Cool B walked into the club, stretching as he went. This was one of his regular spots—the owner knew him well. The place was huge and well-equipped, with bars and dance floors for flirting, plus a straight-up pink zone for those who didn’t want to waste time. Cool B wasn’t in the mood for any "hunting" tonight—hunting took effort. What he wanted was the full “prey” package, head to toe. Price? He couldn’t care less.
He made his way to the club’s famous H Hallway. Now, it’s not called H Hallway just because it’s an H—though, yeah, it’s basically an H-shaped den of debauchery. The name’s from the layout: an underground corridor shaped like an H, where customers wander back and forth. Both sides are lined with semi-transparent doors. You see women’s silhouettes cast onto the doors, with their photos hanging outside. If you like what you see, just push the door open and do whatever floats your boat. Of course, whatever you do inside, your shadow’s gonna show up on the door too.
Cool B strolled through the dim hallway, gawking and drooling, letting out exaggerated 'Whoa!' and 'Wow!'s. The shadows on the doors and the sounds coming from inside were already great advertising. Cool B scratched his, uh, important weapon—the gun was loaded and he was itching to charge into battle.
Just then, a guy wearing aviator shades and a cowboy hat stepped up and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Cool B, long time no see. Heard the Brotherhood was after you a while back—I thought you were a goner."
"Whoa, boss, you scared the hell outta me!" Cool B slapped his chest, then grinned like a rascal. "No way those Brotherhood losers could catch me—I’m Cool B, baby!"
The owner leaned in and lowered his voice: "Word is, the Brotherhood’s after you because you stole their stash—a lot of it. No idea if it’s true."
Cool B instantly jumped back, making a scene: "Boss, you’re not gonna sell me out to the Brotherhood, right? I’m your loyal customer!"
"Come on, man. I’m just curious, that’s all." The owner laughed it off and spread his hands. "You know me—I’m neutral, I don’t take sides. That’s how I’ve survived this long. So, relax. Go have fun, we got a fresh batch of hotties in lately."
"You got that right—live for the moment!" Cool B did a dramatic finger-gun pose, glanced at a nearby door, and shouted, "Hey, that blonde chick looks hot!"
Behind the door’s shadow, the blonde was clearly busy with a customer, standing front-to-back and making plenty of noise. But Cool B didn’t care one bit—he hollered, "Yo bro, mind if I make it a threesome? I mean, guy-girl-guy!" And before anyone inside could answer, he shoved the door open and barged right in.
As soon as the door opened, everyone froze—Cool B included. Staring at the big bearded dude inside, Cool B’s face fell. "Uh, hey there... Brotherhood bros."
Enemies always meet on a narrow road! Fate sure loves its drama.
But compared to the guy whose "weapon" was still sheathed, Cool B was way quicker. He launched a kick right into the guy’s groin—the bearded dude collapsed with a howl. Maybe the blonde screamed too, but Cool B didn’t have time to apologize for friendly fire. He burst out the door and tore down the hallway, ducking and running for his life. Shouts and angry roars echoed behind him, followed by pounding footsteps. Even without mastering the Insight Technique, Cool B could tell one thing: there were a lot of them!
Given his glorious history, getting caught by these guys would be game over!
So Cool B kept running—his years as a street racer paid off, and he was good at making a getaway. In a flash, he was back in the crowded bar area, weaving through people until he lost his pursuers. Spotting an opening, he darted into a quiet corner and slipped down a deserted hallway. Moving quietly, he finally found a peaceful room at the very end.
He pushed the door open and found the big room piled high with old clothes—it was a laundry room. Picking out a few sexy outfits from the pile, Cool B couldn’t resist whistling. Just then, there was a loud bang at the door—someone was coming in.
Cool B, nerves on edge, ducked behind the clothes, hoping the newcomer would leave without spotting him. No such luck—the footsteps came closer. Judging by those drum-like steps and the heavy, train-whistle breathing, whoever was coming was a big, powerful dude—and pissed off.
Cool B panicked, looking around—no good hiding spots. Then he spotted a giant tumble dryer, its door wide open. "This... could work!" The scrawny Cool B squeezed inside; it was roomy enough for him. He carefully pulled the door mostly shut, leaving a crack—he knew these dryers could only be opened from the outside, so locking it would be a disaster.
Outside, the footsteps stopped right in front of the dryer. Through the round glass window, Cool B could see a pair of legs like iron pillars. He prayed the guy would just leave, but the man stood there, thunderous voice rumbling: "Oh yeah, found it. This is the place."
Cool B’s heart sank. He watched as a dark shadow crept over the dryer’s round glass window.
Meanwhile, Jack Young and Femi Foster arrived at the entrance of a skyscraper. The building was tall and luxurious, looking just like Jonathan’s Prime Integrity Tower. Any company with a tower like this was a business giant—and, naturally, loaded with big-company problems. Endless rules were just one of them.
"Sorry, you two don’t have an appointment. You can’t see the chairman." On the top floor, a young secretary stopped Jack and Femi Foster.
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Femi Foster slapped her hands on the desk. "I told you, it’s urgent!"
The secretary kept shaking her head. "The board is in session. Unless you can show a police badge, you can’t interrupt."
Femi Foster was about to argue, but Jack Young shook his head. "Forget it, let’s just go in." He strode forward. The secretary rushed to stop him, but Jack gently nudged her back into her chair. A few security guards rushed over, but Jack’s hands moved like a blur, tapping their shoulders and waists—next thing you know, they were all slumped on the ground, unable to get up.
Femi Foster shrugged at the secretary and followed Jack Young inside. The hallway spiraled with meeting rooms everywhere—not that they knew which one was hosting the board. But Jack listened carefully, then headed straight for the big door at the far end—the only room with voices inside. As they walked up, the door suddenly swung open and a bunch of people—men and women—came out. Board meeting adjourned, apparently.
Leading the pack was an old man who spotted Jack and Femi Foster, scowled, and turned toward the elevator. Ding—the doors opened, he stepped in. The doors started to close, but a hand shot out to block them. Slowly, the metal doors slid open again—Jack Young was standing right there.
The old man locked eyes with Jack for a moment, sighed, and waved off the pursuing guards. "It’s fine. I’ll have a word with these two. You all go." Then to Jack and Femi Foster: "Alright, since you’re so persistent, let’s have a quick chat."