"A dog's nose is quite sharp to be able to find its way here. Unfortunately, no matter how smart a hound is, it's just a dog!" A blond man wearing a top hat and coat sat on the sofa with a glass of red wine in his hand. His long and powerful fingers swirled the glass leisurely.
"…" Opposite the sofa sat a dark-skinned man who looked like a rock.
At the door.
Someone pressed the three long and one short doorbell as a secret signal.
Before the blond man and the dark-skinned man could react, the person outside opened the door automatically with a key.
This was an old Caucasian man with a red nose and belly. He had a balding hairstyle that even his toes could not be seen. In Europe and America, this kind of person wouldn't even make a splash if thrown into the sea of people. Apart from his eyes that were as fat as a line and sometimes emitted a sharp light, which was slightly surprising, this balding old man looked completely useless.
Seeing who it was, the arrogant blond man quickly sat up straight, put down his glass, and slightly lifted his hat to salute the balding old man.
The dark-skinned man who looked like a rock.
He also stood up and nodded to the other party.
"Haha, my dear children, let's relax. Although those hounds have very sensitive noses, they can't do anything to me, a true hunter. Ahahaha, even if I were ten years older, I still wouldn't be caught. I'm Frank, the white fox. " The balding old man closed the door and walked to the liquor cabinet in the hall. He poured himself a glass of whiskey. "Let's celebrate. We've successfully completed a daring mission today and earned a commission that many mercenaries don't even dare to dream of. Let them be envious!"
"Cheers, Dad!" The blond man raised his glass high and laughed. "You're the best. I've always believed that Frank Dad is the best!"
"Fitch, your words make me feel twenty years younger, ahaha!" The balding old man who called himself Frank drank his whiskey in one gulp and looked at the dark-skinned man who sat still on the sofa. "Greg, you don't want a drink?"
"No." The dark-skinned man shook his head. "Sorry, I don't want to touch a drop of alcohol before it's really safe."
"You're too nervous, child." Frank, who had a Mediterranean hairstyle, shook his head. "You don't know, but in this country, whether it's us whites or you blacks, all foreigners are respectfully referred to as foreigners. And as foreigners, we all enjoy special privileges, the highest and best privileges, understand, child? In this country, you will find that it is safer than anywhere else in the world, even your home! "
"Forgive him, Old Frank. Greg is still a newcomer who just debuted two years ago." The arrogant golden-haired man smiled and raised his glass. "He's doing a good job as long as he doesn't pee his pants like those rookies. You can't ask more of him!"
"…" The dark-skinned man just sat there like a rock, not bothering to argue.
"Dear Greg, I'm very optimistic about you. Although you've only been a mercenary for two years, you have a body as strong as a rhinoceros and a keen sense of smell like a hyena. These are enough to make you a powerful and formidable mercenary. Most importantly, you have a heart as vigilant as a mouse. This is a special talent that ordinary mercenaries can't train. I dare say, if anyone becomes your enemy, it's really the worst thing to do. " Old Frank, who was known as the white fox, poured himself another glass of wine. As he drank, he raised his glass to the dark-skinned man. "My child, in any corner of the world, whether it's Europe or Africa, or even the Middle East where there are endless wars, it's necessary to be vigilant. This is the basic rule that we mercenaries rely on to survive. But here, it's completely different. This is the safest place in the world!"
"You're right, old man. This place is as safe as heaven!" The golden-haired man laughed wildly. "If it wasn't for our mission today, can you imagine that this city hasn't had a street shooting for ten years? I feel that the people here are easier to shoot than target practice! The people here have never experienced war, and the peaceful life has worn away all their vigilance. In other words, the people here lack a sense of crisis. Even the children in Africa can't compare. "
"If I retire one day, I must live here." Old Frank shrugged his shoulders. "Only by settling down here will I truly feel safe. Let's have a toast, my child. For a mercenary who lives on the edge of a knife every day, this city, ah no, it can be said that this country is really too beautiful! "
"Cheers!" The golden-haired man happily drained his glass.
"I have a feeling that the first shot during the day didn't hit the target." The dark-skinned man furrowed his brows. "I saw a person jump in the rearview mirror. He jumped in mid-air."
"So I fired another shot." The golden-haired man took off his hat. "Please don't doubt the marksmanship that I'm most proud of. Thank you!"
"I'm saying that that kind of reaction isn't something that an ordinary person can have." The dark-skinned man was silent.
Because.
He realized that he couldn't convince his companion at all.
"You're also very talented, Fitch. You're my best successor. Your 0.4 second shooting record is only a little slower than me back then." White Fox Frank laughed. "When those old and stubborn cowboys all died, I realized that in this era, fast shooters are almost extinct."
"There are still fast shooters, and even those who use their fists haven't been eliminated, right?" The golden-haired man deliberately looked at the dark-skinned man's hands as he spoke, his eyes full of mockery.
