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After organizing his things at home, Link decided to donate most of his parents' clothes. He also donated some of his own, keeping only the essentials since most of the time he was in uniform. When off duty, his go-to outfits were jeans, leather jackets, and T-shirts. His enhanced physique made the cold New York winters hardly noticeable, and he preferred to stick to the local style.
Link was lightening the load for his upcoming move. He didn't bother with appliances or even kitchenware. Most of his attention went into organizing photos—something he wasn't willing to throw away. They were a reminder of the original owner's existence and also served to ground him in his new reality. He carefully placed them into albums, planning to use a few to decorate his new place.
Having children one day was something on his mind, and he wanted to preserve a sense of origin for them. This desire was deeply rooted in his Chinese heritage, especially given his unique circumstances of inheriting a life halfway through.
With most of his things either donated or packed away, he only kept a few sentimental items, like his mother's carefully selected tableware and tea sets—beautiful pieces he didn't have the heart to discard.
...
"Link, come to the precinct," his captain called.
Surprised, Link headed to the West Midtown precinct, wondering if there had been a new development in the case. Upon arrival, he saw administrative staff, union reps, and even a lawyer gathered. Puzzled, he asked, "Is there an issue with the investigation findings?"
"No," the captain reassured him. "Everything checked out as you described. Today, you were actually supposed to return to work."
"But..." The captain paused. "The Irish mob put out word—they're gunning for you. This isn't just your problem anymore."
Link shrugged. "I'm not afraid of them. I work solo, so I won't put my colleagues at risk. Let them come to me."
"It's not that simple," an internal affairs officer interjected. "This is a challenge to the entire NYPD. We can't let them get away with it."
The union rep nodded in agreement. "The department's morale is already low. If something happens to you, it'll be a huge blow to everyone."
The lawyer chimed in, "You have the right to request protection."
"And the higher-ups think you should take a paid leave," the captain added. "Most of us haven't had a vacation in years. You might want to take this opportunity while you can."
Link chuckled. "Sure, I'll take the time off. I've been wanting to visit Las Vegas anyway. I've never been."
"But why haven't the Irish mob made a move yet?" he wondered.
The captain explained, "They've been caught up in a war with the Russians. Apparently, some of their girls were taken, and they retaliated the same night you had that gunfight. Both sides have been going at it hard."
"We're actually planning a major operation against the Irish soon," the captain added. "Once we bring in backup, they'll know who's in charge in New York."
Link nodded, understanding the situation.
...
After leaving the precinct, Link smiled at the irony of being handed a paid vacation. Half a month of free time—no complaints from him. Maybe when he returned, he'd have another chance to deal with his enemies.
At home, Link looked at the neatly packed boxes. "Is my superpower luck?" he mused with a grin.
He searched for a hotel in Las Vegas, settling on one of the most luxurious but booking a mid-tier room to fit his cover as a regular cop. He also booked an afternoon flight, packed a small bag, and was soon on his way.
By the evening, Link was landing in the neon glow of Las Vegas. After a quick cab ride from the airport, he checked into the hotel, eager to explore the vibrant city that seemed to come alive after dark.
He didn't have much money, relying on his upcoming paycheck. But he had a few hundred dollars in cash and wasn't worried. Link avoided using credit cards—too many traps with banks and loans. He preferred the simplicity of saving money, even if interest rates were low.
After a decadent dinner charged to his room, Link headed to the casino with $300 in chips, each worth ten dollars. He wandered around, eyeing the different games. He didn't want to draw too much attention, but he intended to win big.
He settled on a game of high-low, an easy and popular choice. Using his X-ray vision, he made sure there were no tricks at play, then began his game.
Link bet cautiously, stacking his chips carefully, and before long, his winnings amounted to several thousand dollars. He exchanged his chips for higher-value ones, each worth $100, and moved on to try his luck at blackjack.
Thanks to his background in psychology, Link had a knack for reading people, which was useful in both police work and gambling. His sharp mind kept him ahead, and by the end of the night, he'd amassed over $20,000 in chips.
Link stored his winnings in the casino's vault and retired for the night, enjoying the comforts of the hotel's luxurious bath before drifting off to sleep.
The next day, after a hearty breakfast, Link rented a hotel car and driver to give him a tour of Las Vegas. There wasn't much to see beyond the endless stretch of hotels and casinos—this city built in the middle of the desert was purely for entertainment.
By noon, he returned to the hotel, indulging in a lavish meal before spending the afternoon lounging by the pool.
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