Wandering America: My kill threshold is far ahead

Jimmy hesitated for a moment, then decided to do as Jack Ma suggested.

After all, he was a seasoned veteran. He knew this wasn't the time to act impulsively. What good would staying behind do? At most, he could only trade one for one with the weakest fighter.

Ma Jieke retreated while fighting, protecting him as he ran out. His steps were so agile, almost like the Lingbo Weibu (a martial arts technique), and even when it looked like he had hit the target, he would inexplicably miss.

Bang! A quick step around the opponent's body easily evaded the attack, followed by a devastating punch—a right uppercut to the head!

I didn't dare use my full strength, afraid of killing someone.

Even so, the guy still flew sideways, crashed heavily into a trash can, and fell to the ground curled up in a ball.

With the Mike Tyson template loaded, Majesty was in high spirits, his body swaying from side to side like a pendulum.

"Come on, you bastards, you like ganging up on the weak, don't you?"

"You want to fight? Come on, act like men and have a good fight with me, or go back to your plantation and pick cotton."

This person has no morals whatsoever, constantly digging up other people's ancestral graves, which infuriated a certain little black-hearted guy to the point of instant reaction.

But the reality is that hesitation leads to defeat, while decisiveness leads to failure.

He dodged his harmless, wild punch to the side, and then thrust his right fist straight up at a 90-degree angle.

"Pluck the oil roots!"

Shouting out Ryu's lines from Street Fighter, Kuroko took off from the ground, crashed to the ground, and fell asleep immediately.

"He said he wasn't talking about you, right, you white dog, lying on the ground talking to your daddy!"

Facing the remaining survivors, Ma Jieke turned the tables, unleashing a barrage of left and right hooks to swiftly end the fight.

Ten members of the Blood Gang lay sprawled in the alley, some with broken ribs, others with concussions, and still others with mangled faces.

Lawson Shawn, who had previously provoked him and was ranked number one on the injury list, was kicked in the groin by MaJack, fell to the ground with a thud, and never made a sound again.

I glanced at the skill countdown and the battle ended almost at the last second.

"Still fighting?" Even though the buff is gone, the momentum can't be lost: "Blood Gang, huh? From today onwards, you're renamed the Shit Gang. If anyone dares to cause trouble on this street again, I'll beat your shit out, then beat you back into the shit, and finally beat you with your shit, understand, losers?"

"Speak to me, look me in the eyes, one by one."

No one dared to respond; their eyes darted away, fearing another beating.

"Damn it, are you all deaf when I tell you to speak?"

As she spoke, she stepped on one of the little black boys' chicken feet, making him cry out for his mother in pain.

"Got it, got it, buddy. From now on, you're in charge here. I'm a piece of shit, a real piece of dog shit. May I leave now?"

"Not bad for admitting your mistake." Ma Jie waved his hand. "Get lost, and don't let me see you again."

Seeing this, his accomplice took the initiative to activate his self-destruct mode, took out some change and two marijuana cigarettes from his body, and respectfully handed them over with both hands.

"Okay, you're on the right track." Ma Jie put the money away, then shoved the marijuana cigarette on the ground and, under Ma Jie's horrified gaze, crushed it into dust with the sole of his shoe.

"What are you looking at? Get lost!"

Not daring to look at him again, I pulled up my pants and got away from this plague.

Following the same method, they managed to amass over a hundred US dollars, bringing their total assets to over four figures.

To be honest, these homeless people who bully the weak and fear the strong are really poor. They only have a few dollars on them, and some don't even have a single penny.

Ma Jie didn't spoil him either, and slapped him several times, reminding him to remember to bring money when he goes out in the future.

Just as I was about to call Jimmy to ask where he was, another stranger walked over.

Judging from his appearance, he is at least 40 years old, with light skin and deep-set eyes, typical of mixed European and American ancestry.

However, he didn't look like a homeless person. He was wearing a white shirt and tie, his leather shoes were spotless, and he had a very traditional American slicked-back hairstyle. He had a beard but wasn't sloppy. He looked more like an insurance salesman.

Even though he didn't seem threatening, Ma Jie didn't dare to let his guard down. These days, the real hardcore ruthless people are often the thugs in suits.

Only those low-level gangsters and white trash wear tattoos and sunglasses, as if they're afraid others won't know they're involved in organized crime.

Get into position and be ready to fight at any time, so as not to be outmaneuvered.

"Oh, calm down, sir, I meant no harm."

The man consciously kept a distance from him, speaking in a confident tone: "Let me introduce myself. My name is Sava Holmes, I'm Italian, and I'm a professional MMA fight event manager."

"This is my business card." He took out a beautifully crafted business card from his shoulder bag and handed it to Ma Jieke with both hands.

The latter took it and glanced at it. It had words like "Gold Medal Manager", "Ultimate Fighting Tournament Manager", and "Invitation to Cooperation" written on it.

Seeing that Ma Jieke's expression had softened, he immediately smiled and said, "Sir, I had the pleasure of witnessing your fighting skills just now. You're practically a carbon copy of Mike Tyson. May I ask which club you're currently signed with?"

"A club?" Ma Jie shook his head, correcting him. "First of all, I don't know what you mean by 'club.' Secondly, I haven't signed with anyone. Finally, I'm not interested in playing in matches. Can you understand?"

Upon learning the situation, Sava's eyes flashed with surprise: "Dude, if I had your talent, I would have been aiming for the championship long ago."

"Go ahead, what does it have to do with me?" Ma Jie didn't want to talk anymore because he knew very well that he was an illegal immigrant. As long as you have this status, you can't do anything legitimate.

Besides, what top-notch manager would appear in a godforsaken place like a poor street?

It could easily be some kind of street scam, where they first gain your trust, then use the pretext of medical examinations, training, or registration fees to trick you into spending money.

In even more extreme cases, you might follow someone to the hospital and wake up to find your kidneys cut off.

"Don't do that, buddy, I really want to be friends with you."

Seeing that Ma Jie didn't seem interested in talking, Sawa quickly got to the point: "These days, in an amateur-level fighting event, you get several hundred dollars in appearance fees just for stepping into the ring, win or lose. That's more than you'd earn picking up cans here."

A few hundred US dollars? Hearing this, Ma Jie still wasn't interested. He'd rather spend his time honing his skills than participating in fighting competitions.

"Winning will bring in even more." Seeing his indifferent attitude, Sava still didn't intend to give up: "At least $1,500 to $3,000, and if you can keep advancing, tens of thousands of dollars is possible."

"Oh, that does sound tempting." Ma Jie looked at him disdainfully. "But could you please stop bothering me? Stay away from me, or you know what the consequences will be."

"Alright, buddy," the Italian said, backing away as he called out to MaJack, "If you change your mind, you can call me anytime. Trust me, I'll change your life."

Change my life? That's like a toad yawning—presumptuous indeed.

After he left, Ma Jie casually tossed the business card into the trash can, because his intuition told him that the man didn't seem sincere and didn't say much truth, obviously hiding something from him.