After getting off the plane, to avoid being caught by the airport surveillance cameras and to sidestep the trouble of illegal immigration, Luoshu once again entered an unobservable state.
Just like that, he hitched a ride on a flight unnoticed and smoothly arrived in Beijing, China.
Since his unobservable state still had some time left, Luoshu decided to go all the way and hitch a taxi ride out of the airport.
Throughout the journey, neither the driver nor the passengers had any idea there was an uninvited guest in the car.
What was even more outrageous was that Luoshu actually told the driver his destination, asking him to take a slight detour and drop him off first.
The problem was, he was currently penniless and stuck.
Unless he planned to use his abilities to rob people, hitching a plane and a taxi was already him exercising restraint.
Being broke was really tough. Forget about finding a Foundation site in China—even basic survival was a challenge.
Actually, Luoshu wasn't short on money.
Not only was he not short, but in fact, he was quite wealthy.
Everyone might have forgotten, but under Luoshu's coordination, SCP-100-1 had partnered with the Foundation to run a business selling giant Transformers "figures" made by that robot merchant.
A pile of worthless scrap cars, after being modified by SCP-100-1 and its Terminator minions, could quickly be turned into a genuine, full-scale Transformer.
Even if each one sold for just tens of thousands of USD, it was pure profit.
And SCP-100-1's products weren't limited to Transformers—there were also robotic animals, mechanical insects, and other small gadgets.
In just a month or two, sales had already reached several million USD.
The proceeds were split evenly between the Foundation and SCP-100-1, with Luoshu taking a 30% cut from SCP-100-1's share.
Doing the math, for every million USD in sales from SCP-100-1's products, Luoshu's assets grew by 150,000.
This money was deposited into an anonymous account opened for him by SCP-100-1 at a Swiss bank via the internet.
As for exactly how much was in there, Luoshu wasn't sure.
Back then, the Foundation covered all his living expenses, so he never needed to use it.
But now things were different. For a long time to come, Luoshu would have to live on his own, and he couldn't do that without money.
So, using the account number and password SCP-100-1 had given him, he went to the Beijing branch of that Swiss bank to withdraw the funds.
Swiss banks were notorious for money laundering—they only cared about the money, not its origins or the identity of the client.
It was the same logic as registering an offshore company in the Cayman Islands or flying a Panamanian flag on a ship.
Compared to Asia's "Four Great Dark Arts," Westerners clearly had their own equally impressive tricks.
The Swiss bank staff didn't care who Luoshu was or whether he had legal status. They only recognized the account number and password, so they served him without question.
After half a day, Luoshu finally sorted out his money problem.
SCP-100-1 truly lived up to being his first anomalous friend—it had already deposited hundreds of thousands of USD into his account, which converted to several million Chinese yuan. That was more than enough for him to live lavishly for a while.
With the money issue resolved, the next problem was his identity.
Right now, Luoshu was essentially a ghost—a person with no legal status.
His only legitimate identity in this world was that of a death row inmate…
Luoshu, male, 27 years old, Chinese-American, charged with three counts of first-degree murder…
Yeah, trying to get by with that identity would get him extradited back to the U.S. by Interpol in no time. And even before Interpol got involved, Foundation agents would probably nab him first.
So, he needed to forge a legal Chinese identity.
Without one, he couldn't even find a place to stay. And even with money, it'd be hard to live normally in China, where cashless payments were the norm.
Trying to set up mobile payments? All of them required real-name verification.
He couldn't just carry millions in cash around, drinking "water from the stars" and eating "pizza from the stars" every day while sleeping under a bridge feeding mosquitoes, could he?
At the very least, he should book a suite in a five-star hotel!
No—Luoshu had already picked out his hotel: a European-style manor resort in the Beijing suburbs.
This hotel operated on a membership system, and its vetting process was extremely strict. Even Beijing's elite and wealthy might not qualify.
For non-members, whether it was accommodation or dining, the prices were outrageously expensive, earning the scorn of Beijing's foodies.
But so what if it was expensive? Luoshu wasn't short on money.
Before checking in, though, he still needed to solve his identity problem.
He found a nearby police station, walked in, took a number, and waited patiently.
Before long, his number was called over the loudspeaker, and he made his way to the service counter.
After sitting down, the first thing he did was reach out and touch the computer inside the counter.
The female officer on duty looked at him in surprise. "Sir, please don't touch the computer! What business are you here for?"
"Identity card replacement."
"Please fill out this form." The officer handed him a form.
Luoshu had no idea what to write.
For most people, replacing an ID card meant they already had an identity.
But he was a ghost—a person with no legal status.
Even if he could remember his ID number from his "previous life," would it even work?
So, Luoshu quietly activated his persuasion ability. "I don't know how to fill this out. Could you help me?"
The officer, now in a daze, took the form back and prepared to fill it out for him. "Name and ID number?"
"Oh, my surname is He, given name Tu. I don't remember my ID number—could you look it up in the system for me?"
When Luoshu had touched the officer's computer earlier, he had secretly used his mechanical animation ability, turning that computer into his little underling.
Under his silent command, the computer "searched" and pulled up an ID number for him.
This number and identity didn't actually exist—the computer had just temporarily entered it for him.
After that, the officer arranged for Luoshu to take an on-the-spot photo for his new ID card and issued him a temporary paper ID to use in the meantime.
With a legitimate second-generation Chinese ID card, everything else became easy.
Luoshu bought himself a Huawei Mate 40 RS Porsche Design phone, installed mobile payment apps, and—just like that—transformed into a real Chinese citizen.
By now, it was already evening, time to find a place to stay.
This time, Luoshu paid for a taxi via a ride-hailing app and headed to the Beijing suburbs.
Ahead lay the European-style manor hotel he had chosen.
Even though it was the weekend, typically peak time for dining and tourism, the hotel seemed eerily quiet, with almost no guests.
Then again, a place this expensive wasn't meant for normal people.
But that was exactly why Luoshu had chosen it!