knew well that scum had no such thing as a bottom line—they would perch on your corpse like vultures, crushing your bones and sucking your marrow.

Until they had drained every last ounce of value, then, like slaughtering livestock, they would sever your head as a warning to other scavengers.

Alvin did not want to die without meaning, without dignity, like trash, forgotten and rotting.

Compound Five was an opportunity!

He must seize this chance, grip his fate firmly in his own hands!

“Black Hood Investigative Team, I’m coming!”

Alvin strode forward with confidence, stepping out of the alley.

Good!

A bright future was beckoning to him!

This step, though a small one for him personally, was a giant leap for the Warhammer universe!

Yet, just as he stepped out of the alleyway, something hard pressed against the small of his back.

From the feel, it was a gun.

Fortunately, not something worse... Alvin unconsciously exhaled in relief.

He hadn’t expected to encounter American tradition right after arriving—it was oddly lucky.

“Stop right there, kid. Don’t move if you want to live!”

The man holding the gun to his waist growled hoarsely, clearly agitated: “Hand over everything valuable you’ve got!”

Robbery?!!

Alvin was speechless. Seriously... did he look like he had money?

A scavenger from the Undercity—besides this rag of a garment, the most valuable thing on his entire body was probably his face.

His facial features were sharp, his eyes clear and refined, his nose straight; though pale from chronic malnutrition, he carried a sickly beauty.

If washed clean, he would unquestionably pass for a handsome youth.

Not as flawless as the readers’ standards, but he could hold his own in any male modeling circle.

Who knew why a scavenger from the Undercity would possess such striking looks? Perhaps it was due to his mother, who died of illness when he was very young.

“Bro, look at me... do I look like I have money?”

Alvin pulled at his lips, speechless.

Blackie finally took a closer look at the short, slight Alvin.

The garment was so tattered even a homeless man would refuse it; his hair was matted together, as if unwashed for years, and his body emitted a pungent, rotting stench.

“Fuck, another broke bastard!”

Blackie seemed furious, but suddenly fell silent, staring fixedly at Alvin’s face.

Alvin swore he had never seen such lewd, greasy eyes—they felt like they were stripping him bare.

“Heh, no valuables? Then use your body to pay the debt.”

Blackie’s face twisted into a lewd grin, pressing the gun barrel against the boy’s waist and chuckling: “Kid, you don’t want to die, right?”

Oh, damn it.

Emperor above, what an act of sacrilege!

But then again—he was in America, so it was fine.

Alvin’s face twitched as he suppressed nausea, still feigning weakness, his voice stiff: “Aren’t you afraid of the police?”

“Police? Hahahaha!”

Blackie laughed as if hearing a joke, growing even more brazen: “Kid, the police won’t care about this. And there’s no surveillance here—you get it?”

No police? No cameras?

Oh, then never mind—he’d been faking it for nothing.