Chapter 581 - 571: Sound Source Pollution 23

Once they were outside, the wind blew away much of the scent clinging to them, but you could still smell a mixture of Florida Water and disinfectant.

When the two got out of the car again to scout the small paths not marked on the map, no one stared at them or came up to ask what brand of "perfume" they were wearing.

"I can’t believe it actually worked."

Hugh Finch said with delighted surprise as he watched a person who had just brushed past them, a look of disgust on their face.

"I..."

Just then, a cry for help suddenly echoed from a nearby alley.

"AHH!! HELP ME!!"

Hearing this, Moira Lynch and Hugh Finch went to investigate.

Inside the alley, a group of punks with bleached-blond hair, all wearing earplugs, were surrounding someone.

The person’s hair was a mess, their face was scraped, and a pair of broken headphones lay on the ground.

"What do you want?" the person asked weakly.

"Nothing much. We just think you smell really nice, bro."

The two of them arrived just in time to hear this rather suggestive remark.

The punks’ attention was completely fixed on the person they had cornered; they didn’t notice anyone approaching from behind.

Seeing this, Moira Lynch pulled out the baseball bat she had ready and charged.

She took down one of the punks with a single swing, giving the rest of them no time to react.

These guys had all dropped out of school early on. They went from juvenile delinquents to adult ones, never had any money, and were constantly living hand-to-mouth.

Guys like this could only rely on their numbers to bully honest folk. Against someone like Moira, they wouldn’t stand a chance even if she fought with one hand.

And just like that, in less than a minute, all seven or eight of the bleached-blond punks were knocked unconscious on the ground.

"They’re not dead, are they?"

the newly rescued young man asked nervously.

These two had fought the punks to save him; the last thing he wanted was for his saviors to get into legal trouble.

The young man’s mind raced; he was even prepared to provide a false testimony for them.

If it came to that, he’d swear up and down that the punks had just fallen over on their own.

Just then, Moira Lynch casually slung the baseball bat over her shoulder. "Don’t worry, nothing will happen," she said with a cool flair. "I was careful with my swings. I guarantee they’re just knocked silly, no brain damage."

"That’s good."

Hearing Moira’s assurance, the young man let out a sigh of relief. Then, as if all his strength had left him, he crumpled to the ground.

Seeing this, the two exchanged a look. ’Are we getting scammed again?’

Moira Lynch touched the young man’s forehead and immediately recoiled from the scalding heat.

A box of fever reducers fell out of the young man’s pocket.

Clearly, he had been targeted on his way home from buying medicine.

"What now?" Hugh Finch asked, looking at the unconscious man.

"We’ll take him back with us. I don’t think this is a normal fever. It’s likely a precursor to an Awakening," Moira Lynch said after checking the young man’s condition.

The unconscious young man’s eyes fluttered open. His consciousness was hazy from the high fever, and he could only make out a few words.

’Fever?’

’A precursor to an Awakening?’

’What are they talking about?’

Before he could voice his questions, he plunged back into endless darkness, losing consciousness completely.

When he opened his eyes again, the young man found himself lying in a bed, staring blankly at the unfamiliar surroundings.

The young man frowned, recalling what had happened before he passed out. Just then, he heard footsteps outside, and he bolted upright in bed.

The door to the room opened, and Moira Lynch walked in.

"You’re awake. How are you feeling?" Moira Lynch asked.

He remembered her. It was she and the other man who had saved him from the punks.

Seeing it was one of his saviors, the young man gradually let down his guard. "I’m fine. Thank you for saving me. I’m Barry Wallace, but you can just call me Barry or Walt."

"I’m Moira Lynch. By the way, do you feel anything... different about your body?"

Moira Lynch asked, looking at Walt curiously.

’Logically, the moment a normal person Awakens, their body hasn’t yet adapted to the energy, so there’s a high probability their powers will go haywire.’

’The outburst is usually localized and not very widespread, but it allows an observer to determine what kind of power has awakened.’

’But after I gave Walt the Awakening Potion to help him Awaken, although he experienced the energy surge, he didn’t manifest any corresponding power.’

Walt thought Moira Lynch was just asking out of concern for his health. He shook his head, and just as he was about to speak, he realized his vision had suddenly changed.

Then, he saw the look in Moira Lynch’s eyes shift from horror to shock, and from shock back to calm.

From Moira Lynch’s perspective, Walt had merely turned his neck slightly, and his head had fallen right off. "Horrifying" wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the scene.

Seeing this, Moira’s first instinct was that someone had assassinated Walt while she wasn’t looking.

But then she saw that the cut on Walt’s neck was perfectly smooth, with no blood flowing whatsoever. In fact, new skin was already starting to grow over it, as if the wound were healing. It was then she realized this wasn’t an assassination—it was Walt’s awakened power.

Just then, Hugh Finch walked in, only to be greeted by the shocking sight.

"Surprise, surprise!"

After a bout of chaotic scrambling, Walt’s head was finally back on his neck. Moira then took the opportunity to explain his situation to him.

Walt, having heard the explanation, was stunned speechless for a long time.

"So, you’re saying that the planet we’re on is going through some kind of disaster, and I’m the only lucky one who’s awakened a power?"

"Correction," Moira said testily. "You’re not the only one. Also, you’re not the savior of the world. And finally, you should read fewer novels. Being the savior isn’t all it’s cracked up to be."

Hearing Moira’s final remark that "being the savior isn’t all it’s cracked up to be," Hugh Finch, who was standing to the side, couldn’t help but chuckle.

Walt nodded. He felt a sense of relief, but at the same time, he couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed.

"Right, how do you two know so much? Are you prophets from some legend who’ve seen the future?"

’Otherwise, how could two young people possibly know things that even the highest-ranking government officials didn’t?’

"We’re not prophets. We’re aliens," Moira Lynch stated her identity with perfect calmness.

Her tone was so matter-of-fact, as if she had just mentioned some trivial, everyday detail.

Walt’s first reaction was to think Moira Lynch was joking. ’Aliens? Aren’t they just the stuff of legends?’