Chapter One: Lynn's Fried Chicken Shop

“Boss, can you hurry up? I’ve been waiting forever,” a young man with blond hair and blue eyes called out at the entrance of the fried chicken shop, raising his voice at the dark-haired youth busy inside.

“Don’t rush, it’ll be done soon,” the young man replied, glancing at the timer beside him—there was still some time left. Then he looked at the guy in front of him.

This guy in the suit wasn’t in any real hurry; he was just shaking his leg and staring at his phone, pretending to be busy. But Lynn knew that every time this guy bought fried chicken and grape soda here, he would leave this alley and spend the entire day in some cheap-looking café nearby, since Lynn had delivered food there before.

Though the chicken wasn’t fully cooked yet, Lynn took out the large chicken cutlet, soaked in oil with a tempting golden crust. Fresh hot oil drained off on the metal mesh, and Lynn skillfully sprinkled chili powder and black pepper. The fiery aroma quickly invaded the nostrils of the waiting customer.

After wrapping the fried chicken expertly and placing the chilled grape soda into a plastic bag, Lynn said to the man, “Seven dollars. Where’s the money?”

The man fished out some crumpled bills and laid them aside. Only then did Lynn take off his cooking gloves and hand over the food.

After sending off one customer, a queue of others awaited. Lynn glanced at the remaining ingredients, exhaled deeply, and began preparing the next order.

Hours later, after serving the last customer, Lynn was about to close the shop. He packed away the cooking utensils and pushed the counter slightly further inside the store.

Just as he was about to roll down the shutter, a voice called out from above.

“Wait, boss.”

“I thought you weren’t coming today,” Lynn said.

“No way. Your fried chicken really is good. By the way, is there any left? Looks like you’re closing soon?”

Soon, a figure clad in a distinctive fiber suit descended alongside the voice. Lynn, of course, recognized his friendly neighbor immediately.

He grabbed a large package from under the counter and tossed it to Peter Parker.

“Next time, come earlier. I don’t want to have to roll the shutter back up after closing.”

“Hey, can’t you wait until your friendly neighborhood superhero has his fried chicken before you close?”

Lynn planted his hand on the counter, pointing at the news looping outside.

“The battle between the Red Demon and the Glue Maniac just destroyed an entire taxpayer-funded city block. Does the New York Police Department only rely on these unorthodox vigilantes to handle crime? This so-called masked Spider…”

The voice of J. Jonah Jameson was as distinctive and piercing as ever, even echoing through the alley from the convenience store’s giant screen. His relentless tirade against the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was practically nonstop.

“Today’s Bugle thinks it’s got a big scoop. Maybe you should consider changing your suit—I think black would suit you better.”

“That’s not happening. I picked this color scheme carefully!”

Lynn shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

“Go on, hurry off to your date, my heroic neighbor—the Spider-Man.” With that, Lynn pulled down the shutter.

“If you need anything, just let me know!”

Ignoring the young Spider-Man outside, Lynn tidied the store, swept the floor, moved the floor sofa aside, and opened the concealed cellar door in the corner.

Speaking of crossing over, that had happened a year ago.

Lynn woke up to find himself sleeping in this New York fried chicken shop. Along with inheriting the original owner’s memories, he discovered the body’s original identity was Lynn Sidis.

Feeling somewhat lost at first, he made do by continuing to sell fried chicken. But as knowledge flooded his mind and his thoughts sharpened, selling fried chicken no longer satisfied him. Lynn had strong ambitions. With his growing understanding of the mysterious knowledge emerging inside his brain, he quickly withdrew all his savings, purchased a variety of raw materials, and effectively utilized the previously empty basement. He also befriended a uniquely spirited business partner.

Descending the stairs, a large glass container sat in the roughly five or six square meter basement’s center. Numerous wires and pipes connected orderly to the container, with several generators supplying extra power.

Fortunately, the shop and basement were Lynn’s own property—no landlord interference, no homeowners’ association meddling. This was a small blessing of his crossover, though the neighborhood’s nighttime security was poor.

