The beautiful daily life of Black Light Salted Fish

The sound of sharpening knives was heard in the room all night.

By the time the gang members were kicked awake by their boss, and one by two they were trudging down the stairs, Deathstroke was already sitting astride the wall of the hall with his golden sword. The thick armor on his body was bathed in the sun, and the edges reflected sharp edges, as if this guy not only sharpened his sword last night, but also polished all his armor. Several yellow bullet chains hung on his legs like snakes, which was very dazzling.

"(Albanian) How did this guy get down so fast?"

"...I didn't seem to hear any movement in his room last night."

"He can't be there, right? Hahaha..."

The gang members talked freely and walked past Watson one after another. This big guy has long been famous in various small circles, and every relevant information will be repeated many times, such as his extraordinary energy, infinite strength, possessing a high-tech armor and not understanding Albanian.

Watson tilted his head and continued to act stupid.

In just 24 hours, the once unfamiliar Albanian language has changed its taste in my ears. It's like a person who hasn't spoken his hometown dialect for a long time will gradually start to remember it after returning to his hometown for more than half a month. There was a distant but familiar feeling of rawness in his mind, something he was familiar with, it had been the same the last time he learned Swahili.

Call me stupid?

Okay, I remember you.

The cold gaze passed through the eyepiece and rested on the back of a gang member. Marcel held a banquet last night, and among the hundreds of members of the Illyrians, only the top brass could enter the hall and serve at the table. Everyone was drinking and bragging at the table, and Watson in the corner had memorized all the faces.

Marcel left the house early in the morning.

He didn't have much taboos about Watson. He climbed into the jeep while making a phone call. What he said was probably about the gathering place and time, as well as some personnel and supplies. This guy's style of making phone calls was extremely rough. In addition to swearing, he also used swear words, as if there was some kind of enemy on the other end of the phone. It completely subverted Watson's impression of watching gangster movies.

Dark room, exaggerated sofa, elegant suit, deep voice...

"I'll make him an offer he can't refuse..."

Then, the lighter clicked to light the cigar, and the dim light filled the air with heaviness and depression. A pair of sparkling green eyes lit up on the man's knees. It was a well-behaved kitten, lying quietly, enjoying the caress of rough hands...

fart!

Now the one-eyed dragon was cursing again.

The lazy men who had eaten and drank enough continued to dilly-dally until Marcel pulled out the knife and reluctantly moved. Of course Watson doesn't care, he is ready to go. After more than an hour of tossing, the convoy finally drove out of the residential area. Watson is now covered with a tarpaulin and sitting on the back of the pickup truck like a large cargo.

"Hey! Pretty baby, do you want to play with us?"

Although they were solemnly warned not to cause trouble, the gang members, who were full of sleep and full of energy, still harassed passers-by. The screams of several women were heard, and then the group of people laughed, and the convoy was suddenly filled with a happy atmosphere. The strange screams of the men did not stop until they completely left the city of Berat.

Watson was finally able to lift the tarp.

After driving more than ten kilometers, Marcel began to direct his men to reinstall weapons, and the old Deshka heavy machine gun returned to its familiar position. The gang members were still in high spirits. They continued to brag about their performance in bed last night and laughed heartily among themselves, just like a group of ordinary men having fun.

But Watson didn't think so.

The expressions on these people's faces were no different from when they tortured the prisoners yesterday.

He quietly held the heavy machine gun, suddenly feeling a little ridiculous in his heart. I recalled what I saw when I secretly lifted up the cloth on the way in and out of the city: after leaving the main cracked cement road, there was a dilapidated stone pavement under the wheels; there were many shops along the street, and a few old faces. Neither sad nor happy, just like a sculpture in a daze. In addition, there are some pedestrians, most of whom are elderly and walking in a hurry. Their movements give Watson a feeling...

That's running around.

Precisely because the time to peek behind the curtain was very short and the scenes he saw were very few, Watson had a profound memory.

At this time, the contrast in this scene of everyone laughing was a bit strong, but strangely it didn't appear to be that disharmonious. The eyes of the people in front of him were filled with smiles and a bit of hysteria, but looking beyond this layer, Watson felt that it was the completely opposite emotion. He noticed one of the men, who was on the edge of the small chat circle and didn't attract much attention, so he smiled and stopped.

Completely restrained, completely calm. At this time, someone suddenly raised his arms and said something passionately. Everyone started laughing, so he laughed too and reacted quickly. Watson turned his head and looked at Aji in the cab. The young soldier did not participate in any conversation and just stared blankly at the mountains and forests. The short-cut head is round and big, which is in sharp contrast with his thin shoulders - this time it is really a bit out of proportion.

