The mud at the bottom of the Hudson River gurgled under Leo's combat boots. The plastic explosives sent by the Chicago Iron Claw Party stuck to his waist, emitting a mixed smell of wolf urine and ammonium nitrate. He squatted at the junction of the sewage pipe 30 meters underground on Wall Street, pressing his palm against the rusted cast iron pipe wall - the blood clan's mercury artery was rushing inside, and each mercury stream carried fragments of werewolf genes.
"Connect the fuse to the quantum igniter," Gustav, a blaster from the Canadian Icefield Group, spat out the cigar butt in his mouth, "Blow up this damn pipe, and it will be enough to give those vampires on Wall Street menstrual cramps for half a year."
Leo dug his wolf claws into the seams of the pipe wall, and his fingertips felt something sticky. It wasn't mercury, but more like dried wolf spinal fluid. "Do you really believe that this explosive was given away by the Chicago wolf cub for free?" He shook the silver slime on the tip of his claws, "Victor can even sell his own father three times."
Gustave's single eye glowed green under the explosion-proof headlight: "It's better than trusting those Wall Street dogs wearing Rolexes."
Behind them, twenty direwolves were setting up liquid nitrogen cooling devices to prevent the mercury vapor from evaporating the entire block at the moment of the explosion. Leo's retina kept flashing warnings: DOA's nanoworm clusters were gathering at the subway station above, and the reflection of Irene's sniper scope flashed past the vent.
"Countdown thirty seconds!" Gustav's roar shook off the century-old moss on the top of the pipe.
But at this moment, Leo smelled something unusual - the smell of rust was mixed with the scent of gardenia that his mother often used.
The first wave of explosions overturned manhole covers for three blocks. Leo was thrown into an abandoned subway tunnel thirty meters away by the shock wave, his mouth full of the taste of amalgam and wolf blood. The mercury pipe that was originally planned to be directional blasted twisted like a mad silver snake, spewing out not liquid metal, but countless credit default swap contracts with teeth.
"Fuck this medieval trick!" Gustav crawled over with his broken leg, his explosion-proof suit torn into shreds like a financial derivatives manual. "This is not a mercury pipe at all!"
Leo's wolf claws dug into the concrete of the tunnel and glimpsed the truth through the collapsed gap - the so-called "underground mercury pipeline" was actually the gene bank of the Silver Brotherhood in 1733, and the inner wall was engraved with intertwined totems of Viking runes and the first generation emblem of the Federal Reserve.
The blood clan screamed from the mercury mist. Six amalgam structures stepped out of the waves, their chests embedded with the skulls of enslaved werewolves, and Dow Jones index display tubes inserted in their eye sockets. Gustav's shotgun was melted into scrap metal by a stream of mercury, but Leo smiled at this time.
"Recognize this?" He waved a bone fragment he had plucked from a sewer pipe - it had Alexander Hamilton's fingerprints on it.
The amalgam monsters suddenly froze.
When the second wave of directional blasting opened up the crust of Wall Street, the morning light was piercing the Manhattan skyline. In the 400 tons of concrete debris, Leo pulled out half of a skull embedded in amalgam - the suit fragments showed that this was one of the signatories of the Sycamore Agreement in 1792, but the mutated mandible proved that the deceased had undergone werewolf genetic modification before his death.
"The Silver Brotherhood's initiation ceremony," Leo used his wolf claws to scrape open the skull's chest, revealing a carbonized heart, "burying the remains of the Wolf King under the Federal Reserve vault, what a fucking traditional risk control method."
The amalgam monsters suddenly knelt on the ground, their Dow Jones eyeballs flashing wildly. Gustav took the opportunity to smash the liquid nitrogen tank into the mercury stream, and the ultra-low temperature froze the financial demons into ice sculptures.
The bracelet was burning hot at this moment, and Viking memories were blazing like a high-pressure mercury lamp:
**1023 AD, Greenland Ice Cliff**
Leo's Viking avatar is making a blood oath with a mink fur merchant, and both sides are engraving the wolf gene chain on the whale tooth contract. The merchant takes off his disguise - it turns out to be a young Alexander Hamilton, holding a quill dripping with wolf blood.
"We will make a covenant with silver and fangs," Viking Leo roared, shaking off the ice, "If your descendants break the oath..."
The real skeleton suddenly spoke, and Hamilton's voice came out from the withered vocal cords: "...will be attacked by the bloodline."
The entire Wall Street began to collapse. Leo shuttled between the falling JPMorgan Chase billboards, and the runes **ᛅᛁᚴ (eternity)** shot from his bracelet melted the amalgam ice sculpture into armor. Gustav suddenly turned the muzzle of the gun and aimed the liquid nitrogen tank at his spine.
"The Chicago wolf cub asked me to tell you something," the ice wolf's mechanical prosthetic eye popped up a red crosshair, "Your head is worth fifteen Bitcoin mines."
The moment Leo dodged, Irene's nano bullet smashed Gustav's knee. The DOA agent walked on the sunken asphalt road, and the mercury mist corroded his suit into lace-like holes.
"Article 7 of the Eclipse Protocol," she said, holding up a pair of custom handcuffs with the date the Federal Reserve was founded engraved on the links. "You have the right to remain silent, but your genetic sequence will be confiscated."
Leo held Hamilton's skull in front of him and said, "Tell your clone superiors that the debt of 1792 should be settled."
A holographic projection suddenly shot out from the skull's eye sockets - in the basement of the Treasury Department in 1790, members of the Silver Brotherhood were injecting the DNA of the Viking Wolf King into the master version of the Treasury certificate under Hamilton's supervision.
Irene's nano-insect swarm suddenly lost control and swarmed towards the skeleton. Leo took the opportunity to jump into the newly opened ground fissure, and the amalgam armor absorbed the vampire energy as he fell.
Three hundred meters underground, Leo's wolf claws penetrated the cavity wall of some biological tissue. When he used Hamilton's ribs to rub the phosphide lighting, the scene in front of him made his fangs tremble - tens of thousands of werewolf remains were cast into load-bearing columns, the MBS bonds of the Federal Reserve over the years were wrapped around the spine, and the work badges of Lehman Brothers employees were inserted in the heart.
The Viking contract projected by the bracelet floated in the air, with the terms written in both Runes and English:
**Signatories: Silver Brotherhood and Clan Fenrir**
**Collateral: Ownership of all wolf genes in North America**
**Default clause: If the interest rate exceeds 5%, the collateral will automatically become the property of the vampires**
The corpse of a modern werewolf suddenly twitched, and an iPhone 14 fell out of his overalls - the screen froze on the 2023 federal interest rate announcement page: 5.25%.
There was a dull sound of concrete collapse overhead, and Irene's nanoworms poured down like a silver waterfall. However, Leo found a bronze hatch at the end of the cellar, and the door lock was a combination of Hamilton's fingerprints and wolf paw prints.
As he put his hand on the door lock, the Viking Contract suddenly ignited, and the flames spelled out a new message on the dome:
**Blood oath heir certification in progress...**
**Default liquidation procedure has been triggered...**
The amalgam armor suddenly pierced back into his flesh, and Leo heard the distant howling of wolves in the severe pain - not from the present world, but the howling of imprisoned ancestors from the cellar of the Treasury Department in 1789. The bronze hatch slowly opened, but what leaked out was not wind, but a pool of raw Bitcoin as thick as asphalt.