Chapter 4 The Lake’s Unseen Terror

A Ding-a-ling…

The alarm on Jack Connors' phone jolted him awake. Blinking groggily, he glanced at the time: 5:20 AM. Even in summer, the sky outside was still dark, and most people were still asleep, except for those with early morning jobs.

Jack was one of those early risers. He owned a small diner that specialized in breakfast and late-night eats, a business passed down from his parents. They had worked tirelessly to build up their modest empire—a small house and a diner that Jack now ran.

To outsiders, running a diner might seem grueling compared to a regular 9-to-5 job. Early mornings and late nights are no small feat. But Jack had found a rhythm that worked for him. He focused on the busy breakfast rush and the late-night crowd, covering about 70% of his daily income in those two peak times. This setup allowed him a more manageable work schedule and a steady stream of income, which was crucial given that rental income alone wouldn't sustain him.

Jack went through his morning routine—brushing his teeth, washing his face—and then, as he was about to head out, a wave of panic hit him. Yesterday's unsettling events flashed through his mind, and he looked at his right hand with a mix of dread and disbelief.

Wait, where is it? Could it be that none of it happened?

He pinched his right hand, feeling its familiar rough texture. Everything seemed normal. Jack stood there for a moment, puzzled.

"Hmm…"

He shook his head, deciding to follow his usual routine. He locked up his apartment and walked through the dimly lit streets toward his diner. The area wasn't entirely deserted; several other businesses were opening up for the morning rush, including a couple of old-school diners and vendors selling breakfast items.

Jack opened the diner, swept the floor, and began preparing for the day. The dough for his famous hand-pulled noodles was the next priority. Making dough was critical—it was the foundation for his noodles. The quality of the dough directly affected the texture and taste of the noodles, which was a key part of the diner's reputation.

As he worked, he noticed something odd: his right hand was moving on its own, reaching for the rolling pin instead of the coffee cup. Jack froze, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"Uh… Sir, are you awake?"

The mysterious presence that had controlled his hand before appeared again, scanning the diner with an air of detached curiosity.

"Where am I?" it asked.

"This is my diner," Jack answered cautiously.

"A diner?" The voice was indifferent. "I told you to store that item carefully."

"Oh, that thing? Don't worry, it's in the safest place in my apartment. No one will find it, I assure you!"

The voice shifted to a new topic. "What is your purpose here?"

Jack scratched his head, unsure how to respond. "Well, I guess you could say I'm here to make money. In human terms, that means earning money to buy what I need to live."

"Money… I need a lot of it."

Jack was taken aback. An alien needing money? That was new.

"Yes, a lot. As a host, your current status doesn't allow you to gather the necessary resources. You will need a substantial amount of currency."

Jack felt a bit slighted. Was he being looked down upon by this being? But he quickly found a silver lining. At least the alien was giving him a clear directive, which meant there was a chance for negotiation.

Clearing his throat, Jack put on a confident smile. "Well, if I may offer some advice… There are faster ways to make money these days—like robbing banks. It's quicker than other methods. For example, the bank on River Street is poorly guarded and easy to hit. We could—"

Before he could finish, a sharp slap landed on his face.

"What the—?" Jack recoiled, stunned. "Why are you—?"

"Silence!" The voice snapped. "You think I need to attract attention? That's the last thing I want."

Jack, nursing his bruised face, tried to recover. "Okay, okay. How about another idea then? I know that certain high-stakes poker games could be a lucrative way to get money quickly without causing too much commotion. We could—"

Another slap interrupted him, more forceful this time.

"Fool!" The voice snapped again. "Do not suggest anything that involves drawing attention. I have no interest in engaging with humans directly."

Jack's frustration bubbled over, but he forced himself to stay calm. "Alright, I understand. I'll think of something else."

As Jack pondered the situation, he realized one thing: dealing with this extraterrestrial being was going to be a lot more complicated than he initially thought. But if he played his cards right, there might still be a way to turn this into an opportunity.

Jack Connors leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Last night, you should have gotten a good look at the human internet. If you have the capability, you could stealthily infiltrate the national financial system and get as much money as you want…"

In theory, such a heist would be nearly impossible even for top hackers. But Jack figured an alien might have the skills needed.

The alien's disembodied voice responded coldly, "You fool, do you have any idea how much resources I need?"

Jack felt a chill as the voice continued, "By your human standards, I require as much energy as the Three Gorges Dam generates in a year. How much do you think that would cost? You think the rest of humanity would just ignore a low-level individual suddenly amassing billions, or even hundreds of billions?"

Jack's face went pale. The Three Gorges Dam produced a staggering amount of energy, far beyond what could be bought with money alone. Even if he somehow managed to steal or earn billions, acquiring and laundering such a massive sum would be nearly impossible.

To put it in perspective, the dam had cost nearly 185 billion yuan to build, and its annual energy output was equivalent to almost twice the capacity of the largest nuclear plant in the world. Buying that much energy would cost over 40 billion yuan—a figure beyond any conventional means.

The alien's demands were not just high—they were astronomical.

Jack wiped the sweat from his brow. "Sir, that's an impossible request."

"Of course, I understand the difficulty," the alien replied. "I've seen civilizations rise and fall across the universe. The initial plan is to remain hidden, blend into human society, and gather strength. But there's another pressing issue I need to address."

The alien's tone became more urgent. "Now, go home. Immediately!"

"Home?" Jack was confused. "But the diner—"

"Now!" the alien's voice was sharp.

Jack shivered and hurriedly wrapped up his tasks, turning off the stove and tidying up.

"Hey, boss, we need two bowls of beef noodles!"

Two young men, clearly exhausted from a night at the internet café, barged in.

"Sorry, guys, I have an emergency. You'll need to go next door," Jack said, his irritation getting the better of him.

"D*mn, closing up already?" one of the men grumbled, but they turned and left, still hungry.

Jack shut the diner's roll-down door and headed home. Halfway there, the alien's voice stopped him.

"Wait."

Jack glanced around and whispered, "What's up?"

"Idiot, don't you feel hungry? Go get some food," the alien instructed.

Jack realized he was indeed starving. He spotted a nearby bakery and called out, "Hey, I need twenty steamed buns and twenty meat-filled dumplings, please."

The bakery owner, Mr. Lee, who knew Jack from the same street, looked puzzled. "Jack, why the sudden craving for so much food?"

"It's for a friend," Jack said dismissively.

"A friend? That's quite a lot of food," Mr. Lee remarked, eyeing the large order.

But he quickly packed the food into four bags. Jack paid and rushed off, stuffing his face with buns as he walked. His speed was almost comical—he devoured each bun in mere bites, as if he were in a competitive eating contest.

By the time he reached his house, every single bun and dumpling was gone. Jack's stomach was perfectly flat, which seemed impossible given the amount he'd consumed.

He calculated the cost mentally and felt a sinking feeling. At this rate, his monthly food expenses would exceed $8000—an astronomical figure compared to the average salary of most workers.

Jack discarded the food bags and entered the alley to his small house.

"Go to the basement," the alien ordered.

Jack complied, unlocking the basement door. The space was much cleaner than before, thanks to yesterday's cleaning.

"Now, assemble a computer."

Jack hesitated. Yesterday, he had bought several monitors, a second-hand case, graphics card, and motherboard. It was clear now that the alien wanted him to set up a computer.

Assembling a computer was straightforward for someone with experience, but Jack couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of his problems.