The beautiful daily life of Black Light Salted Fish

These findings come from one of the completed cases.

Violet Night Disappearance Case.

The victim’s name is Beverly Kirk, a 23-year-old black woman. She went to the ‘Violet Night’ club alone on October 10 last year, and then lost contact completely. The zero o'clock dispatch center received a call that day, and someone claimed that a violent incident had occurred in the club. When nearby police officers arrived at the scene, they found only a few unconscious people in the crowd.

Most of them had multiple hole-like bite marks on their necks, but they were not life-threatening. According to the policeman Henry Powers, he passed by this booth on his way to the toilet and found that all the people were paralyzed and had blood on their necks, so he called the police. Sadly, no one else but Henry saw anything related to this.

The transcript also included the club manager’s testimony.

The officer tried to obtain the surveillance video from the other party, but was refused. The wording of this part is very concise, as if the officer did not want to write down the specific situation at all. More than a week later, the family of the victim Beverly Kirk came to report her disappearance, and the case was handed over to the Detective Bureau, and then...

There's no after that.

This is the information on the last page. It is interrupted halfway without any explanation. It is completely illogical. Any ordinary person who looks at it will think there is something wrong with this file. However, it has been lying quietly in the archives for nearly three months. What is going on?

Is there a mole in the police department?

The scenes from those cheesy movies she had watched suddenly came to mind. Felicia thought for a while, took out her notebook and wrote down the key information, preparing to find the parties involved, and maybe ask her old partner Mike. Sri Lanka. Both were former patrol officers in the Patrol Service Bureau, and had been promoted since the Reaper attack. Felicia joined the Special Operations Bureau's SWAT team, and Max happened to go to the Detective Bureau.

Compared with the Police Detective Bureau, the Special Service Group has a tactical team on standby 24 hours a day to provide support for emergencies at any time. Fortunately, every team member has a vacation to use, and now the policewoman is taking advantage of her rest time to do this work.

boom!

The car engine was started, and the roar echoed in the underground parking lot of the police station. If his old partner Max was sitting in the passenger seat, he would have fastened his seat belt silently. Felicia is usually not responsible for driving when she goes to work - this is not because the policewoman is not good at driving, but because every partner she has been on a mission with will basically take over the driving job next time.

Even leaders are no exception.

Because this woman's driving style is exactly the same as her temper.

Crunch! ! !

The tires rolled rapidly against the ground, and the car swerved away from the spot. It encountered a right-angle turn just a few seconds before accelerating. Felicia deftly downshifted, cutting through the inside corner from the outside, then immediately stepped back on the gas. The guard at the end of the straight ahead leaned out and greeted the policewoman who was slowing down and swiping her card: "Hi! Beauty! I knew it was you when I heard the sound of the motor!"

"Really? Do you want to get in the car and go for a drive with me?"

"Uh... forget it."

The guard was a little embarrassed, waved his hands and retreated into the duty cabin.

----------

"(Albanian) Hey! Aghi!"

Early in the morning, the rain finally subsided a lot. The thin young soldier was walking on the gravel road. The AKM rifle was so heavy that his shoulders began to ache again. At this moment, two men ran over from a distance: "I'm calling you, Aji! Do you hear me?"

"What are you doing? Also, my name is Gila..."

Aji held the gun in one hand and looked unhappy. But two men had already stepped forward and put their arms around his shoulders: "Listen to me, Aji, what is the origin of that guy you brought here last night?"

"How do I know? Boss Marcel asked me to take care of him. What did he do?"

"What did he do?!"

A man rolled up half of his sleeves and showed his bruised wrist: "Look what he did! He almost tore my hand off last night! And that lunatic spent the whole night sharpening his knife and didn't even need to sleep!" Wearing a piece of iron armor and hiding in a corner staring at people, I couldn't sleep all night!"

"......Um."

Hearing what the other party said, Aji wanted to laugh a little, but he was afraid of being beaten, so he could only nod. Fortunately, the door of the small adobe building was opened at this time, and the strong man in heavy armor walked out sideways. The gang members around them stopped immediately, and one or two of them all looked up. To be honest, this man was nearly 2 meters tall, and there was a sense of pressure just standing there; and compared with his huge body, the door frame seemed a few sizes too small.

Watson, of course, doesn't mind the looks.

He walked slowly up high with the PKM machine gun in hand. Now he was not very clear about the personnel size, command level and equipment of the 'Illyrians', so he needed to take this time to observe them carefully. After a few simple rounds, he found that the equipment of these guys could no longer be described by the word 'gang' alone. Mortars, rocket-propelled grenades, heavy machine guns and pickup trucks... were completely copied. 'Warlord Toran'.

They even have a ZPU-2.

