Nolan wanted to build a secret base.
He'd underestimated the complexity of New York City's century-old infrastructure.
The internet offered only surface-level information about underground passages. A few scattered articles, some urban exploration blogs, nothing comprehensive. Detailed blueprints and architectural surveys were conspicuously absent.
For those, individuals needed to apply for access at the New York City Library's archives.
So Nolan set off to continue his research in person.
At the library's front desk, he adopted the persona of a university architecture student working on his graduation project. The cover story earned him enthusiastic assistance from the librarian on duty.
She was a young white woman with her hair in braids, freckles dotting her cheeks, and an unusually generous figure that her professional attire couldn't quite contain.
From the moment Nolan walked through the door, she'd latched onto his arm and bombarded him with solicitous questions. After he explained what he needed, she personally offered to lead him down to the library's basement archives.
Nolan found himself immediately out of his depth.
The girl's eyes kept drifting to the muscles bulging beneath his clothes. Her gaze was hungry, predatory. Like a succubus with invisible horns, ready to devour him whole.
Nolan maintained a cold, neutral expression. It was his only defense against her increasingly obvious advances.
How to handle romantic interest from the opposite sex wasn't something he excelled at. Killing heretics and cutting down Chaos? That was his specialty. Flirting? Not so much.
The girl, whose name tag read "Felicia," didn't push too aggressively. After helping Nolan locate the archive section, she simply asked for his phone number with a hopeful smile.
Nolan hesitated. Then he gave her his Twitter handle instead.
It protected the fragile, sensitive feelings of adolescent girls, he told himself. Dr. Beheading, Master of the Saw, the murderer Mr. Nolan was actually a gentle and thoughtful young man at heart.
Unfortunately, the moment Nolan said goodbye to Felicia and turned to enter the basement archives proper, he came face to face with his true enemy.
Mountains of neatly stacked blueprints and documents stretched before him like an endless paper ocean.
"I hate data analysis," Nolan muttered under his breath.
Several hours later, after desperate searching, Nolan finally unearthed underground surveys from the 1990s. If he wanted anything more recent, it would take considerably more time.
Nolan, still physically energized despite the mental exhaustion, sighed.
Then an idea gradually formed in his mind.
Should he sacrifice his dignity? Take Felicia out for a candlelight dinner? Make her happy enough that she'd want to help him navigate this bureaucratic nightmare?
It was a tactical consideration. Nothing more.
Queens, New York.
Nolan rode his beloved scooter through crowded streets, spring breeze in his face. The neighborhood was busy with heavy traffic and pedestrians rushing about their business.
He was heading to an agreed-upon meeting location for his first "law-abiding" gun transaction. No killing involved whatsoever.
Aaron Davis had chosen the location. The caution showed good sense. Rather than feeling insulted, Nolan appreciated the professionalism.
Still, before leaving home, he'd brought his plasma pistol. He'd even performed a small ritual, lighting incense and offering a prayer to its machine spirit. Better safe than sorry.
Not that he needed it, strictly speaking. With his enhanced strength, he could crush a human skull with one hand now. But Master Sawman had a compassionate heart. He couldn't bear to see the horrific, twisted states of death that manual killing produced.
Better to make all beings equal through instant vaporization. Quick and clean.
Nolan parked his scooter a block away from the transaction site. He leaned over to lock it, then straightened.
On the nearby street, a young boy out shopping with his mother caught sight of Nolan's muscular frame. The kid's face flushed with excitement. His eyes lit up like stars.
"Mister! You're so tall!" The boy's voice rang out with pure enthusiasm. "Aunt May! Aunt May! I'm gonna be a giant when I grow up too!"
"I'm so sorry, sir." The dark-haired woman holding the boy's hand gave Nolan an apologetic smile.
Nolan shook his head slightly, indicating it was fine. Then he smiled down at the little boy.
"Hey, kid. You've got to work hard, alright? Eat your meals, exercise every day, behave yourself, and study well. That's how you will grow into a giant."
He nodded once more to the dark-haired woman, then turned and walked away.
The woman watched his broad back with curious eyes, blinking several times. Then she looked down at her bouncing nephew.
"Peter, did you hear that? Picky eaters don't grow up into a giant."
The little boy's face wrinkled in dismay. "Aunt May, your cooking is really terrible..."
"Peter Parker! What did you just say?"
"Oh! I mean, Aunt May, your cooking is the best! I'm not picky at all! I'm gonna be a giant!"
The chatty boy and his aunt's voices faded as they disappeared into the crowd.
Nolan, already several blocks away, checked street signs and building numbers. Finally, in a quiet neighborhood, he found a defunct shop with faded letters reading "Wanderer" above the entrance.
This was the agreed-upon location.
Nolan scanned his surroundings carefully, then stepped forward and knocked on the rolling shutter door. Each knock followed a specific rhythm, varying in length and intensity.
His phone buzzed immediately with a new message.
Nolan raised an eyebrow. He turned and walked toward the back of the building instead.
Before he could knock on the rear entrance, the rusty metal door swung open. A young Black man with wary eyes looked Nolan up and down, then checked the street behind him.
"Come on, friend," Aaron said, stepping aside.
Nolan ducked inside and took stock of the interior. Dim light filtered through grimy windows, illuminating floating dust motes. Wooden crates were stacked on the floor, revealing guns with cold metallic gleams inside.
Nolan squinted at Aaron. "Aren't you afraid I'll rob you?"
"First of all, this is just small business introduced by Dmitri. Not worth your time." Aaron's expression remained calm, but his words came rapid-fire like water through a floodgate, almost rhythmic. "Second, I'm just a law-abiding businessman. These guns are just gang weapons I collected at low prices. I've never participated in criminal activity. Even if you're a cop, I've got nothing to fear."
"I like your directness and honesty."
Nolan nodded, smiling. He pulled three thick bundles of cash from inside his jacket and held them out.
Aaron frowned slightly. He stared at Nolan. "There's only two hundred guns here right now. At one hundred dollars each, twenty thousand is enough."
"The extra is a deposit," Nolan said, still smiling. "And a sign of trust. I told you, this is long-term business. The more guns, the better."
Aaron nodded and took the cash casually. He started to turn away, then paused and looked back.
"Do you need me to find someone to help transport these? Free service, no extra charge."
"No. My people will handle it."
Nolan shook his head.
No gun could escape the simulator's appetite anyway.
After Aaron left, Nolan waited quietly for several minutes. When nothing happened, no ambush materialized, he finally allowed himself to relax.
He rubbed his hands together eagerly.
Time to replenish resources.
He approached the first crate and placed his hand on a pistol.
[Hazardous Substance Found: Gun (One Hour)]
He moved to the next weapon.
[Hazardous Substance Found: Gun (One Hour)]
And the next.
[Hazardous Substance Found: Gun (One Hour)]
Nolan worked through the entire shipment methodically. When he finished extracting all two hundred guns, his cooldown time had exceeded 318 hours for the first time.
Over thirteen days of stored simulation time.
"Indescribable satisfaction," Nolan murmured, grinning like a child on Christmas morning.
But just as the words left his mouth, the simulator interface flickered.
The text shifted. New information appeared.
Nolan's grin faded. His eyes narrowed as he read the unexpected message.
Something had changed.