Zhang Xiaoman was worrying about the laboratory when, thousands of miles away in America, Lune was delighted by a message from one of his subordinates.
"Hader, are you sure? Has that kid been staying in the Trux District?"
"Yes, Director, according to the latest intelligence we’ve obtained, that guy is indeed in a small motel in the Trux District."
Lune stood up abruptly from behind his desk, his composed and slightly noble face unusually marked by excitement.
"Hader, immediately assemble our team, we are going to meet our Super Hero right now," he said as he walked out of his office.
Just as he was about to step through the door, Lune stopped, looked at the man following behind him, and asked:
"By the way, Hader, how did you find out about Beelu’s whereabouts? Did you conduct a thorough investigation?"
Upon hearing this, a knowing smile crossed Hader’s face as he confidently said:
"Don’t worry, Director, we’ve reviewed the footage along the way and the records in the motel. That guy has been moving north ever since he ran out of Home Apartment and last settled in this shady motel. He hasn’t left for a week."
Satisfied with his assured response, Lune nodded and without further delay, gathered his team and headed out to their destination.
Half an hour later, inside a run-down motel in the Trux District, a twenty-something-year-old black man was sitting on a bed watching television.
It was Beelu, back from psychological defense training at Dragon Sleep Mountain.
The talk show host on TV was energetically cracking jokes, but Beelu was far from amused.
His mind was definitely not on the show.
Casually glancing at a mirror in the room, Beelu knew a camera was hidden behind it.
It was a tool the motel owner used to spy on female guests.
But Beelu knew that the camera was now connected not to the sleazy owner’s filthy bedroom but to the intelligence analysis center of the Hurricane Bureau.
And he acted deliberately to reassure them that he was indeed staying there and hadn’t been anywhere else.
As for the past few days’ surveillance records, Beelu had no need to worry—his organization had already taken care of everything.
"Breathe in, breathe out,"
Using the techniques taught by Ye Yunxiu, Beelu quickly calmed his slightly nervous heart and was soon composed again.
If he wasn’t mistaken, the Hurricane Bureau’s people were probably already on their way here now.
Recalling various psychological combat techniques, Beelu gradually prepared himself.
His expression slowly relaxed, and even occasionally smiled along with the TV audience as if truly entertained by the show.
Now, from any angle, Beelu appeared merely as an ordinary viewer, unguarded and watching television.
"Knock, knock, knock."
Suddenly, a knocking sound came, and the owner’s hoarse voice was heard from outside.
"Guest, can I come in? They are fixing the plumbing downstairs, and I need to create a connection from your room."
The owner, a sleazy man in his thirties with an ugly appearance, ran a dodgy motel that took anyone, no identification necessary, as long as they paid.
The owner spoke nervously, sweat even breaking out on his forehead.
He glanced at the armed police behind him, unable to discern which specific department they belonged to from the word "S.E.R.B" on their uniforms.
But regardless, with dozens of automatic rifles aimed at him, whether or not these people were police didn’t make a difference to him.
The owner had even fantasized a cinematic scene of a special department chasing a supercriminal.
The guest in his small room was such an enigmatic figure.
He might be an international super thief, a cold-blooded psychopathic killer, or even an extremely dangerous armed terrorist with the room possibly rigged with C4 explosives.
The owner’s only hope was that he wouldn’t be affected, and if a firefight were to occur, it wouldn’t destroy his motel.
He didn’t even know what the person inside looked like; the guest had been wearing a hood since he asked for a room seven days ago.
He had never bothered with his appearance as he often encountered such individuals, though he hadn’t expected to face this much of a problem this time.
Five seconds after the knocking ceased, the TV finally stopped, and Beelu’s voice, seemingly drowsy and irritated, was heard.
"Come in, the door is unlocked."
The people outside exchanged glances, and at Lune’s signal, the reluctant owner opened the door and stiffly stepped inside.