The year 2000, on the outskirts of Los Angeles.
In a wooden cabin deep in the jungle, exaggerated and arrogant laughter could be heard intermittently.
"We're rich!"
"Hahaha, 3,800,000, a full 3,800,000 US dollars! How many women can we sleep with!"
A group of robbers, having just committed a heist, greedily eyed the US dollars covering the entire table. Joints burned in their hands, their expressions ecstatic as they occasionally grabbed handfuls of bills to kiss.
In the woods outside, Dean listened to the noise coming from the cabin seven or eight meters away, his head bowed, looking somewhat bewildered at the surrounding forest environment.
Where the hell is this?
Where's the hot foreign girl I paid a fortune for?
After these three soul-searching questions, Dean instinctively shivered. It was as if some ritual had been completed after he relieved himself. A tingling sensation shot from his spine to his forehead, clearly telling Dean that everything before him was real.
Is this... transmigration?
Realizing this, Dean quickly checked his body.
It really had changed!
The various狰狞 scars from childhood punishments were gone. The calluses and wounds on his hands from practicing various skills were also gone.
Using a nearby tree as a reference, this body was much taller than his in his previous life. It had a broad frame, strong muscles, and was brimming with a power that far surpassed his previous, sickly physique!
In his previous life, Dean was an orphan. At the age of eight or nine, a foreigner adopted him from an orphanage and took him to a small overseas island, where he endured an incredibly dark childhood.
Although he had good marksmanship, he wasn't good at fighting due to his physique. Fortunately, he was smart and managed to survive among a host of cannon fodder to pass the lowest requirements of the Sweeper examination, eventually becoming a low-ranking Sweeper in the organization.
「Before the transmigration.」
Dean had just completed a mission. As was his habit, he had found a curvaceous foreign woman to help him relax his tense spirit. But no sooner had he undone his pants than everything went black before his eyes.
When he opened his eyes again, everything had changed...
Dean was undoubtedly very pleased about the transmigration. He no longer had to live that precarious life, like a sewer rat, never knowing if he'd see tomorrow!
It was just a pity about that foreign woman. He had paid the money, and just as he undid his pants, he'd ended up here. He hadn't even gotten started!
...
Once Dean calmed down, he discovered that he actually possessed the original memories of this body, though they were somewhat jumbled and couldn't provide any useful information at the moment.
Out of professional habit, he surveyed his surroundings. This appeared to be a rarely visited forest. Inside the noisy cabin nearby, there were at least six or seven people. Outside the cabin, two pickup trucks were parked. The mud on their tires was fresh, and their doors were wide open.
Considering the snippets of conversation he'd heard from inside the cabin, Dean concluded that this was a group of robbers who had just committed a heist and were now hiding here to lay low.
And what about me?
Considering he had just transmigrated and this body's owner had been in the middle of relieving himself, an unsettling thought crossed Dean's mind.
I might be an accomplice of these robbers!
He quickly checked himself and, sure enough, found a fully loaded M1911. In his pocket, there was also a full spare magazine.
Dean was pissed.
Damn it, I was a Sweeper in my past life, and in this one, I'm a robber? Can't I escape a life of licking blood off a knife's edge? Why is it so hard to be a good man!
As he lamented his apparent fate of never being a good person, he pulled a badge with the Los Angeles police emblem from his left pocket.
What's this?
Upon opening it, Dean found it was a detective badge from the Los Angeles Police Department's Organized Crime and Narcotics Division, complete with the owner's name and photo.
Dean Lee... the exact same full name as in my previous life. Black hair, blue eyes, pretty handsome too, looks a bit like an Ancient Roman...
Remembering that he had found this detective badge on himself, Dean plucked a hair from his head and saw it was indeed black.
Confirmed!
In this life, I'm not a robber but a detective!
Perhaps the owner of this body was tracking these robbers, came here, then urgently needed to relieve himself—just taking a leak—and ended up having his body taken over by me.
At that moment, the people inside the cabin became noisy again. Dean listened carefully and discovered the group was discussing how to party with the 3,800,000 US dollars after the heat died down.
He looked at the gun in his hand, an itch starting deep inside him.
Three million eight hundred thousand US dollars!
That's more than a hundred of my previous life's mission payouts!
A detective needs to make a living, right?
Compared to solving cases and getting promoted, isn't a double-cross more appealing?
As soon as this thought arose, it was like ants crawling relentlessly in Dean's heart.
Let's do it!
A ruthless glint flashed in Dean's eyes. He drew his pistol, chambered a round, and swapped in the spare magazine to ensure the maximum 7+1 firepower. Then, he crept toward the cabin window.
