Doomsday Mechanic: My Train Can Be Modified Infinitely

In the dead of night, the fog at the port of Berlin was so thick that it looked as if the entire dock was submerged in milk.

Wang Zhengyang, like a black cat, slipped silently in through the broken section of the west wall. He had scouted this place beforehand—the information Li Ming provided said that this section of the wall had been damaged by an out-of-control truck half a month ago and had not yet been repaired; it was just a makeshift fence made of barbed wire.

He crouched in the shadows, not taking immediate action.

Close your eyes and concentrate.

The superpower spread outwards like invisible tentacles. It was a strange feeling, like suddenly having several extra pairs of eyes and ears, able to hear, see, and feel details that one wouldn't normally notice.

The wind was blowing from the southeast, not very fast, carrying the fishy smell of the river and a strange odor wafting from the distant factory. The fog was slowly swirling and rising; it seemed this fog wouldn't dissipate anytime soon.

As for the sounds—about a hundred meters to the left, two people are patrolling, their boots creaking on the ground. One of them is yawning, and the other is humming a German pop song that's been playing on the radio a lot lately. Further away, there's a rhythmic creaking sound of cables rubbing against pillars, probably from a cargo ship gently rocking with the current.

Thermal imaging images flashed through my mind. Wang Zhengyang's mask contained a small gadget—a secondhand thermal imaging lens that Li Ming had somehow acquired; the effect was mediocre, but sufficient. One level below the control tower, two red dots remained motionless, their heartbeats slow—presumably asleep. Four red dots moved along the main road, forming two groups. And in the warehouse in the northeast corner, converted from a shipping container, six red dots were clustered, two of them particularly large—likely belonging to Zhang Yiqiang and his henchman, Lao Han.

These were all expected.

But unexpectedly, there were four red dots in the East Zone, which should have been an empty abandoned container yard.

And they were moving, as if they were looking for something.

Wang Zhengyang frowned. This wasn't part of the plan. According to Li Ming's intelligence, there shouldn't be any talent left in the East District.

I need to go check it out.

He moved like a shadow, skimming along the gaps between the shipping containers towards the east side. His footsteps were so light that even he couldn't hear them—one of the benefits of his superpower, allowing him to create a cushioning effect under his feet with telekinesis, making no sound at all.

When the distance closed to fifty meters, he could hear the people talking clearly.

"...Damn it, this godforsaken place, would that bastard Andrei really hide here?" a rough, hoarse voice complained, with a heavy Indian accent.

"The boss said the information is reliable," another, younger voice replied. "As long as we catch that Ukrainian, the 50,000 euros are ours! Then we..."

"I know, I know!" a gruff voice interrupted impatiently. "But it's fucking cold. And with this fog, you can't see a damn thing!"

Wang Zhengyang hid between two shipping containers, peeking out half his head.

Four men. All of Indian descent, wearing cheap jackets and jeans, carrying steel pipes and machetes. The leader was a short, fat man with a menacing face; he was probably Rajish. The other three were a man with a scar on his face, a very young man, and a man as thin as a bamboo pole.

They were rummaging through an abandoned container area, their movements rough, smashing the rusty metal doors with a loud "bang".

Just then, something unexpected happened.

"Hey! Look over there!" The younger one suddenly lowered his voice and pointed to a gap in a shipping container not far away.

Everyone looked in the direction he was pointing.

A faint glimpse of pale golden hair could be seen through the mist.

It's a girl.

She hid in the narrow gap between two shipping containers, her back to the outside, her body trembling slightly, clearly trying not to make a sound. But her blonde hair was too conspicuous in the dim light, like a candle flame in the darkness.

"Hehe..." Scarface licked his lips, revealing a lewd smile. "This chick's hot. Blonde hair, her skin must be fair."

"Shut up!" Rajish hissed, but his eyes lit up. "Let's go check it out. Maybe it's Andrei's daughter. Didn't the text message say he might be at the docks?"

The four of them crept up to them.

The girl seemed to sense danger and turned around abruptly.

Wang Zhengyang saw her face—and for a moment, his breath almost stopped.

He recognized that face.

Just a short while ago, in the supermarket parking lot. The girl who nimbly and skillfully took down several thugs, then gently tended to Uncle Chen's wounds. Her long, flaxen hair, which was tied in a ponytail then, was now loose, shimmering with a golden sheen in the mist. But those deep blue eyes, that calm yet resolute gaze—he would never mistake them.

It's Natasha.

The girl who claimed to have received training at a security company, yet bore obvious signs of military training. The girl who carried a hard object at her waist and had calluses on her hands from a gun. The girl whose body tensed slightly when she saw the Eastern European resistance's coded message.

Now Wang Zhengyang understood. She was Andrei Sokolov's daughter.

In that instant, scenes from the supermarket parking lot flashed through my mind—her clean and efficient joint locks, her sharp whip kicks, her professional first aid techniques. The gentle way she helped Uncle Chen, and the stubborn way she bit her lip and refused to cry even now while surrounded by several thugs, were the same person.

"You...you stay away!" Natasha shouted in accented German, her voice trembling, but with a hint of stubbornness in her tone.

"Little sister, it's dangerous for you to be here alone." Scarface Amir had already reached the gap and reached out to grab her. "Come on, let your brother protect you."

"Get out of my way!" Natasha screamed and tried to back away, but the gap was too narrow and she had nowhere to retreat.

Amir grabbed her wrist and pulled her out forcefully. Natasha struggled desperately, but she was no match for him and was quickly dragged out.

"Let me go! Help!" she screamed as she grabbed Amir's face with her other hand.

"Damn, that's pretty tough!" Amir, enraged by the two bloody scratches on his face, slapped them across the face.

"Snapped!"

The crisp sound of the slap was particularly jarring in the quiet dock. Natasha staggered from the blow, almost falling, and half of her face immediately swelled up, revealing clear five-finger marks on her fair skin.

Rajesh stepped forward, grabbed Natasha's chin, forced her to look up, and scrutinized her face.

"Blonde hair, blue eyes, Slavic features... Andrei's daughter must look like that too." Rajish grinned, revealing a set of teeth stained red with betel nut. "Damn, what luck! I haven't even found the father yet, but I've already caught the daughter."

"You know my father?" Natasha stopped struggling, a glimmer of hope in her voice. "Where is he? Do you know where he is?"

"We're looking for him too, little sister," Rajish's smile grew even more lewd. "But now that you're here, he's sure to come out. Don't you think so?"

His hands started to wander, reaching out to touch Natasha.