The burly man tilted his head, listening intently to the sounds around him. From the distant streets came the wail of police sirens. Judging by the sound, they would reach the building in about ten minutes.
Switching to a screwdriver, he pried up the warped shelf, revealing a rectangular compartment underneath. Inside, there was a sealed plexiglass container. Shining his flashlight on it, he carefully removed the container, only to freeze in place, stunned by what he saw.
Suddenly, from the far end of the road outside, the sharp howl of approaching sirens broke the silence. The man knew he couldn't afford to linger any longer. The commotion tonight had already been too much.
Before the police cars arrived downstairs, he had already slipped down the fire escape and disappeared into a deserted alley. Tossing his headgear into a trash can, his shiny bald head gleamed under the faint streetlights as he vanished into the night.
Ten minutes later, inside a closed minivan, the bald man sat across from two others, who seemed very familiar with him.
"How'd the mission go tonight, big brother?" one of them asked.
"Piece of cake. When I take action, missions practically deliver themselves," the bald man bragged as he casually pulled a sealed plastic bag from his pack. Inside was a slightly yellowed piece of paper, which he handed to his companion.
"You said it, big brother! You're the top pros in the organization!"
"That's right. Next time the group needs someone to snatch a nuke from the bad guys and save the world, just call me. I'll handle it in my spare time!"
"You're the best, big brother! That's what we admire most about you!"
The two men repeatedly examined the yellowed paper.
"'Dear James, Merry Christmas! This is Grandma's secret recipe for Christmas shortbread. Grandma saved this for you because you'll always be her sweet little pumpkin. Love, Grandma.'"
"'225g softened butter.'"
"'200g granulated sugar.'"
"... This is what you got?!" Both men were on the verge of losing it.
The bald man, Red Raven, looked a bit awkward but quickly reached into his pack and retrieved a sealed container. At that moment, both men's eyes locked onto it.
Inside the container was a piece of unknown tissue, possibly human, from which a black flower was growing. With every tiny vibration, the petals quivered like the seductive lips of a beautiful woman, soft yet dangerous. Its beauty was mesmerizing, yet it exuded a sense of foreboding, as though hiding a deadly allure.
The two men stared at the container as if they had discovered a priceless treasure, refusing to let go.
"I have no idea what this thing is," Red Raven said with a grin,"but I swiped it from a scientist's safe, so it's gotta be something important." He reached out, trying to snatch the container back.
"Big Brother, we told you to bring back a notebook, and instead, you brought back a biohazard specimen? You turned an F-rank mission into a C-rank one?" But they clung to the container even tighter.
"Danger doesn't matter as long as the price is right," Red Raven retorted, starting to pry their fingers off one by one in an attempt to reclaim the container.
"Big Brother, how many times do we have to tell you? Our organization never moves for money—though we never lack it, of course. Besides, aren't monks supposed to renounce worldly desires?"
Red Raven cleared his throat, pretending to look serious."Of course, I'm not in this line of work for money. By the way, how much is this thing worth?"
"This? At least a hundred grand."
"So when can I get paid?" Red Raven let go of the container but didn't back off.
The two men frowned, exasperated."Once the higher-ups verify the situation, we'll get the money to you ASAP. Or, how about we pay you after you finish your next retrieval mission?"
"The sooner the better. You know I hate waiting, right?"
"Sure, Big Brother, anything for you!"
Hearing this, Red Raven's mood brightened immediately. He hopped out of the van and headed toward the nearest street food stall.
A busy day had begun again.
The elevator reached the 13th floor, where the grand glass doors of Power Corporation stood. Walking into the brightly lit lobby, the faint aroma of coffee filled the air. Desks crammed with files, computers, and office supplies stretched out, making use of every inch of space.
The sound of keyboards clattering and mouse clicks intertwined. People sat at their workstations, facing their screens, busily inputting data, drafting emails, and processing reports. Fingers danced swiftly across the keyboards.
Mo Wen looked at the familiar scene and people, feeling a sense of warmth. He walked up to a counter where a long line had already formed. Spotting a familiar figure, he happily approached and struck up a conversation with Lincoln, even making a joke about eating watermelon.