These robbers were dumb as rocks; they hadn't even posted a lookout.
Through the window, Dean got a clear view of the situation inside. There were seven robbers, all black. Six of them were gathered around a table laden with cash, one hand clutching wads of banknotes, the other holding a marijuana cigarette, their faces pictures of bliss. The seventh man was exceptionally burly, his muscles looking as if forged from molten steel. He stood with one foot on a wooden stump, a cigar clamped between his lips, puffing out smoke contentedly as he watched the other six dance and gesture wildly.
Dean's predecessor seemed to have a particularly strong impression of this muscular man. The moment Dean saw him, fragmented information surfaced in his mind: Nathan, small-time gang leader...
This further confirmed my identity as a detective from the Organized Crime and Narcotics Division.
Otherwise, why would his predecessor have cared so much about this person's information?
These guys must have just scored, currently in a state of reckless abandon. Their long guns and handguns were all carelessly tossed onto chairs behind them.
Seeing this, Dean felt resigned.
These assholes are practically begging me to double-cross them!
Memorizing everyone's positions, Dean approached the door, mentally ran through his plan one more time, took a deep breath, and then violently kicked the door open.
The loud CRASH drew the attention of everyone inside. They looked confusedly at Dean as he burst in. The black man holding the cigar, startled for a moment, began to complain, "Dean, what the hell are you—"
Although surprised that the other man recognized him, Dean never bothered wasting words on the dead.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Eight consecutive gunshots rang out. His face impassive, he executed a well-practiced American-style quick draw, emptying the magazine in one go. All seven men collapsed to the ground, screaming. Nathan, the leader, received special attention; Dean put two rounds into his chest.
The screams were brief. The .45 caliber bullets from Dean's M1911 had near-rifle stopping power at close range, tearing bloody holes in their bodies. The shot men struggled for a few moments, then their eyes widened, blood soaking their clothes as they died with expressions of disbelief.
In a blink of an eye, the once joyful cabin had turned into a charnel house, bodies strewn everywhere.
Nathan, with his robust physique, wasn't quite dead yet. He struggled to lift a hand, pointing tremblingly at Dean, trying to say something but only managing to cough up mouthfuls of blood...
Dean, whistling, reloaded his magazine and squatted in front of Nathan. "Never seen a cop double-cross anyone, huh?" he taunted. "Why are you staring so wide-eyed?"
After spitting out more blood, Nathan finally managed a weak voice, "Fuck... I... I sent you undercover to the police department, you bastard... how dare you double-cross us..."
Dean was stunned. "Fuck, I pull a double-cross, and only now you tell me I'm your mole in the police department?"
I acted too fast.
My memories haven't fully merged yet, and I don't know if Nathan has any dirt on me.
But on second thought... What a perfect double-cross!
These men were probably all core members of Nathan's team, aware of my identity.
Who cares about leverage!
Kill them all.
And there's no leverage left, right?
Worst comes to worst...
Once my memories merge, I'll just clean up any remaining potential threats!
Besides, as a dirty cop involved in a robbery, I definitely wouldn't use my service weapon. I won't even need to tamper with the evidence later.
With this thought, Dean raised his pistol, aimed it at the barely alive Nathan, and emptied the magazine again...
He had killed seven men. The cloying mix of blood, gunpowder, and marijuana was nauseating.
Dean rubbed his temples, his head throbbing as the memories tried to fuse. He took out a cigarette, lit it, then grabbed a pre-prepared backpack from the side and began stuffing it with cash.
A US dollar bill weighs a little over one gram. Most of these US dollars were in twenties, with only a few hundreds. There were no fives, tens, or fifties. In total, there were well over a hundred thousand bills. More than three million US dollars, weighing at least 220 pounds.
Dean filled two large backpacks before all the cash was packed.
As the saying goes: kill to silence, destroy the evidence.
Although his mind was somewhat chaotic, as a professional Sweeper, his tradecraft remained sharp. He efficiently wiped the pistol clean and placed it in one of the dead men's hands. Then, he collected any identification and communication devices from the bodies that could reveal identities, smashed them, and put them in a pile. He fetched a half-meter tall oil drum from one of the trucks outside and began sanitizing the scene...
BOOM!
A fierce blaze ignited, engulfing the wooden cabin. The area around the cabin was clear.
Once Dean was sure the fire wouldn't spread into a forest blaze, he glanced at the address on his driver's license, started one of the pickup trucks, and drove onto the forest trail...