The beautiful daily life of Black Light Salted Fish

It’s been a bumpy ride.

The jeep stopped in front of a cave. Watson jumped out of the car and looked at the complex undulating terrain in front of him. The entire Balkan Peninsula is about 55 square kilometers, of which more than seven-tenths are mountainous. This is obviously influenced by the end of the Alps, in addition to which there are many mountain peaks, resulting in significant climatic characteristics.

In places like Albania, which is cut in half by a long mountain range, more than 90% of the annual precipitation is concentrated in winter. Moreover, the interlacing of mountains has created many small basins, coupled with thousands of small abandoned bunkers, it is easy to engage in hidden activities.

Several beams of light came immediately.

Two young men wearing raincoats appeared from behind the slope. They were probably disturbed from their sleep and looked unhappy at the moment. Salazar walked up to him, chatted with him in Albanian for a while, and then shook his head at Watson: "Okay, pick up your things and follow me in."

Watson hung the smaller weapon box on his back, then lifted one in one hand and followed Salazar in stride. The two young men were muttering to him, but he didn't pay attention because he couldn't understand them after all. We have absorbed so many people before, some speak German, some speak English and French, and there are even a few Russian speakers in the mercenary team of Shanhuan Company. But things like Albanian are indeed a bit too remote.

And...the people around here have too many guns, right?

Now the two of them entered a long and narrow valley, and many simple sentry posts could be seen on the stone walls on both sides. As for the things around him, they were all firearms. Dozens of AKMs were stacked on the tarpaulin, and there were wooden shelves next to them filled with mortar tubes and ammunition. Watson even saw a light tank turret. The long barrel was used as a clothes rack. There were holes everywhere in the tower body, and there were many places repaired with miscellaneous materials. The model could no longer be seen.

There was a continuous sound of metal colliding in the ammunition box. Many people had woken up and turned their attention to Watson.

"What? Is it weird?"

Seeing 'Death Knell' looking around, Salazar lit another cigarette for himself: "This is Albania. There are more guns than people. You didn't see the turmoil last year. Almost all the national arsenals were emptied. Anyway, there’s no need to worry about running out of bullets here.”

"I'm worried about communication difficulties."

In the dim vision, more and more eyes were looking at him nearby, and most of them were malicious. But perhaps because of the oppressive power of Deathstroke's armor, no one spoke up, and no one stepped forward to provoke. Salazar glanced back and saw Watson walking steadily, with an inexplicable look in the corner of his eyes: "You don't have to worry about this. It's an international organization. If you want to do business, how can you do business if you don't know a few words in English? Haha. !”

The word ‘international organization’ is very strong.

The bald man was clearly joking.

This is a gang stronghold.

Or, it should be called a 'bandit stronghold'.

In fact, with this scale of firepower, if there was less smuggling, this place would be almost the same as a rebel camp. When thinking about the strategy, Luper emphasized two things: one is to be fast enough, and the other is to be conspicuous enough. There's nothing more dramatic than a battle scene, and Watson's Deathstroke has to show off some of his superpowers so that the news can reach the Lannister's ears.

To do this, he cannot be involved in a small-scale firefight.

Therefore, a large number of small and medium-sized gangs have been screened out, and there are only a few options left.

The gang in front of them, known as the ‘Illyrians’, is the largest smuggling gang in East Albania. This group of people has been planning to move westward for a while. After all, Albania is connected to the Adriatic Sea in the west, has a long coastline, and the main trade seaports and economic centers are towards the west. Therefore, if you want to continue to develop, you can only choose to invade the territory of other gangs. And the new government has just been established for less than a year, and it is too late to reestablish order. How can it possibly spend so much effort sending troops to suppress bandits?

This is what Watson and Luper considered. Anyway, this kind of gangsters fight each other just to fight against the gangsters. It doesn't matter which side of the gang dies, and there won't be such a big psychological burden.

Watson was mentally distracted, while Salazar took the lead into a large tent.

A bald man wearing a camouflage military jacket stood up. He had bronze skin and strong muscles. His exposed chest and arms were covered with scars. His face was even more eye-catching, with one eye blind and a slender black eyepatch covering it, which immediately made the fierce aura become more intense. After a few words with Salazar, the one-eyed man came to Watson with his hands on his hips and spoke in broken English:

"American?"

When Watson didn't speak, the man pointed at himself: "Marcel! I'm Marcel! You... you are, Death... (you, you It’s death…)”

"Deathstroke." Salazar added next to him, translating again in Albanian.

"Huh?"

Marcel let out a strange cry and started circling Watson with his hands behind his back. The opponent was half a head shorter than himself in armor, and Watson saw the provocation in his one eye. After the man made two turns, his eyes continued to scan Watson back and forth, pretending to be an officer inspecting the soldiers.

Bang!

