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Damon and Mindy's secret base.
Click.Click.
Mindy skillfully removed the magazine, loaded bullets, flipped the safety on, made an aiming gesture, and then turned the safety back off.
"That bastard Red Cyclone actually betrayed my aunt and almost burned my dad to death. This time my aunt won't go easy on him again!"
She hid her two guns and looked toward the tightly closed room where her father was.
"Dad, are you ready yet? This place has been exposed—we can't stay long!"
In another room, her father suddenly looked up from the computer and replied calmly, "Almost ready. Mindy, you're amazing. Can you help me check the equipment too?"
Mindy was confused. Her father had never been this slow before. What was going on?
Was he hiding scars she didn't know about?
Mindy didn't know—but she still patiently helped him check and maintain weapons.
Under her father's influence, she became more and more familiar with guns and weapons, while also becoming more accustomed to dolls, toys, and dresses that girls usually liked.
Through constant killing and combat, Mindy deeply understood the importance of weapons in battle.
So although she was a little dissatisfied with her father's delay, she still inspected everything carefully.
What she didn't know was that her father was currently writing in another room.
Letter 1:
Dear Mindy,
By the time you read this, I should already be gone.
Don't be sad. I will always be proud to have a daughter as kind and strong as you.
Mindy, your mother passed away too early. I tried my best, but I still failed to let you feel a real mother's love.
I have a friend at the police station named Marcus. He is completely trustworthy. From now on, you will live with Uncle Marcus and listen to him.
I left you some money in our other secret base. The password is your mother's birthday. It isn't much, but it should be enough for you to live on.
Mindy, you will never find the truth behind my death—and don't try to avenge me.
Remember! Remember! Remember!
—Your forever loving father
Letter 2:
To Marcus,
Brother, when you read this, I should already be dead.
Everyone dies eventually. I have no resentment toward death, only regret for Mindy.
Over the years, Mindy has been influenced by my belief that "only violence can punish criminals," and as I wished, she has gained the ability to protect herself.
But after everything that happened, I realized I may have been wrong.
The world is far more complex and mysterious than I imagined.
You were right—Mindy is my daughter, but I cannot decide her entire future for her. Maybe she should go to school like other girls.
Years ago, you told me you knew a woman named Jacqueline, who used to work at Forest Hills Elementary School. I hope you can help take care of Mindy.
Regarding my sudden death, please do not investigate it.
Remember! Remember! Remember!
—Final words of Damon Macready
After finishing the two letters, Damon finally relaxed.
He encrypted both emails and set them to be sent automatically—if his account was not logged in for 72 hours, the letters would be delivered.
Now it was time for Frank Amick and his son Red Cyclone to pay for their humiliation.
How dare they scare Mindy? They deserved to die ten thousand times over!
But first, he needed to handle Rimuru's one-million-dollar laundering request.
Thinking that Rimuru might be a witch, Damon did not dare ignore anything she said.
If he wanted to eliminate violence and bring peace, how could he do it without money?
Even the weapons in the secret room of their base were worth millions.
Damon and Mindy had no moral boundaries in this regard. After killing criminals, they would even "help" them spend all their dirty money.
Damon was an expert at laundering money.
After checking equipment and contacting an informant, Damon and Mindy split up and set surveillance points at home and their company.
Mindy even tricked a drug lord named Frank Amick into hiding and infiltrated his base alone.
But that was before Damon was nearly burned alive—back then, Frank didn't take the little girl too seriously.
Now, however, Frank's defenses had reached an unprecedented level, turning their revenge into a hellish difficulty mission.
After separating from Damon and Mindy, Rimuru suddenly thought of the drug lord Frank Amick.
That was a fat, filthy sheep. If she didn't slaughter it, it would be a waste.
The Armored God of War was always a great hero—but as for "Hawkeye," that worked too.
In short, it wasn't her fault.
So once again, the superhero feared by New York's underworld returned—Hawkeye.
Frank's headquarters.
Armed men patrolled day and night with machine guns, monitoring reports of recent massacres, fully aware that something serious had happened.
No one dared to relax.
Then suddenly—
A sharp whistling sound, followed by a scream.
"Enemy attack!""Alarm!"
The gangsters immediately went on full alert. Gunfire filled the air.
Soon, they saw an injured man with an arrow embedded in his body.
"An arrow?"
Who in this era still uses bows and arrows? Was this some primitive tribe?
But when they saw the wound more clearly, a chill ran through all of them.
The arrow had struck in an extremely humiliating and precise spot.
At that moment, a hooded figure in a black cloak slowly walked toward them.
"I originally aimed for his head. Do you believe me?"
The gangsters exploded in rage.
They were professional criminals—they trafficked drugs and did everything cruel and violent.
"This guy is insulting us too much!"
"Fire!""Kill him!"
Gunfire erupted like a storm. Shell casings scattered across the ground.
But when the smoke cleared, the hooded man was still standing perfectly still.
The gangsters froze in fear.
Not even bullets could kill him—was he even human?
"Out of bullets? Then it's my turn."
Rimuru calmly pulled another arrow from her quiver, drew the bow, aimed, and fired.
A gangster screamed and collapsed, clutching the wound—his face turning an odd shade of red.
Rimuru sighed awkwardly.
"I really only aimed at his chest. I swear."
The gangsters: "..."
"Next round!"
One gangster sneered internally. What is this, turn-based combat?
But very quickly, chaos returned.
"Rocket launcher, where is it?!"
"Fire!"
Rimuru drew again.
"This time I'm aiming for your stomach. I really am. Please believe me!"
"Run! He's a demon!"
More arrows flew. More men fell.
Rimuru covered her face in frustration.
She really just wanted to aim properly—but somehow her arrows kept landing in strange places.
Hawkeye… the archer destined for "precision farewell shots."
Why was this so unscientific?!