Chapter 773 - 354: Underground Black Market (Part 2)

Chapter 773: Chapter 354: Underground Black Market (Part 2)

Next, they passed by the "Pharmaceutical Zone," where the air was filled with the pungent scent of a mixture of chemicals and herbs. What was being sold here wasn’t the ordinary street drugs, but higher-end items with specific purposes.

A man wearing gold-rimmed glasses, who looked like a chemistry professor, stood in front of a professional storage box filled with rows of labeled glass bottles.

He whispered to a buyer who seemed like a mercenary, "Military-grade modafinil, keeps you at peak focus for 72 hours, a hundred US dollars each, much stronger than those generics you can buy online from pharmacies."

On the shelves, there was also DMT (dimethyltryptamine) extract, capable of inducing intense near-death experiences, priced at five hundred US dollars per dose.

There were even some labeled with skull symbols, scopolamine (commonly known as truth serum) for "special interrogation," items with no market price, where the seller only accepted equivalent gold or intelligence in exchange.

Lin Yu’an proceeded to the next area — the "Luxury and Art Zone."

Here, the glow was from dreams that had been stolen and riches that had been plundered. A corpulent woman, on a piece of black velvet cloth, casually displayed a pile of diamonds and Swiss watches without certificates, as if she were selling a heap of cheap crystal ornaments.

"Take a look at this, a Patek Philippe 5270 Perpetual Calendar Chronograph," she said, holding up a rose gold complicated wristwatch to a hesitant buyer, "brand new from the showroom would cost two hundred thousand US dollars, but here, sixty thousand US dollars, and you can wear it away."

"Of course, it might have been on some unlucky soul’s wrist in Beverly Hills just yesterday, so there’s no box or certificate. But the piece is absolutely authentic, you can have any watchmaker verify it."

A price less than a third of the market value, you’re paying for the shady origin and the risk of possessing stolen goods.

At another stall, there were a few classical oil paintings claimed to have "flowed" out of a small museum in Europe. The corners of the frame even bore marks of violent prying.

A portrait signed by a disciple of Rembrandt, if it had a clear provenance, would be worth at least half a million US dollars, but here, the seller offered a "friendly price" of just eighty thousand US dollars in cash, and declared no responsibility once sold.

Lin Yu’an’s gaze swept over the ’No Responsibility’ warning sign, understanding clearly. In such a place, the sign was akin to saying ’determine authenticity at your own risk, willing buyers take the bait.’

But these indistinguishable fortunes were of no concern to him; he remained indifferent to these stalls peddling false identities, chemical thrills, and blood-soaked treasures, heading straight towards his target.

In this black market, greed and desire were blatantly laid out on display. Each passerby’s eyes shone with calculation and yearning.

Occasionally, fierce arguments would erupt between trading parties for various reasons, but the guards, like sculptures, would immediately step in to restore order with fists and kicks.

Lin Yu’an finally reached the "Heavy Goods Zone" located deepest in the black market.

Here, it was filled with the intense smell of gun oil and metal sensations, with walls resembling high-end gun store displays, adorned with goods that made one’s heart race.

From portable Glock pistols, Sig Sauer P320s, to classic AR-15 rifles, there were even a few MP5 submachine guns with silencers that one had only seen in movies.

A man in a Hawaiian floral shirt, beer belly protruding, sat on a pile of ammunition boxes, carefully polishing a Desert Eagle with a gold finish using a piece of deer hide cloth.

Seeing Lin Yu’an approach, he grinned, revealing a set of white teeth.

"Friend, looking to add a little persuasion to your home security?"

Lin Yu’an ignored the jest, behaving like the most discerning buyer, his gaze swiftly scanning the weapons on the wall.

He needed something that was reliable enough for a maritime environment, powerful enough, and absolutely untraceable.

Finally, his eyes settled on an entirely black, tactically styled gun. Its receiver had a professionally done darker patch, where the original serial number had been completely erased, as if it had never existed.

Yet, the distinctive slender handguard and the "DD" emblem on the gun silently proclaimed its extraordinary origin.

"Daniel Defense DDM4 V7, 16-inch cold hammer-forged barrel, M-LOK handguard." He directly stated the model and key specifications.

The fat man’s polishing movement abruptly paused, surprised, looking up at the man wearing a mask.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t encountered knowledgeable buyers, but being able to accurately state the specs in one breath was rare.

DDM4 wasn’t something any random street gangster could recognize; it was a high-end item among AR15s, renowned for its military-grade reliability suitable for immediate battlefield use, often referred to by gun enthusiasts as a "graduation weapon."

"Good eye." The fat man stowed away his frivolousness, carefully placing the gold gun aside, solemnly taking down the gun from the wall.

He adeptly pulled the bolt, producing a crisp, pleasant metallic click, and then handed the gun to Lin Yu’an: "This V7 is one of the most popular models, balancing precision and mobility."

"The original factory serial number has been cleared, an absolute netherworld ghost gun. This gun would be at least two thousand US dollars on the legal market; here, nine thousand US dollars, ensuring no records can be traced."

"I know what you’re thinking, friend, brand new on the legal market would be just over two thousand, here, nine thousand US dollars, sounds like robbery."