The beautiful daily life of Black Light Salted Fish

"Reporter? Are you here?"

Watson felt a little amused: "What do you want to find here? Big news?"

"No! I was sold here!" The woman scratched her hair vigorously, her expression looking very broken: "I used to work with my team in France. You may have heard that a biological weapons incident occurred at the Umbrella branch in Paris last year. News stations all over the world are sending reporters there because of the leak!”

Well, the two of us co-authoring it are somewhat related, right?

Afraid that he wouldn't believe it, Jimola took two steps closer, his tone becoming more and more urgent: "We wanted to catch exclusive news at that time, you should know that, right? Reporters all do this. So one night, I ran to investigate a Government officials were just following him to look for opportunities to take secret photos, but I went a little off track and accidentally broke into the gang's territory. They caught me, and then I was transported here a while ago."

You are really brave, dare to infiltrate the territory of the Paris gang at night?

No, why does it seem like I’ve seen this scene before somewhere? Watson thought for a while and realized that he had seen an action movie called "Taken" in his previous life. It seemed to be about the daughter of a retired agent father who went to Paris to travel and was kidnapped by an Albanian human trafficker group. In the end, the agent father rushed to Paris. The story of killing a girl to the extreme to save her daughter.

"Why should I trust you to pay me?"

Watson actually didn't completely believe what the woman said. Who knows if the other party was sent by Marcel or Figueroa to test him? It's obvious that these two guys definitely don't trust themselves, so it's possible for them to pull off such disgusting tricks. But no matter what, Watson is about to break up unilaterally anyway. This kind of testing method is not painful for him, but it is still somewhat interesting. It doesn't matter if he tolerates it for a few more days.

Female reporters are still there, trying to prove that they have enough financial ability to pay. Watson listened for a while and realized that this girl's family background was nothing special at all, so he lost interest: "It seems that you are a person who is very good at seizing opportunities, well... reporters are indeed very good at seizing opportunities, continue Keep up, ma'am, maybe you'll see a miracle in a few days."

"what?"

Jimora in front of him obviously didn't understand: "Did you agree?"

"Hey!"

At this moment, a shirtless man walked out of the tent. When he saw the female reporter next to the fire, he grabbed her arm and dragged her into the tent: "I said, why do you feel like there is someone missing? How dare you steal Run out? Huh?! Are you looking for death? *￥%*% (Albanian swear word)..."

Before he finished reciting a string of curses, the man noticed that the strong man in dark armor was looking at him, and he subconsciously stopped talking. But as if he felt this was embarrassing, the guy added another sentence: "I want you to look good tonight!" While speaking, he secretly glanced at Watson, with a semi-hidden provocation and temptation in his eyes. And Jimora seemed to be experienced in this. She just screamed in pain, and then immediately covered her head with her hands to prevent her hair from being pulled by the man.

Brown parted hair, middle-aged, with a fat belly, skull tattoo on his left wrist...

Watson silently watched the man's figure disappear, lowered his head again, and loaded another bullet into the bullet belt.

The battle this morning was actually quite intense.

Although this is only for ordinary people on both sides of the war.

With the dual protection of Deathstroke's armor and blackened body, Watson doesn't have to run at all unless he encounters heavy weapons. Just like he had dinner or went shopping, he strolled around with a machine gun and shot accurately. This group of temporarily united gang members collapsed so quickly because Mr. Deathstroke took the lead in the attack.

Watson couldn't remember how many times he had heard gunfire, explosions, wails, crazy laughter, begging for mercy and screams. Since joining the Illyrian Alliance, every day has become simpler and simpler: check the weapons, sit there all night, or get up and walk around; during the day, go out and shoot and kill people, then sit down and check the weapons again at night, and the cycle starts again. Except for the wounded, the surviving Illyrian soldiers were very happy, or in other words, crazy. Kill whenever you want, attack whenever you want, almost everyone's face is filled with the look of excitement and exhaustion.

But this has nothing to do with Watson.

He had to admit that although the woman who called herself Jimora sounded unreliable, she still brought a little fun to the evening.

It was only then that Watson suddenly realized that he was like a robot during this period and didn't even need to remember. He only remembered that the battle this morning was fierce, but to be more specific...

Where is the intensity?

I forgot.

I just pull the trigger and kill everyone who doesn't have friendly markings painted on them. This battle is not difficult for me, and there is nothing worth remembering. Even if I happen to remember it, I will soon forget it. Watson thought about it for a while. At the end of the afternoon, he still remembered some of the people he killed and some details of the battle, such as where there were thick bunkers. But now, he can't remember any of them. It was clear that a few minutes ago, he was in a distracted state, but now it was as if his brain had shut down, and he was completely empty.

One of the few things he remembered was that his unlucky roommate, Derek, had been killed by him when he had the chance.

