Ordinary people's thoughts can hardly keep up with the growth of others. Even Dean, before this, had never imagined that merely arranging for some people to take care of Little Mike would enable him, in such a short time, to advance his weakest subject, psychology, directly to the point where he could influence the human mind. At this moment, he even felt relieved that Little Mike was not in good health.

Otherwise... this little guy would be quite unsettling.

Dean had myriad thoughts swirling inside him, yet he maintained a composed exterior and praised, "Your progress is surprising; I'm glad to see you now have a bit more of a human touch."

"Thank you for the compliment."

Little Mike responded with a faint smile, leading Dean over to a storage rack.

In light of his condition, the place resembled a child's tool room more than anything else, with a small table and the area for placing items not very high. Dean bent down and closely inspected the items on the shelf. There weren't many, just three.

At the top was a mask, somewhat resembling a gas mask with a metallic texture, spray-painted to give the 3D impression of a skull's mouth. Below the mask lay a small, semi-oval electronic screen, about the size of a baby's palm, with just two switches, one red and one black. Beneath the switches was a clasp, seemingly hiding something inside. Underneath the electronic screen was a rather plain-looking gun barrel.

Little Mike pointed to the mask. "Custom-made as per your request. The Skull Mask can automatically adjust electronic voice modulation for all ages and genders, block electronic signals within about ten meters, and also has the basic functions of a gas mask. Moreover, its materials are of a special alloy construction. If you're hard-mouthed enough, you could even use the mask to directly block bullets from an ordinary handgun."

It was a very decent tool for concealment.

Dean flicked his lips, making a soft PLIP-PLIP-PLIP sound, and chuckled, "My mouth looks both crisp and hard. It shouldn't be a problem."

Little Mike rolled his eyes in a human-like manner and pointed to the second small, delicate electronic screen. "This is a jammer and a Tracking device. Normally, you connect it to your car to jam tracking signals, and it works the same when connected to your phone. If you want to track someone, open the clasp underneath. Inside are three Tracking Chips. Although these chips are somewhat inferior in quality, they can still emit invisible radio waves three times a minute for 24 hours. As long as you're within one kilometer of the chip, you can receive a rough location through the electronic screen."

Upon hearing this, Dean picked up the electronic screen, opened the clasp, and discovered that the so-called Tracking Chips Little Mike mentioned resembled those tiny electronic batteries found in children's watches, stuck together and seemingly having decent magnetism. He put the item away and asked casually, "Did you create this using knowledge of magnetic fields?"

"Dean, you've made rapid academic progress lately, but to make you understand the principle behind this would probably waste my whole day." Little Mike blinked, his tone sincere. "So I'm sorry, but my advice to you is to suppress your curiosity. Wait until your level of understanding increases, and then you'll understand the workings of this device yourself."

Dean was speechless.

Sincerity truly is a finishing move.

He had no response to Little Mike's suggestion.

"Alright then, what's this last item?" Dean shifted the conversation, pointing to the final item, an unremarkable small barrel that looked like a suppressor.

"This is the suppressor."

After saying so much, Little Mike seemed a bit tired and rubbed his eyes as he explained, "Ordinary suppressors can, to an extent, prevent the spread of sound waves across a large area, containing them to a small region. This one is the same, except it fits multiple calibers of firearms, can be adjusted freely, and has even better soundproofing!"

Upon hearing this, Dean picked up the small suppressor barrel and examined it closely. Traditional suppressors are actually very cumbersome to use. There are generally two types. One is the fixed-thread type for mounting and dismounting. That is, one suppressor for one pistol. This required first machining suitable threads on the outside of the gun barrel. Afterward, akin to tightening a screw, the suppressor could be twisted on, as if attaching a bulky gun muzzle. This method was quite primitive and prone to failures due to damaged threads on the barrel, which would render the suppressor useless. Another type was the quick-detach model. For suppressors needing threaded fixation, the idea was to have the threaded tool ready in advance. As long as this tool could be fitted onto the gun barrel, it could serve the same fixing purpose. Little Mike's suppressor was of this kind. The connection port of the suppressor had a freely adjustable locking collar. In this case, you just need to fit the connection port onto the corresponding gun barrel and gently twist it to secure it for use. It could also be adjusted according to different gun barrels, allowing for quick installation and removal.

Little Mike noticed Dean's interest in this suppressor barrel and reminded him, "Adding this will affect your shooting accuracy, so you'll need some time to adapt. Besides, the external clasp isn't as tight as threaded ones, and under intense movement, the suppressor might come off."

Dean pulled out a black gun from inside his jacket. After becoming familiar with it, he attached the suppressor, twirled the gun with flair, and said with a smile, "This isn't much for a pro. Also, do you mind if I test out this suppressor here?"

"We have a special soundproof chamber for testing; you should know where it is," Little Mike yawned. "The therapist told me to pay attention to my rest schedule to reduce physical exertion and help my body last longer, so I'm going to sleep now."

"Go ahead. I'll leave through the secret passage after I'm done testing!"

After seeing Little Mike off, Dean eagerly headed to the soundproof chamber in the basement. This place was soundproofed, allowing for safe experimentation with very minor explosive tests. Firing a gun was naturally not a problem. The only caveat was to be careful not to get hit by a ricochet.

Before long, Dean, satisfied, packed his things and left Little Mike's secret base through a nondescript passage.

「On his day off.」

Dean was enjoying his mother Sheila's cooking.

Suddenly, RING RING! His phone rang in his pocket.

"Is it a cute sweetheart asking you out on a date, Dean?" his younger sister, Sinclair, who was playing with a deck of cards, shifted all her attention to Dean.

It might have been an illusion, but Sinclair felt that her second older brother had become increasingly docile lately.

Dean rolled his eyes and took out his phone. Seeing the caller, his spirit perked up. Because it was a call from Eve!

Dean quickly got up. Phone in hand, he walked briskly to the courtyard. After scanning the surroundings to ensure no one was around, he answered, "Eve, the weather's nice today. Fancy going fishing?"

"Fishing is boring. However, I've recently got some bait with a good reputation. If you need it, you could bring a box of small umbrellas and come over for a trade," Eve's playful voice came over the line. This woman had transitioned from being forced at the beginning to taking initiative with Dean. She had vividly demonstrated to him the idea that 'the true hunter always appears in the guise of the quarry.'

Dean raised an eyebrow and glanced at the sky. "It's nine in the morning now. Are you sure you want me to bring a box of small umbrellas?"

"You don't have to use them," Eve said cheerily. "I've recently found a great yoga instructor who taught me some killer moves. Maybe you can give them a try."

"Wait for me!"

After hanging up, Dean said goodbye to his mother and drove over to Eve's house.

The bait wasn't actual bait. Dean had learned from Moress that some corrupt cops were apparently trying to cause trouble for Eve, so he had informed her directly. Hence, Eve's call was to tell Dean that she had found the target!

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