Tijuana, Customs Street.
As the most prosperous place for a certain type of business in Baja California, this area was a mix of various gang forces, with a high turnover of personnel and a convergence of all sorts of information.
During times when they weren't competing for business, some gangs could coexist peacefully, with the foot soldiers gathering together to boast and chat as a common occurrence.
After lunch, seven or eight people gathered in a corner of an alley, smoked some grass, and engaged in idle boasting and chatting.
A man with a large earring named Pingtuo said, "The Americans are becoming harder to please. They're picky about the girls – they find the slim ones too thin, the curvy ones too fat, they complain about good-looking faces not having good figures, and about good figures with unattractive faces..."
Another person spat, "They've watched too many Hollywood movies, they think they're looking for female stars!"
"It's not easy anymore," Morano, whose hand bore a scorpion tattoo, chimed in. "Business is tough, money is hard to make."
Pingtuo followed, "Is your business not doing well? Throughout the entire Customs Street, who doesn't know that your boss, Demona, trains the best and most popular girls!"
Morano, with a hint of dissatisfaction, said, "Demona trains the girls well, but she's too sentimental. She gives the girls a high cut, and she refuses to get rid of the ones who are old and losing their appeal. She keeps supporting them, affecting our income."
Another person added, "Exactly, when more goes to the girls, less comes to us."
The one who spat earlier said, "The Americans are being choosy, but they don't care about how they look. If they were handsome, the girls would be more enthusiastic about their services!"
Pingtuo, seemingly casual, asked, "Have any handsome Americans visited the girls? Like Hollywood celebrities?"
Morano, in a carefree manner, spoke candidly, "I've seen a handsome and young American, quite easy on the eyes. But he was there to see our boss."
Someone speculated, "Could it be Demona's client?"
Morano shrugged, "If you're curious, go ask her. She'll tell you the answer."
The person quickly shook their head, "I wouldn't dare."
Pingtuo paid attention and smiled, "Demona must have gotten lonely, unable to endure it, so she went all the way to America to find a man? Tijuana is full of men! Morano, when did this happen? Why didn't the news spread?"
Morano said, "It happened last month, the boss doesn't want rumors."
The group of people chatted and bragged, then soon dispersed.
Morano, stumbling, entered deeper into the alley.
After the others left, Pingtuo took out his phone and made a call, "Buddy, you told me to keep an eye out, right? I just got some information."
After a short while, Morano went alone to a public restroom. Suddenly, a few people inside the restroom attacked him, put a black hood over his head, carried him out of the restroom, and threw him into a car. They immediately drove away.
The car left Customs Street and soon entered a repair shop. Morano was taken to the basement, where he faced brutal interrogation.
No one could expect a gang's enforcer to withstand severe torture for long.
...
After a night and a morning of adjustments, experiments, and exploration, Ronan's strength once again made remarkable progress.
However, his new combat style still required a significant amount of training and even practical experience to accumulate.
In Tijuana, he wasn't planning to stay any longer. His plan was to head south while evading the CIA's surveillance, all the while gathering clues for the items he needed to advance as a Marauder.
By continuing to strengthen his own power, even if the CIA found him, he could still protect himself.
Ronan disguised himself, found the hideout of a group of smugglers, stole a car, guns, bullets, and daily necessities. He drove, continuously avoiding police checkpoints.
The city was in utter chaos. The memory of his time there with Hunter was deeply engraved in Ronan's mind, and it didn't take much effort for him to leave the city.
In some conspicuous spots within the city, Ronan saw wanted posters.
The person on the wanted poster was him!
It was his first time being on a wanted poster.
Heading south, away from the main roads, Ronan speculated that the series of events possibly related to him were entangled with the CIA. Hence, the official response at the border was slow, and they were downplaying the situation.
It was also possible that the conflicts that looked like gang fights here were seen as routine.
But Antonio García's death changed everything.
Before, those who died were henchmen, assassins, or runners. But now, a top drug lord had been killed...
For a border area heavily dependent on a certain type of industry, it was akin to losing a major entrepreneur.
He arrived at a desolate and uninhabited small valley.
Ronan adjusted the stolen AK rifle, combining the alertness and agility of a Hunter, practicing high-speed shooting while on the move.
Compared to stationary shooting, his accuracy initially dropped noticeably.
After firing dozens of rounds, his accuracy gradually improved. After consuming more than half of the stolen magazines, his accuracy stabilized.
During a break, Ronan analyzed the current situation. His biggest enemy was the CIA.
