Overclocked City

"Get them!"

Wang Fatty's roar echoed through the server room, a desperate, blustering command that betrayed his inner turmoil. The air crackled with the anticipation of violence.

The burly men, already simmering with resentment towards Chen Mo, saw Wang Fatty's command as a license for unrestrained brutality. They charged, a tide of brute force, their faces contorted with a mixture of anger and eagerness to inflict pain. Their weapons – a chaotic mix of fists, clubs, and knives – flashed menacingly in the dim light.

"Hmph, a bunch of rabble!"

Chen Mo sneered, a cold glint flashing in his eyes. He moved with a speed that defied comprehension, a blur of motion.

In a whirlwind of impacts, he vanished and reappeared, a series of precise strikes. Bang! Bang! Bang! A staccato of dull thuds reverberated through the room, punctuated by several ear-splitting screams of agony.

Before they could even register his presence, the burly men were sent sprawling, writhing in pain on the cold, unforgiving floor. Their initial bravado shattered, replaced by the stark reality of their helplessness. Their pride, once inflated, was as fragile as paper, easily torn to shreds.

"What the hell?!"

Wang Fatty, his face paling visibly, stammered in disbelief. His carefully constructed facade of control crumbled, revealing the raw terror beneath. He had expected a swift, brutal victory; instead, he witnessed the utter annihilation of his men in the blink of an eye. His carefully cultivated image of superiority shattered like a dropped mirror. His breath hitched in his throat, a strangled gasp.

He couldn't comprehend how Chen Mo, a seemingly ordinary programmer, possessed such devastating skill, such effortless mastery of combat. His carefully cultivated image of superiority shattered like a dropped mirror. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his hands trembling uncontrollably.

"You... who are you?!"

Wang Fatty's voice was a barely audible whisper, choked with terror. His body shook violently, his knees threatening to buckle. The bravado had completely drained from him, leaving only raw, primal fear. He realized he had severely underestimated his opponent, a mistake that could cost him his life. He licked his dry lips, his eyes darting nervously around the room, searching for an escape that didn't exist.

"You don't need to know," Chen Mo replied, his voice cold as steel. He advanced on Wang Fatty, his movements deliberate and precise, each step a measured advance towards his inevitable doom. "You only need to know that you're going to die today!" The words hung in the air, heavy with the promise of death.

He raised his hand, ready to strike the final blow, but...

"Stop!"

A chilling voice, sharp as shattered glass, cut through the air. It emanated from the doorway, silencing the room, abruptly halting Chen Mo's advance.

Chen Mo and Wang Fatty turned their heads simultaneously. Standing at the entrance was a figure shrouded in an aura of chilling authority. Tall and imposing, he was clad in a long black trench coat, his face obscured by a wide-brimmed black fedora. Only his sharp jawline and a pair of intense, black eyes were visible—eyes that seemed to pierce through everything, seeing into the very soul. He held a walking stick in his right hand, his left hand gently stroking a skull ring on his index finger. His presence alone radiated an aura of suffocating power, like a predator stalking its prey.

Behind him stood a dozen or so men in impeccably tailored black suits, forming a silent, menacing wall. They were all tall and muscular, their faces impassive, their eyes cold and calculating. They held various sophisticated weapons, the cold gleam of polished metal reflecting the dim light, creating a chilling atmosphere. The scent of gunpowder hung heavy in the air.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the rhythmic hum of the servers and the frantic beating of Wang Fatty's heart. The tension was a palpable entity, hanging heavy in the air, a suffocating weight pressing down on Wang Fatty's chest. His breathing became shallow, rapid, his body trembling uncontrollably. He was on the verge of collapse.

Then, Wang Fatty, his voice a low, hoarse whisper, barely audible above the pounding of his own heart, uttered a single, terrified name: "Hei Hu…"