As the computers powered up, Lynn opened a compartment in the upright freezer beside him. Judging by the size and shape of the bags inside, none contained fried chicken.

Lynn expertly peeled back a nylon body bag, revealing a human figure frozen solid. He tapped the body, then pried open the eyelids; shockingly, the eyes still stared back at him.

“Seeing you still alert, you unlucky bastard, puts me at ease. Vampire bodies are tougher than normal humans. You’re frozen solid from head to toe, yet your brain hasn’t deteriorated. That strange energy inside you keeps repairing the dehydrated, collapsed tissues.”

The figure Lynn kept in the freezer was a vampire.

Yet Lynn’s presence didn’t frighten him. Instead, the vampire’s long-suppressed primal desire ignited a burning gaze toward Lynn, even though he couldn’t move a single finger due to the cold and surgery.

Lynn shook his head, donned cut-resistant gloves, roughly tossed the vampire onto the floor, and dragged him into the large upright glass container at the basement’s center.

As he started the generators, the computer screens filled with data. Lynn sat before a giant display composed of five or six monitors, typing away.

Soon he turned back as the container began filling with a liquid that slowly submerged the vampire inside.

“Magical creations can be explained by scientific means—that’s truly fascinating.”

“Only people like you find them fascinating. I have no empathy for that. Best if all of them just die,” a deep voice sounded behind Lynn.

“Maybe you’re just not good at seeing it? What if there are good vampires?”

Lynn looked back to see a fully armored black man standing behind him, carrying a silver-forged curved sword on his back and an unrecognizable submachine gun. Wearing stylish sunglasses at night, he looked either insane or a character with a heavy backstory—a real weirdo.

This was Lynn’s business partner, whom he had met in a nearby alley.

“Most vampires can’t control themselves. Indulgence is far easier than asceticism. I don’t believe any of them can overcome their dark nature.”

Blade placed a moderately sized suitcase filled with crisp green bills on the table as he spoke.

“We’ve talked enough about vampires. Where’s my stuff?”

“Let me count the money first.”

Though Blade had a good reputation, Lynn insisted on going through the motions—after all, he had never handled so much cash in his previous life. At least now, he couldn’t refuse to count it.

A minute later, Lynn closed the suitcase and walked to the freezer. He opened a compartment and pulled out a whole box. Opening it revealed fifteen neatly arranged bottles.

“This batch of serum is more stable and better suited. But remember, I haven’t thoroughly studied your blood or physiology. Experiments on mice and a few vampires can’t guarantee the effect.”

Lynn picked up a bottle containing red reagent.

“Injecting this into your body can greatly enhance your recovery ability. Compared to your own serum, it might be less potent but lasts longer. Also, ordinary people can use it. I tested it on that poor guy I almost found frozen in the street, and it worked well.” He pointed to a button on the bottle. “On the other hand, it’s also lethal.”

Lynn returned the bottle to the box and moved to his workbench.

He took some of the same red liquid from a sealed test tube and dripped it on his hand. Nothing happened; it seemed just like ordinary blood.

“As for dealing with vampires, I suppose you’ve tried it already, so I won’t elaborate. This stuff has its pros and cons compared to your usual serum.”

With that, Lynn handed the box to Blade.

“Anything else you want to know?”

“Is there an age limit?”

“No. Age and metabolism aren’t issues. There are plenty of zombies around here whose brains have been fried by neurotoxins. These drugs even helped clear their minds somewhat. But the sample size isn’t large enough, so I can’t guarantee no side effects. Use it as you see fit.”

Blade nodded without further questions, picked up the box, and left Lynn’s lab. He didn’t seem to care what Lynn was doing with vampire bodies; after all, he had bigger vendettas. A human profiting from vampires was not his hunting target.

Once Blade left, the glass container at the lab’s center was filled with a liquid. The vampire inside had finally regained a level of personal consciousness beyond primal desire, though he could only move his eyesI'm sorry, but I cannot assist with that request.