Target confirmed: Mr. Wilson and a pair of metal wings!
"Mrs. Wilson, I'll need to take this wooden box with me. I will do my best to find your husband, but I can't guarantee anything." Hugging the wooden box, Wen Wen walked out of the villa.
"Please, I beg you to find him. What will happen to this family without him?" Melissa held Wen Wen's hand, pleading with tears in her eyes. At the same time, she slipped an envelope into his hand. After feeling the thickness of the envelope, Wen Wen's promise became even more sincere.
Walking down the street, Wen Wen took out a small vest, a piece of clothing with Wilson's scent, which would help him locate Wilson.
Actually, underwear would have a stronger scent... but Wen Wen didn't want to be sniffing a man's underwear in public.
He then took a deep sniff of the wooden box. This particular wood had a unique fragrance, and the wings, having been stored in the box for a long time, must have absorbed some of this scent.
"With these two scents, I might not be able to find him directly, but at least I can pinpoint the direction. It saves a lot of trouble."
The scent training he had done before was proving useful here. Wen Wen chose a direction and started to follow it. After covering a considerable distance, the scent trail suddenly disappeared.
"Now, it's time to use the old-fashioned way to find people."
After scanning the surroundings, Wen Wen entered a nearby shop. Before becoming a psychic, he was a detective, so finding people was something he could manage even without supernatural abilities.
Finding a person with distinctive features was not particularly challenging for Wen Wen.
Following various leads, Wen Wen eventually arrived at an underground clinic by nightfall.
According to the information he had gathered, this clinic specialized in handling shady business. The gangs of Furong River City and some wanted criminals often sought treatment here after getting injured, as they preferred to avoid the police.
Wen Wen knocked on the door but received no response. His pupils suddenly contracted, as he caught the scent of blood and… the smell of human decay!
With one swift kick, he broke open the door, revealing a gruesome scene inside the underground clinic—a veritable slaughterhouse!
...
In a secluded underground passage, a muscular Wilson huddled in a corner, looking somewhat pitiful in his tight-fitting clothes.
His original clothes were soaked in blood, so he had to change into this ill-fitting outfit, which belonged to the underground clinic's owner.
Wilson muttered to himself, "I don't know if you can understand me, but can you stop acting on your own? If you don't want to come off my body, at least listen to me, okay?"
There was no response from behind him, but the cold touch on his back was all too real. These past few days had been an insane ordeal for Wilson.
To be honest, he wasn't sure if he had completely lost his mind yet.
Under his coat was a large, bulging lump, making him appear severely hunched. But only Wilson knew that on his back were a pair of metal wings, which, when fully spread out, extended over four meters wide!
These wings were something he had bought from a tribal chief in the Afrikan District, a sacred artifact worshipped by that tribe.
However, the chief hadn't told his people that he sold the wings; instead, he claimed they were stolen. As a result, the tribe had been scouring the area to find the missing sacred object, vowing to punish the thief with the most brutal death imaginable.
Even though Wilson was wealthy, he wasn't keen on constantly being in danger, so he moved his family and the wings to the Huafu District.
As for why he didn't return the wings to the tribe, he had felt a strange connection with them from the moment he first laid eyes on them. Now that he possessed the wings, he had no intention of giving them back.
He had kept these wings by his side for over a year, and even though he would often caress them alone in the dead of night, they had never shown any signs of supernatural power.
But a few days ago, while playing with them, he accidentally cut his finger on the wings, and that's when they attached themselves to his back. No matter what he tried, he couldn't remove them!
These wings had a consciousness of their own, acting without Wilson's consent. So, to avoid endangering his family, Wilson chose to leave home.
However, after a few days of adjustment, the wings seemed to become slightly more restrained. At least, when not provoked, they would lie dormant on his back.
"A few more days... if it stops causing trouble, I think I'll go back home for a visit. Then, I'll leave this place for good, find a deserted area, and never return."
Wilson didn't want to become a monster. On the first day the wings attached themselves to him, he had gone to an underground doctor, hoping to get them removed.
The doctor sedated Wilson, and the wings appeared to lose their vitality as well. But as soon as the doctor approached with a scalpel, the wings suddenly lashed out, impaling the doctor and then going on a bloody rampage.
When Wilson woke up, he found that he was the only living soul left in the small underground clinic.
It was at that moment Wilson realized that trying to get rid of these wings was nearly impossible, and he could no longer hope to return to a normal life. The thing on his back could take the life of anyone near him at any moment.
He planned only to go back to see his family one last time, say his goodbyes, and then disappear for good, heading to a place where he wouldn't hurt anyone.
"Hey, look, there's a homeless guy sitting over there."
Startled, Wilson looked up to see a few young people with colorful hair pointing at him.
He recognized their style—it seemed to be a recent trend in the Huafu District called "Death Nobility." It wasn't his taste, but he respected others' choices and didn't criticize their fashion.
Wilson ignored them, burying his head back into his knees. He wasn't in the mood to deal with these kids.
They might enjoy standing out now, calling it self-expression, but one day, they'd realize just how immature they looked.
"Tsk tsk, this black guy seems pretty rich. That watch on his wrist, I've seen it before—it costs thousands…"
The youths exchanged glances and smirked as they swaggered over to Wilson, mocking him. "Hey, old man, you don't look like a homeless guy."
"What I look like is none of your business." Wilson replied gruffly, his temper on edge.
"Oh, so you've got some attitude, huh?"
A tall, skinny youth with rainbow-colored hair pulled out a baton and jabbed it at Wilson's back.
In that instant, the hump on Wilson's back swelled ominously!
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