Then, he and Frank with the Mediterranean hairstyle laughed together.
Just as they were laughing proudly, the dark-skinned man suddenly widened his eyes. Because, he realized that, on the balcony, there was an additional shadow. This shadow stayed there quietly, listening for who knows how long.
The dark-skinned man jumped up, like a tank that was about to crush the enemy, and rushed to the balcony outside the hall.
The fist broke through space.
With a dull sound of wind, it blasted forward.
But this killing punch that could knock a wild bull to the ground stopped in an instant.
The shadow casually reached out and easily blocked the dark-skinned man's full-powered blow.
The dark-skinned man's face was instantly filled with fear. He knew very well how strong he was, and he also knew the lethality of his punch. But, the brute force iron fist that could directly blow a human's head was not only easily blocked by the enemy, but the feeling that the fist transmitted back was a heart-chilling pain.
Even if it hit an impenetrable wall.
There wouldn't be this kind of bone-shattering pain …
Danger!
The dark-skinned man quickly retreated, but before he could move his feet, he discovered that the enemy's foot was already in front of his face.
Faster than when he had charged, the dark-skinned man flew into the air, his whole body flying like a meteor into the hall. He flew more than ten meters, smashed heavily into the wall, and then bounced back to the ground. Blood, teeth, and various pieces of flesh were scattered all over the floor.
"Dear Greg, the era of the fist is over, now it's the era of the gun." The golden-haired man, Fitch, was still holding the wine glass in his right hand, but his left hand, which was originally in his pocket, had turned into a pistol with lightning speed. The muzzle of the silencer was pointed accurately at the shadow that was slowly advancing on the balcony, and a little flame was spat out. "Watch my correct demonstration!"
Thud!
The shadow's head tilted slightly, and the bullet that had been aimed at the space between his eyebrows flew past his hair.
Missed? The golden-haired man, Fitch, had a familiar feeling that he had missed. He pressed the muzzle down slightly, and quickly fired another shot.
This time, it hit accurately.
Right in the heart.
Ding!
A little spark flew.
The shadow that had been shot acted as if nothing had happened, and continued to stride forward.
"Damn it, he has a steel plate in his chest." The golden-haired man, Fitch, cried out involuntarily. On the other side, the eyes of the balding old man, Frank, were now sharper than needles. He had completely sobered up from his drunken stupor. He threw away the wine glass, which was still in mid-air, but in less than half a second, his hands had already pulled out two guns from his waist tag. "China Kung Fu!"
Just as he raised his hands to fire forward, the shadow disappeared, and in the blink of an eye, appeared behind him.
Hands wearing white gloves.
Reaching out from behind.
Pressing down on the balding old man's head. "Correct, too bad there's no prize!"
In the next second, this old fellow who called himself White Fox, with his big balding head, turned in another direction. His face was facing the back, the back of his head in front of him. His eyes bulged out, and he believed that he had never opened them so wide in his life. The enemy was right in front of him, but he could no longer see him. In that instant, his pupils remained endless fear, just like the current golden-haired man, Fitch.
"Oh my god, oh my god!"
The golden-haired man, Fitch, madly rushed towards the door. Before he could take a step, he was shocked to find that his fallen comrade, Greg, had already beaten him to the ground.
The shadow disappeared again, and when he appeared again, he flashed like smoke in front of the door that the dark-skinned Greg had almost reached, as if he had been standing there since the beginning. The dark-skinned Greg's body twisted like a python, and he inconceivably fell backwards, landing hard on the floor and rolling backwards at the same time. The golden-haired man, Fitch, who didn't have this kind of talent, was horrified to find that his body was being carried by inertia. He didn't even have time to react before he had already rushed over. Then, his collar tightened, and his whole body was lifted up by the shadow. Beside his ear, he heard a voice like that of the Grim Reaper. "I hate it the most when people point guns at me!"
"Ah!"
What he wanted to shout might have been mercy, or what the hell …
Fitch felt that before he could express his thoughts, a huge force had turned his whole body upside down, upside down and feet up. His vision went black, and his whole consciousness was drowned by the pain of his skull being smashed and his liver being torn to pieces.
The dark-skinned Greg, who had fallen to the floor, discovered that his once handsome comrade, Fitch, only had half a face left.
To be precise, it was half a head.
The other half had already turned into countless pieces of flesh and blood. Amidst the strange mixture of red and white blood and brain matter, a pair of bulging eyes, filled with boundless horror, stared at him in death.
If he had a chance to choose again in life.
Greg dared to swear.
For the rest of his life, he would never step into this country that Frank's dad said was the safest in the world! It was true that the civilians of this country didn't have guns. Many people did indeed view foreigners as superior beings, with both respect and fear. However, this seemingly harmless country had countless mysteries, just like tonight, where the Grim Reaper had appeared out of nowhere!
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