If he hadn't spoken, Watson might have thought that the other person was a mentally retarded deaf-mute.

This is Albania?

…This is also Albania.

Damn it, why should I suddenly pay attention to whether a group of bandits are happy or not? Watson shook his head and began to imagine the scene in which he killed all the people in front of him, especially the one-eyed dragon Marcel - judging from the real mission received by Deathstroke, this is very likely to happen, but now not the right time yet.

Amid Marcel's loud bombardment, the heavily armed convoy finally started moving again, heading towards the port of Farola on the western coast.

......

"see it?"

It was another sunny dusk, and the red pickup truck was parked on the slope. Marcel shook the telescope in his hand at Watson: "You don't think we only have this few people, do you? I want to tell you, there are more The troops are still on the way. Don't cause trouble when we meet again. I'll take you back to meet our boss!"

"Row."

Watson said one word and continued to hold the telescope. A large group of people gathered in the distance, roughly estimated to number more than five hundred. There was not much difference in weapons and equipment, but they all had some strange symbols painted on their bodies with white paint, a bit like some kind of totem. According to Cyclops, these marks will be used to identify friend or foe. The Illyrians have been preparing for the westward offensive for a long time, and they are not the only organization to launch the attack. Several large gangs throughout the east have also been secretly launched.

And there is a powerful force.

Civil war and unrest have caused a large number of Albanians to migrate abroad. This can be called "migration", because nearly one-third of the entire country's residents have slipped out. Every household that can run away will run away, and those who can't will try their best to send young people away. Greece, Italy, Rome, France...many local Albanian families have a very important economic income every year, and that is remittances from 'wanderers' abroad.

Given the history, distribution and business scale of Albanian gangs abroad, a considerable part of these remittances are living expenses sent home by gang members.

outrageous.

These people will also become an important force in this western offensive, and the entire east is actually under siege. Some people have even dispersed and sneaked into those eastern cities, waiting for the official offensive to begin. As for the issue of dividing the spoils, several organizations inside and outside have already negotiated. Everyone has set their own goals and each has his own way. Those who are more powerful like the Illyrians can take over the Port of Falola.

In fact, this is almost one of the largest 'oil fields'.

Further north from the Port of Farola is the capital Tirana. That area and its surrounding areas are more profitable, but no one is interested in it for the time being. Although the foundation of the new government is unstable, it still has a decent regular army. Especially in this kind of large-scale fight, it is a slap in the face, and it is impossible not to stand up and take a stand. At present, the power of the entire Westward Alliance has been divided into several groups, so let's forget it.

If you want to do it, do it quietly.

Of course, there are forces entrenched in the capital, Tirana. Not surprisingly, after the western offensive ends successfully and the situation becomes relatively stable, the various forces that have divided the cake will want to extend their tentacles. But all this has basically nothing to do with Watson, and his mission will be over by then.

Right now, among the crowd, young Bin...

Ah no, Aji carried the paint bucket and brush and began to paint the armor on Watson. The young soldier seemed to be interested. He twisted his wrist and began to apply paint on the helmet again. Now Marcel has led his men to join the large army, and he ran to ask for credit from his boss. Watson, a giant man in armor, predictably attracted onlookers.

The gang members who came all the way were very excited. They started to use their skills one by one and began to brag about Deathstroke's 'superhuman' fighting performance. Suddenly, these guys seemed to really regard Watson as one of their own, and the proud expressions on their faces were like their own brothers who suddenly made millions.

Watson enjoyed their boasting and continued to pretend to be stupid and eavesdrop.

Aji fiddled with it for a while, and finally took a truck rearview mirror. The Deathstroke armor in the mirror had white stripes spreading from the shoulders to the leg armor, covering almost half of the parts; each stripe maintained an almost identical look. Distance, neatly, looks a bit like a zebra. However, Aji painted a large skull on the breastplate. Although the style is very simple, it unexpectedly matches well.

"My brother taught me before..."

Aji had a smile on his face. This was the first time Watson saw the smiling face of this young soldier. But midway through his words, the boy stopped immediately: "Oh, I forgot you couldn't understand."

After thinking about it, Watson gave a thumbs up.

The boy laughed again.

"Hey! Deathstroke!"

At this moment, Marcel came over with his pockets carelessly: "Come with me to meet the boss!"