Lincoln's full name was Lincoln Chase. His pale complexion betrayed his lack of sunlight, and he still wore the same white shirt. Despite his youth, his back was slightly hunched.
Holding a stack of documents, Lincoln absentmindedly chatted with Mo Wen while eavesdropping on the heated debate among the counter staff about whether to attend the Big Brother's wife's birthday party over the weekend. Completely oblivious to the growing line, Lincoln finally neared the front, prompting Mo Wen to return to the back of the queue.
Lincoln's documents were crumpled from his grip. He looked up at the lazy staff behind the counter and suppressed his anger."Can you hurry up? This project has been delayed for far too long. I urgently need it."
Without even glancing up, the receptionist lazily sipped instant coffee."Pick it up in a week."
"A week?" Lincoln's voice rose."Our department brings in the most profit for this company. Can't you prioritize this?"
Finally, the receptionist looked up, visibly annoyed."Take it or leave it. Next!"
Lincoln felt his blood rushing to his head, clenching his fists. His voice caught in his throat as he gritted his teeth."If this delay causes issues, will you take responsibility?"
The receptionist sneered."Your Big Brother doesn't care about you. Why should I?"
Lincoln's face paled with humiliation and anger. He knew arguing was pointless, but the logistics staff's strong connections had shielded this behavior from consequences.
Unexpectedly, Mo Wen stepped forward again."Lincoln, you're in the wrong here. As the saying goes, before you judge someone, walk a mile in their shoes."
Lincoln's fury flared."Kid, anyone can criticize me, but you? Do you think I'm not considerate of others?"
Mo Wen shrugged."Not really. Just saying that way, you'd end up far away from the jerk and gain a new pair of shoes."
The line erupted in laughter.
However, Lincoln's irritation grew as he noticed Mo Wen's simple courier uniform. He stormed out of the line, muttering "loser" under his breath—not knowing if he was referring to himself or Mo Wen.
Sighing, he thought bitterly about having to pay out of pocket for a private service. But where would he get the money? Since joining this so-called "prestigious" company, he had realized how pitiful his salary was. To make ends meet, he scrimped and even borrowed from family, all while maintaining the facade of a great job. Great? It was a joke!
Overtime drained his spirit, the pay was insulting, and weekends were a myth. Meanwhile, the well-connected lounged around collecting high salaries and accolades. Lincoln felt like a "walking toilet," ready to take everyone's crap.
Before long, Mo Wen caught up, smiling."Don't take it too hard. That's just how they are. Few people really care about you here."
"Do you think I care what they think?" Lincoln snapped, turning to face Mo Wen with a glare."I can't stand working so hard every day while being treated like this. Doesn't it anger you?"
"Of course," Mo Wen said with a shrug."But can anger fill your stomach? I still have deliveries to make. Time's ticking."
"Of course you'd say that," Lincoln scoffed and walked off."Go back to your'big career.'"
Mo Wen paused for a moment before catching up."What do you mean by that?"
"What do I mean?" Lincoln stopped in his tracks, his tone as sharp as a knife."Look at you—accepting things as they are, head down working. You get scammed 30 bucks on a watermelon today and trampled on tomorrow, and you still smile through it all. Aren't you ashamed? I'm ashamed for you."
Mo Wen stared at Lincoln and calmly said,"If you think I'm shameful, what about you? You complain about your Big Brother, your colleagues, and the world. Yet, here you are, still grinding away in the same company. How are you any better?"
"At least I fight!" Lincoln growled through gritted teeth."Unlike you, stuck at the bottom delivering packages, easily crushed by anyone with a little power."
"And what has your fighting achieved?" Mo Wen countered."Do they fear you? Respect you?"
Lincoln was momentarily stunned, glaring at Mo Wen before coldly retorting,"Go deliver your packages. Don't waste my time."
Mo Wen watched Lincoln's retreating figure in silence, eventually giving up the pursuit.
The city's noise outside felt distant. Sitting on his electric bike, Mo Wen looked up at the night sky. He muttered to himself,"Lincoln's living too hard." He knew they were drifting apart but felt powerless to change it.
Looking down at his handlebars, he softly said,"Life knocks me down a thousand times, but I still have work to finish."