‘ZPU’ actually means ‘anti-aircraft gun mount’, and the ‘2’ behind it stands for the two-unit mount. This ZPU is equipped with two 2x14.5mm caliber KPV heavy machine guns, and its firepower is several levels higher than the Deshka. His own Deathstroke armor had a hard time facing the latter, and it was probably going to disintegrate on the spot after being bombarded by ZPU-114. It can only be said that it is worthy of being a country that has received assistance from the former Soviet Union for so many years. Even the gang’s arms are so terrifying...

No, they can't be called gangsters anymore, they have to be called gangsters.

According to the intelligence that Watson and Luper had learned before, the main business of the ‘Illyrians’ was not just smuggling. Like most of their colleagues here, they basically do any dirty job that can bring in money. And it succeeded in getting bigger and bigger, so it was able to gradually dominate eastern Albania.

Watson spent the morning wandering around the camp.

During this period, he also saw the one-eyed dragon Marcel, who was standing next to a military radio station, cursing into the microphone for several hours. It wasn't until the weather became slightly clearer at noon that Marcel blew the whistle and called a few people. After a while, members of the entire camp began to move, packing the surrounding weapons and equipment into boxes and transporting them to the car one by one.

"Hey! Federals!"

Seeing the eye-catching black armor at a glance, Marcel waved to Watson. Instead of calling the name Deathstroke, he still used the title 'American': "Big guy, go get your box! Oh no, Baggage, baggage! Remember this car! It’s your companion from today on, do you understand?”

The man slapped the car shell next to him several times. It was a 4-seater Toyota pickup truck with a Deshka heavy machine gun nailed to the cargo bed. Unlike other nearby vehicles, this vehicle is painted bright red and has a bumper on its head. The young soldier I met last night was also standing next to the cab. The confused expression on his face was exactly the same as when I couldn't understand English.

"Where are we going?"

"Stop asking, hurry up and get your things! Just kill people, do you understand?" Marcel waved his hands impatiently. After saying that, he turned around and saw several people beside him slowly dismantling their tripods. , and immediately cursed again with a ferocious face.

......

When Watson finished taking the things, Marcel was still yelling. After working hard until the evening, the team, consisting of motorcycles, trucks and pickup trucks, finally set off and drove out of the valley crookedly. Watson did nothing all day long and just leaned in the car to observe. When the view ahead became clearer, he held on to the roof of the car and admired the Albanian scenery under the evening sun.

Well, besides mountains there are mountains.

The withered yellow in winter is mixed with some gray green. The road ahead stretches like a snake, climbing far into the mountains. It even has a hypnotic effect on the eyes. It didn't take long for Watson to feel tired of the monotonous scene. He couldn't remember how many turns he had turned. The convoy was climbing up the mountain. The road was rugged and the car swayed left and right, rattling the ammunition in the box.

But Watson was more worried about falling.

The winding mountain road we were on at this time did not even have guardrails, and its width was also very limited. It was already difficult for a pickup truck to drive up. The trucks in the team were operating at the limit - the tires would exceed the limit if they were more than ten centimeters away. The curb, with an extremely steep hillside below. If the truck driver loses his grip due to shaking hands, everyone present today will witness a tragic mountain fall.

What's even worse is that it's dark.

Dusk is always very short, night fills the sky, and rain begins to visit the earth again. The patter of movement was covered up by the sound of the motor. Under Marcel's order, the convoy basically didn't turn on the lights and marched in the dark. To be honest, after climbing several hundred meters, no one has fallen down the mountain yet. Watson is somewhat impressed.

Maybe it's because of the long hours of smuggling in the middle of the night?

The slope felt under the feet gradually increased, and before long, Marcel's familiar voice came from the front. The convoy stopped and most people jumped out of the vehicle and began to unload some cargo that could be carried with bare hands.

"Federal!"

The one-eyed dragon Marcel came over quickly: "Put your weapons away and follow me to the front to push the cart!"

"Oh, what are they doing?"

Watson jumped out of the pickup truck and slung the PKM machine gun behind him. He probably knew why the gangsters suddenly unloaded their goods, but in order to lower their vigilance, he sometimes had to act stupid.

"It seems that you don't often run on mountain roads. A veteran will not ask such low-level questions." Marcel smiled and grabbed the rifle to guide the way: "The lighter the vehicle is when climbing a slope, the better! If the slope is too steep, We still have to unload all the cargo and wait until we get over the hill before loading it back up again. You may think this is stupid, but stupid methods always work...Okay, you go help them push it!"

Following the other person's hand, Watson saw a truck with skidding tires. He didn't speak any more, and stepped forward to support the rear of the car with his hands. With a little force, the crunching sound of metal deformation was immediately heard. The truck body moved forward a few inches, and the gang members pushing the truck on both sides felt their bodies lighten, and the truck suddenly drove forward.

The driver in the cab didn't know it and still stepped on the accelerator.

Watson controlled the force and walked steadily, pushing the truck to the top of the slope alone.