The Voodoo Cult had been quiet since the bar incident and hadn't reappeared.
The Carter Gang was likely a subordinate of the Voodoo Cult, deduced from the memories of the Voodoo Witch.
And then there was the José Group.
Ronan found it strange that the generous José hadn't shown any activity. Could it be that he truly didn't mind that so much of his merchandise had been destroyed?
...
In the eastern outskirts of Tijuana, there was a mansion adorned with palm trees and agaves, occupying the entire hill.
Separated from the Shorty Guzman Group, José set up his base here.
The mansion was particularly quiet under the cover of night.
After the news of the explosion at the quarry in the eastern wilderness spread, many people waited to see José's reaction.
Strangely, the José Group didn't make a move, as if they hadn't suffered any losses.
Tonight, in the underground hall of the mansion, the generous José woke up from his slumber!
Crawling out of the pitch-black coffin, the gravely ill José looked at his pale hands and then clenched them into fists, feeling a surge of power!
Looking into a nearby mirror, he noticed that his white hair had turned black, and his appearance reverted to that of a man in his thirties.
"Good! Great! This is fantastic! I'm young again!" José exclaimed excitedly.
Turning around, he saw a woman in a black dress with azure eyes. He quickly knelt before her, "Elder Amélia!"
Amélia's eyes carried boundless years of experience, yet her appearance seemed only in her twenties, "You pledge allegiance to the great Bloodline, and the Family will grant you protection, power, and endless life."
José bowed his head, "Yes!"
Amélia spoke, "I've given you what you wanted, now pledge your loyalty."
José waved his hand, and immediately, people carried in one box after another, opening them in front of Amélia and her entourage. Inside were stacks of money!
Amélia was very pleased.
Their large family lived in the real world, and to enjoy a stable life, they needed a significant amount of money.
The cover and protection from the Special District and other Wall Street clans weren't given for free.
Furthermore, the family had their archenemy, the werewolves.
Researching weapons against werewolves, searching for clues about them – all required money.
The family also planned to establish a research center in Los Angeles to further improve their genetics. For example, they wanted to be like the vampires of another lineage, able to walk in the sunlight.
They also wanted to further develop their bloodline and harness the resurgence of magic in the new millennium.
All of this required astronomical amounts of funds.
Over the centuries, except for the Deathwalkers, most of the family members had indulged in endless pleasures. As the current governing elder, Amélia had to find ways to generate external sources of wealth.
But they realized it too late; most of the land's resources had been divided among various forces. Interfering rashly was likely to expose them entirely.
Amélia had no choice but to think of another way, which led her to the ailing drug lord, José. She tempted him with health and longevity, bringing him into the family.
Amélia wasn't opposed to the funds brought in by this kind of business, nor was she concerned about ridicule from other supernatural species.
The family's archenemies, the werewolves, even resorted to being mercenaries for their livelihood.
José was now full of vitality, free from the ravages of age. This alone was something money couldn't easily buy, and he willingly said, "I, José, swear on my parents' honor that I won't give less than this amount every year!"
Amélia, her long neck held high, stated, "The family won't owe any member."
With a snap of her fingers, ten coffins placed in the underground hall had people with fair skin crawl out.
These were all José's subordinates, each with bite marks on their necks!
José touched his own neck; the wounds had already healed.
Amélia said, "They are your blood servants, with strength and speed far beyond normal humans."
The most basic vampire needed a senior family member to convert them. Those who survived after being bitten by a common member would become the lowest-tier blood servants.
The Initial Embrace required the consumption of essential essence from a family member. Even these old folks like them had significantly weakened over the past few centuries. They had to take turns hibernating to slow down their decay.
Amélia wouldn't give an Initial Embrace unless there were financial considerations.
The issue of money was too pragmatic.
Amélia beckoned, and her attendants handed her a pistol. She aimed at a blood servant's body and fired repeatedly. The person staggered back, screaming but remaining standing!
José laughed; who wouldn't like having such subordinates?
Amélia prepared to leave, "Proceed with your business promptly. I hope there will be a second fund after the New Year."
José lowered his head, "Yes!" He hesitated a bit and added, "I need to deal with someone first. He ruined a significant business deal for the group. I need to use his head to show everyone that the José Group is not to be trifled with."
Amélia nodded and departed directly.
José instructed a blood servant, "Andrew, mobilize everyone. Find the person named Ronan!"
Now that the Initial Embrace was done with, things could begin.
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