It was nearly 9:00 PM when Jack stepped back out into the cool evening air.
He didn't travel far. Hell's Kitchen was full of back-alley pawn shops and surplus stores that asked zero questions if you paid in cash.
Two hours later, Jack returned to his dark basement.
He carried a heavy black canvas bag in his right hand.
He dropped the bag onto the oak workbench with a satisfying metallic thud.
Total expenditure: $210.00.
Inside the bag lay a collection of discarded junk and second-hand electronics:
A worn-out shortwave radio receiver.
Two car batteries with half their charge left.
A spool of copper wiring and a cheap soldering iron.
A pair of industrial-grade noise-canceling headphones.
Three magnetic micro-transmitters—salvaged from an old security system.
Jack pulled up the metal folding chair, sitting down in front of the workbench.
He flipped on a small battery-powered desk lamp he had bought, illuminating the wooden surface.
For the next three hours, the basement was filled with the faint smell of melting solder and plastic.
Jack's hands moved with terrifying precision.
He didn't have high-tech Stark Industries machinery. He didn't have a S.H.I.E.L.D. laboratory.
But his Basic Lockpicking & Wiretapping Mastery combined with his cold, focused mind allowed him to bypass complex electrical engineering with crude, brilliant hacks.
He stripped the shortwave radio down to its circuit board.
He rewired the frequency tuner, soldering copper coils to expand its range into restricted high-frequency bands—specifically, NYPD dispatch channels and private short-range walkie-talkie frequencies used by local mobsters.
Tssshhhhh...
Jack put on the heavy headphones, turning the small metallic dial on his customized rig.
Static filled his ears.
He turned the knob another millimeter to the right.
"...Sector 4 units, we have a code 10-31 near 9th Avenue... violent dispute near the docks clearing up..."
That was the official NYPD channel. Clear as crystal.
Jack smiled slightly, turning the knob further into the unlisted, encrypted civilian bands.
"...Yuri, do you copy? The boss wants two trucks moved from the garage by midnight. Don't let the Italians see..."
That was the remnant of the Russian mob, scrambling to adjust after the turf war Jack had orchestrated just hours prior.
Jack leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table.
"Total coverage," Jack whispered, the static hiss crackling quietly in his headphones. "Now I can hear every heartbeat in Hell's Kitchen."
As he calibrated the receiver, a soft violet light bloomed across his vision.
[ System Alert: Base of Operations Established! ]
Location Secured: Underground Fallout Cellar (Hell's Kitchen)
Facility Unlocked: Crude Electronics Workbench (Level 1)
[ Task Completed: Build your first signal interception rig. ]
[ Rewards Issued: ]
Synchronization: +0.2% (Current Total: 1.6%)
System Cash Deposited: $200.00
Jack checked his financial status in his head.
[ Current Status ]
Host Synchronization: 1.6%
Available Cash: $454.00 ($254 remaining + $200 reward)
Passive Traits: Poker Face (Tier 1), Basic Instincts of Chaos, Street Brawling (Rudimentary)
Active Skills: Basic Lockpicking & Wiretapping Mastery
Synchronization was now at 1.6%.
The headache that had bothered him since his arrival in this world was entirely gone.
His eyes felt sharper, his heart beat with slow, rhythmic calm, and his ability to analyze chaotic information was improving every single hour.
Jack took off his headphones, resting them on the workbench beside his new radio rig.
He walked over to his coat, pulled out his five-dollar notebook, and laid it open beside the glowing radio dials.
He now had a shelter. He had clean clothes. He had a steady stream of mob and police intelligence pumping straight into his basement.
And most importantly, he had $454 left to fund his next move.
"One point six percent," Jack said softly to the dark room.
His reflection in the small radio screen showed a faint, razor-thin grin stretching across his face.
"Time to start listening for bigger fish."
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