The rotten-toothed strong man Locke sneered as he hoisted the unconscious Bill over his shoulder like a chicken and was about to step into the elevator.
Before he could enter the elevator, a lamp in the room suddenly began to blink with a dazzling red light.
Nicole and the strong man's expressions changed imdiately. Nicole hurriedly turned on the computer screen in the room. After quickly typing in a string of password numbers, a row of surveillance images appeared on the screen.
The images showed Ludmila and her group in the basent. As 'locals', Nicole and the rotten-toothed strong man Locke were not unfamiliar with their clothing—the rcenaries from Moran International in Russia.
"Damn it, I knew we shouldn't have rented the manor to those brutes for quick cash. Trouble was bound to happen sooner or later!" Locke said angrily as he punched the table.
He actually cracked the marble tabletop with his punch, which spread out from his fist in all directions.
"Hmph, this is actually good. The organization is in need of strong warriors for research, and we rarely have an opportunity to capture soone from the Russian Army," Nicole said with a cold laugh and entered a command on the keyboard.
"But if we lay a hand on them, it will definitely attract the attention of the Russian officials. The basent is right below us, and once the military starts investigating..."
Nicole coldly interrupted Locke, "I've long wanted to leave this godforsaken place, guarding an outpost that's been deserted for decades. Do we have to be fringe figures here for the rest of our lives just because of my damn identity? Locke, go prepare the helicopter. We'll take these spoils of war and head to the next stronghold."
"Understood."
"Before we leave, rember to blow up this hotel."
"What about the people in the hotel?" Locke asked, surprised.
Nicole gave him a perplexed look, "Of course, they'll be blown up along with all the other evidence."
"But the hotel owners are your distant cousins," Locke hesitated to ask.
Without any expression, Nicole stated, "They will be honored to sacrifice their lives for a sacred cause."
...
As Nicole entered commands on the computer, dozens of ters below, in the abandoned outpost, all the lights suddenly turned red, spinning wildly, and the steel gate at the entrance began to slowly close.
At the sa ti, a light blue mist started spraying out from the corners of all the rooms, quickly filling the basent with a strange odor.
"Damn it, it's a high concentration of ****! Put on your masks and retreat!"
"Boss, the iron door is locked!"
"Chekhov, Chekhov, do you hear ? We're under attack!" Only static hissed on the other end of the communicator.
Even without the static, Chekhov was powerless at the mont. The team at the entrance of the underground passageway was now unable to fend for itself.
After being caught off guard, the mob in the manor had regrouped, surrounding the entrance room and a fierce fire exchange broke out between the two sides.
"Fk! We got the wrong place! Call for reinforcents from the company!" Chekhov swore as he saw from a window that the enemy had dragged out two female soldiers from another basent, their uniforms torn and ragged.
...
The tactical mask was not a real gas mask and could only filter the air to a certain extent; it couldn't block the high purity **** at all.
This gas, capable of rendering a person unconscious, quickly invaded the bodies of Ludmila and her teammates. The old, massive iron gate seed to be locked by so kind of air pressure device and was completely immovable. With a thickness of over ten centiters, not even a grenade could make a dent.
In less than half a minute, Ludmila and the team mbers with her had fainted behind the big iron door.
The corridor was filled with the pungent sll of ****, as dim red lights flashed crazily, accompanied by the urgent beeping of alarms.
A "ding" rang out clearly in this setting, extraordinarily distinct. From inside the room at the end, the gates of an old-fashioned elevator slowly opened, and two people wearing gas masks stepped out.
One was tall and curvaceous, and the other was burly, with muscles bulging. Although their faces were obscured, their postures and movents revealed they were none other than Nicole and Locke.
Nicole used a key to unlock the room's large door. Locke stooped as he walked out. Seeing the rcenaries scattered and sprawled out in the corridor, he let out an eerie, muffled chuckle from behind his mask.
"Don't waste ti; take them!" Nicole kicked the Western man who was only in boxer shorts to ensure he hadn't woken up, then coldly told Locke.
Locke proceeded down the corridor, lifting the unconscious rcenaries as if they were re chicks. One in each hand.
Each rcenary, considering his own body weight and the equipnt he carried, weighed close to two hundred jin. In Locke's hands, they seed weightless, like sponge dummies, an arm under each of his arms and one in each hand. In just one trip back and forth, he had moved all of Ludmila's team into the elevator, then casually threw in the unconscious man in boxers.
The eight of them, stacked on one another, occupied most of the originally spacious elevator, forming a small mountain of human flesh.
Locke then took out several brick-like plastic explosives from the backpack he was carrying. He placed them in the basent corridor at intervals, setting the tir for each.
Having completed all this, Nicole and Locke finally re-entered the elevator.
The elevator doors closed, and amidst the creaking of tal friction, it slowly ascended.
Less than ten hours later, a certain departnt in Russia received a shocking report.
A famous commander from Moran International, Mother Bear Ludmila, leading two squads, had failed in a hostage rescue mission. The rescue personnel dispatched by Moran International fought off the mob and rescued a team of rcenaries. Upon entering an unexpectedly discovered basent for a search, the basent suddenly exploded, causing heavy losses for Moran International.
At the sa ti, a small hotel directly above the basent also exploded, killing six tourists, including the hotel owners.
After a head count, none of the bodies of the rcenaries led by Ludmila were found. They had mysteriously disappeared.
"Mysteriously disappeared?! Were they taken away by demons?! Do you expect to report that to His Excellency the President?! There's no such thing as a mysterious disappearance in this world!"
Major General Vaghnief slamd the table hard, thundering at the operatives before him: "You have twenty-four hours. Even if you have to comb through every inch of the site, you must find useful information! Don't tell this is so mystery event!"
No matter where, a leader's anger always gets things done, especially when that leader is backed by one of the world's most powerful nations and commands a group of true elites.
They didn't need twenty-four hours; within eight hours, they indeed found so useful information.
The two explosion sites were connected through the elevator. The hotel owner's cousin had co to Ukraine six months ago and had been living in the hotel, but her body was not found at the scene.
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