"Squeak——"
The tanker stopped by the roadside, and Vilan, wearing a white lab coat, jumped off the vehicle, next to an aged, bald researcher figure, Vid.
Together, they looked up at the golden letters across the building: [New York University Applied Science Materials Library].
After passing through security and verifying their identities, Vid, with an ID card pinned to his chest, handed over an application stamped with an official seal to the staff upon questioning:
"For meteorological research, urgently needed."
The administrator, looking at the number of liquid nitrogen tanks on the application, exclaimed, "So many? That's enough to fill a swimming pool! What do you need so much for?"
"It's a rare opportunity!" Vilan smiled, "When there's such an active hurricane, it makes an excellent sample for researching hurricane energy conversion!"
The administrator didn't think much, signing while muttering, "What a bunch of research lunatics! What, you're going to cool the eye of the storm with liquid nitrogen?"
"Haha, the application is much greater than that! If nothing goes wrong, you will soon see my paper in 'Science'!"
"I'm not interested in reading that!" the administrator grumbled.
...
Meanwhile, Vera, previously dressed as a cleaner, was now wearing a plain long dress, her hair messily tied up, pushing a supermarket trolley.
She carefully examined the numbers on the price tag and then placed large bags of salt and several boxes of silver iodide into the cart.
At the checkout, the cashier curiously asked, "Ma'am, why are you buying so much salt?"
The woman smiled slightly and softly said, "Seafood is cheap lately, I'm going to pickle some salted fish."
After leaving, she placed the salt bags into a van, started the vehicle, and drove to the next supermarket.
...
Vito was wearing a dark blue work uniform, its hem still stained with oil, and his hat brim lowered to cover his eyes.
He handed out a purchase order, speaking in a deep voice, "Can you prepare 1500 kilograms of snow-melting agent?"
The clerk looked down at the name of the purchasing company and said, "Sure, we have enough stock, and no one is buying this stuff now."
"What about the price?"
"Let me see... You're buying in bulk, I'll give you a discount, 380 US dollars."
Vito nodded, placing a roll of cash on the counter.
...
Without realizing it, Oliver had drunk beer glass after glass, and by the time he left the hotel truly drunk, the sky had already turned completely dark.
The man raised his hand to hail a taxi, and upon getting in, mumbled an address before collapsing limply on the seat, while waves of nausea kept hitting him.
The driver was unusually silent, neither swearing nor chatting incessantly, merely opening a slight crack in the window.
Cold wind poured in, suppressing the nausea, but Oliver's consciousness grew even hazier.
No one knew how much time had passed before the car stopped on a remote street in the Brooklyn District. Oliver grabbed a few bills randomly, threw them over, and staggered toward an old arched bridge.
Below the bridge, the river emitted a wet, rancid smell. Unable to resist, Oliver leaned on the cement platform, vomiting profusely, feeling somewhat better, and then familiarly darted into the shadow below the pier.
He reached out, feeling along the graffiti-covered wall, and then, without knowing what he pressed, a section of stone wall silently slid open, revealing a long and dark tunnel inside.
Oliver burped, just about to step into the familiar darkness, when suddenly——
"Beep——Beep——Beep——Beep——!!!"
A sharp and urgent sound suddenly rang out, as if someone was whistling with all their might right next to his ear!
Frightened, Oliver fell down, dumbfoundedly looking at the rotating, glowing object above the tunnel, only realizing after a while that the loud noise was coming from a Peeping Mirror.
During his dazed moment, someone burst out of the tunnel, holding a gun and angrily shouting, "Intruder!"
Oliver quickly raised his hands, nervously saying, "I'm not! I just... I might have accidentally bumped into... I mean no harm..."
"Idiot!" the man roared, his voice shaking with uncontrollable fear, "Behind you!"
Simultaneously, he forcefully pulled the door, trying to close it, intending to shut Oliver outside as well.
"Boom!"
A violent explosion sounded, wood fragments scattering everywhere, the concealed door shattered, revealing the blood-drained face of the man holding the gun.
Oliver, seated on the ground, was also flipped by the shock wave. As he climbed up, he paid no attention to his blood-stained face, only staring in horror at the scene behind him.
Through the smoke and dust, several silhouettes silently appeared, including the taxi driver who had driven him and the black-haired man who had chatted with him in the bar, as well as some other unfamiliar figures.
The only common factor was the badge pinned to their chest, shining brightly with overlapping triangle and circle patterns that sent shivers down one's spine.
——Witch Pure Party!
The Witch Pure Party had indeed come!
Oliver collapsed on the ground, unable to move, shaking all over.
"Good evening, Mr. Oliver Cruise."
Delaine's lips curled into a smile devoid of warmth, "You previously said... who is orchestrating chaos and creating disorder?"
...
The night was inky black.
In the New York suburbs, the salty sea breeze constantly eroded the concrete structures of the abandoned factory, with thick rust spots covering the once towering iron frames.
Around the factory, there were no lights, no sounds of people, not even homeless people would stay in such a cold and damp place, only occasionally hearing the sound of waves crashing against rocks, wild dogs barking, and some animals' strange howling.
But tonight, vehicles gradually drove into this long-abandoned factory; there were small pickup trucks, tankers, refrigerated trucks, and even smoking tractors going vroom-vroom-vroom.
Vito stood on the creaking truck floor, unloading the last few bags of snow-melting agent from the truck.
Besides the neatly stacked blue woven bags, there were dozens of white bags printed with the numbers "46-0-0," a faint ammonia scent permeating the air. Some bags had been torn, and several white pellets rolled on the ground.
As he sorted and packed, Vilan laughed, "Buying this urea was the easiest, that guy didn't ask a single further question. He thought I had a small farm and even recommended winter rye seeds to me!"
As soon as the words fell, the sound of tires touching the ground came from outside. Victor drove the refrigerated truck slowly into the warehouse.
He jumped off the truck, opened the compartment, and dense white cold air gushed out, revealing boxes of dry ice inside.
"Hey, everyone, lend a hand!" Victor shouted loudly, "This stuff needs to be stored quickly!"
A crowd of Poppet surged forward, swiftly unloading all the boxes from the truck.
The magically efficient collaboration quickly sorted the pile of materials, categorizing them in preparation for the moment when they would serve their designated purpose.