The two ammunition boxes fell to the ground at the same time.

The sound was so loud that other people near the tent turned their heads and looked over, and some even reached out to grab their weapons. Marcel stared at Watson's eyes behind the mask and suddenly grinned, showing his big yellow teeth full of cigarette smoke: "Good...Very good! (Very good!)"

......

A few minutes later.

After receiving his reward, Salazar put the money in his pocket, gave Watson a look, and then stood up to say goodbye. The leader, Marcel, pulled over a young soldier, muttered a few words, and asked him to lead Deathstroke to his residence. Not far out of the tent, a woman's cry, accompanied by music, entered her ears from the corner. Watson looked sideways and saw that it was another big shed.

Unlike the surroundings, this greenhouse is brightly lit. Several figures were swaying behind the curtain, looking like they were having a carnival party. Occasionally there was the sound of glass colliding, and as the distance got closer, a faint smell of alcohol began to float in the air.

But he knew it wasn't a rave.

Even if it is, the carnival only belongs to the men inside.

Now is not the time.

Watson turned back and followed the young soldier. The short-haired boy in front of me was about 15 years old, with an obviously stunted figure. He was carrying a long AKM rifle and swaying as he walked. I don't know why, but looking at the other person's back, Watson suddenly thought of a child he had met before, standing on the bus, carrying a big schoolbag - that schoolbag was really big, just like this gun. Same.

But that child... at least has enough to eat, right?

The young soldier did not speak during the entire process. He took Watson into a room in a two-story adobe building, shouted a few words inside and left. There were two men in the room. When they saw this tall, muscular man in armor pushing the door open, they all sat up from the bed, and a series of jabbering Albanian words came out of their mouths.

Watson ignored them and walked straight to the corner.

"Hey!"

One of the men took two steps forward and reached out to grab Watson's upper arm. The next second, the cold iron palm pinched the guy's wrist. Watson exerted a slight force, and the man screamed. His companion subconsciously wanted to touch the gun, but immediately put his hands in front of his chest to show that he meant no harm.

After a stalemate for more than ten seconds, the groaning man was pushed away, and Watson continued to walk inside.

He had no intention of touching the empty bed, as his current weight would crush it. The heavy ammunition box was used as a chair, and Watson sat on the stove and began to organize his equipment. Two machine guns were taken out one after another, followed by a Gurkha scimitar, and then a long string of yellow-orange bullets.

The two roommates in the room looked at each other for a few times, but in the end they didn't dare to say a word. The young soldier probably said something about the language barrier. The two guys looked at each other for a while and then went back to bed to sleep.

Snapped!

The lights go out.

Watson didn't even take off his armor. He was holding the handle of the knife with one hand and touching the blade with the other. His eyes behind the mask were fixed on the man's neck. A few minutes later, a man with his back to Watson quietly turned back. From his perspective, his eyes seemed to glow red in the darkness, like a scene from a nightmare.

death stare.jpg

The man trembled for a few times, then turned around, daring not to make any move again.

Huh~his~!

He suddenly heard a strange sound, somewhere between breathing and gasping. Men are familiar with this. Some drunkards in gangs will make this heavy breathing sound when they close their mouths when they are drunk. But now, the sound clearly comes from the guy behind. The man was wearing a helmet, so his breath sprayed out and scratched the metal surface, which made it even more scary... Are you crazy? Do you want to kill me? You definitely want to stab me while I'm sleeping, right?

Watson certainly did this on purpose.

Deathstroke's terrifying reputation will be spread through the mouths of these two unlucky guys tomorrow morning. He puffed up his lungs, taking in another large cloud of air and letting it out through his nose in firm, even strokes. Now, not only the guy in front of him, but also the guy next to him who was rubbing his wrists and trying to breathe air began to pretend to be dead.

The devil gasps.mp3

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Meanwhile, Federal New York.

"Good evening, haven't you gone back yet? Do you want to have a drink together later?"

"No, thank you, I have something else to do."

As night fell in the New York Police Department, Felicia strode down the stairs and entered the archives room on the first floor of the police station.

That night when she was attacked by a horde of Reapers, her impression of the world was torn to pieces. It's one thing to hear it from others, it's another thing to see it with your own eyes. Since then, the policewoman has been obsessed with metahumans. The last vampire incident proved that there is obviously a shady ecology under New York.

As the Internet gradually becomes more popular, almost all industries are becoming informatized, and the police are no exception. As early as more than 20 years ago, the New York Police Department had begun converting old paper files into electronic versions and integrating them into the latest central database. It just so happened that Penny, an old classmate from the police academy, worked in the network department. Felicia worked hard for a while, and the other party simply agreed to provide convenience.

Of course, this matter cannot be made public.

After spending dozens of hours in the archives, this stubborn woman also made new discoveries.