Watson looked down at his hands.

He has long been accustomed to wearing armor, and these iron blocks seem to have become one with his body. But now, I suddenly felt a trance in my heart, as if my soul had slowly fallen asleep, leaving my body fighting mechanically. The hands no longer seemed to obey orders, but seemed to have self-awareness, filling bullets one by one like an assembly line, with simple, smooth and natural movements.

The eyes behind the helmet blinked hard several times.

The hand stopped.

After a moment of silence, Watson stood up slowly, and the armor plates collided with each other, making a rusty crunching sound. He approached the strong bonfire in front of him, his chest and abdomen moved slowly, and the hot air was sucked into his body. A numbness and slight pain surged up from his chest.

"Hey! Deathstroke!"

The one-eyed dragon Marcel approached from a distance carelessly, holding a bottle of wine in his hand: "You did a good job today! The new driver I sent you is very good, right? That guy used to be the boss's special driver. Young The kind that drove a tank back in the day! Haha... want a drink?"

"Need not."

Watson shook his head directly. This was not the first time that Marcel wanted to take off his helmet, but he never succeeded.

"Ha!" The man laughed dryly and asked: "In a few days, your order will be almost ready. Where are you going?"

"middle East."

"Ha! A person like you will definitely have a good time there!"

"Okay, so when are you going to pay?"

Hearing Deathstroke's words, Marcel smiled and reached out to pat him on the shoulder: "Don't worry! Why don't you enjoy a few more days after winning a battle? Look at you, this armor has never been taken off! What are you afraid of? Isn’t it right? Isn’t it good to play with women? Here! It’s right there in the tent, bring out any girl you like, I’m telling you! Even if you want virgins, I can decide how many to give you! How about it? Come on, come on! Are you still afraid that we will steal your armor?"

"Thank you, no need."

Mr. Deathstroke's tone remained unchanged. He coldly took two steps back and sat down, then picked up an empty bullet chain. When Marcel saw this, he made a 'tsk' sound in his mouth, looking very disappointed: "Okay, okay, you can do as you like, then I'll leave first."

The man was carrying a bottle of wine and quickly blended into the crowd of drunken revelers. The Union soldiers were celebrating this victory. Although the old lion Figueroa emphasized not to harm civilians, he never prohibited plunder. Most of the shops and stalls in the city had been looted, and a variety of simple packaging bags were scattered on the ground. However, the most expensive loot at this time was obviously fine wine.

Watson looked at Marcel's back quietly. In the past few days, the two of them had actually had several conversations.

However, from beginning to end, Cyclops never mentioned Aji's name again.

He was probably really dead.

"...the wild flowers on the high mountains~the sun warms the wings of the mountain eagle..."

Among the crowd, some drunk guy suddenly burst into song. Within a few seconds, it gradually spread into a small chorus. Someone grabbed a bloody machete and beat the rhythm on the barrel. The moonlight and bonfire illuminated the eaves, the laughing man, the crying woman, and the corpse in the corner. This picture is full of absurdity.

"Take me home, take me home! My beloved girl ~ the distant dreamland...

...My beloved girl~"

......

laugh!

The rainwater fell along the eaves and happened to drip on the burning wood, making a sound. The spring of 1998 had just arrived, and a light rain began to fall in the Land of Eagles. The temperature has obviously warmed up a bit today. Although there is a faint smell of gunpowder smoke in the air, there are already sounds of birdsong all around. Since late at night, the civilians living around have been fleeing one after another, and the drunken sentries are too lazy to care. Only Watson is peeping.

The Illyrian Alliance camped on the northeastern highlands of the city of Vlora, and spread in other directions within the city from here. The alliance has been brewing for many years to advance westward. It has clear intelligence and sufficient preparations, and its targets are mostly targeted at various gang settlements. And with the mercenary Deathstroke taking the lead, the planned battle only took one day to complete. The operation was a miracle, as too many people had no time to react before being captured by rifle-wielding Union soldiers.

The old lion Figueroa does not intend to go too far. He is currently interviewing the local deputy mayor, police chief and other officials who have no time to escape to discuss how to restore a stable situation. In addition to high-level officials within the alliance, the participants also included many leaders from overseas - it was they who established the maritime blockade. When the matter is over, these smuggling gangs will eat up all the external goods in Vlore City.

None of this has anything to do with Watson for the time being.

He sat quietly until his ears caught some rhythmic movement.

The engine roars.

coming?

Watson jumped onto a three-story building next to him, raised his telescope and looked into the rain. Soon, several blurry black figures appeared in the distance on the pale white horizon. They should be helicopters, and there were short wing outlines of weapon racks on both sides. Without any further hesitation, he jumped downstairs with a clang and ran towards Marcel's room.