On the quality improvement of Omega agents

It was already late at night, and there was no one in the small cafeteria.Randall walked leisurely to the bar. This cafeteria was prepared for senior technicians and agents of the Special Task Force, and it had all kinds of food and drinks.The blond man hummed some untuned songs, opened the wine cabinet and took out a bottle of vodka.He was still wearing the combat uniform just now. He only took off the body armor made of steel plates, leaving the rest unchanged. Sand rustled from the folds of his trousers and the soles of his combat boots.A few hours ago he was on another continent, battling a bunch of guys who didn't speak the same language, and now he's sitting in Langley's all-night secret agent's cafeteria, enjoying a drink at just the right temperature and a high bar that can wiggle footstool.

Randall took a swig of vodka, pulled a velvet bag from his leg pocket, and casually tore open the top tie.A dozen diamonds rolled out.The blond man raised his mouth and smiled. He always liked these shiny gadgets. It reminded him of the huge lollipops that he couldn’t afford in the shop windows a long time ago, at the feet of Santa Claus, because of the abundant lighting. And sparkle.

The spicy vodka flowed down his throat, burning all the way into his stomach, and the man let out a satisfied sigh.He played with the diamonds for a while, weighed them in his palm, and put them into his pocket.The man turned the glass of wine a little bored. He observed his somewhat distorted palm prints through the glass, and saw blood stains that had turned dark brown between the thin lines. He didn't know whose it was.Randall went up to smell the smell of his palm, blood, gunpowder, and soil in a very naive manner.The blond man glanced across the empty restaurant, and he walked back into the cage by himself, but the current situation is quite satisfactory, the battlefield, the spirits, and those cute little diamonds are almost all there. It's all set.Randall stood up, picked up the half-empty bottle of vodka and walked away.

—maybe he can make this wonderful evening a little more perfect.

The communicator in the right ear has long been silent, only hissing noises remain, and the peculiar sound of the propeller when a helicopter lands can be vaguely heard. Bruce took a sip of the black coffee on the table.

Someone opened the door and came in.

The black-haired man put down the coffee in his hand and raised his head slightly: "Why do you have time to come here, Kent."

Standing across the table was CIA Deputy Director Andrew Kent.He was a tall white man, with red hair thinning with age, and a particularly rosy complexion, with sparkling hazel eyes and a particularly wide jaw, making him look like one of those boys from the West. A middle-aged man with a bold personality who likes beer and grilled sausages.But obviously, this man is not running a denim clothing store.

Kent glanced at Bruce's expression, and smiled helplessly, "Won't you please sit down, Bruce." As he said this, he had already squeezed his tall body into the large sofa beside the desk.

Bruce glanced at the smiling deputy director and said, "I thought you were busy with the affairs of Area A, have the Russians stopped making trouble?"

Kent scratched his slightly gray hair, and said lazily, "How is that possible." He added a little bit of joking complaint: "That's the Russians. Their tempers can be lit in the snow."

The corners of Bruce's lips rise a couple of millimeters.Then he said, "Speak."

Kent spread his hands blankly and asked, "What?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Kent, you usually like to tell a joke before you play bad face. About the Russians, for example."

Kent laughed "haha". "You always know me well, Bald Eagle." The deputy director of the CIA restrained his smile after a few seconds. "Our people in Russia have already received definite information about the matter in Area I."

"Four small nuclear warheads made in the former Soviet Union have flowed out. They have arrived in Zone I a week ago and will be sold next month."

Bruce's expression immediately became serious.He looked at Kent: "I don't think most of the buyers will be fans of the United States."

Ken nodded.He started, "Listen, Bruce, I'm sorry about the time you got pushed to dispatch,—" Andrew Kent had worked with Bruce for a long time.Once partners, they are now political allies.Kent doesn't like Bruce very much, but he understands the abilities of this legend that the CIA can't bring up.

Bruce interrupted him lightly. "I understand, Kent, I understand," said the dark-haired man.

He is very familiar with high-level strife. He is the one who proposed the "Breakpoint Project". Now that the CIA agents are about to steal the Pentagon's limelight, he will naturally not be popular.His becoming the head of the special service two years ago was nothing more than a compromise.But instead, for those who watched his reaction to it with trepidation, Bruce was actually content with the position.He is not a person who likes to show off. The charm of power never lies in what you can let the outside world see, but in a place that no one can see.

Where others are blind, hold all the secrets of darkness and the source of light.

Kent said: "This matter is too serious, and it is currently in a state of high confidentiality." He dragged his tone a little bit, looking serious and solemn: "We need you."

Bruce nodded.Kent noticed that the black-haired man's hands were slightly closed, posing the standard "spire".

"I will go back to District I myself."

This topic seems to be coming to an end. It is obvious that the deputy director Kent breathed a sigh of relief. He seemed to remember something, and suddenly said: "Is there any mission for the special task force tonight? I just saw the helicopter take off and land." He raised his hands and said with a smile, "I'm not spying on or interfering with you, Bald Eagle."

Bruce smiled, and said, "It's just a newcomer assessment."

Kent blinked his eyes, "Bruce, I always thought you cared about that blond haired guy. A while ago, the Pentagon's roll call task was turned down because you wanted to restrain his feet, and now he's a newcomer again." Trainer? You do know that trainers can cultivate party members among newcomers, right?"

Bruce raised his eyebrows and said, "He is my favorite work. As for the party members..." The black-haired man slightly bent his lips, "Is it like the breaking point a few years ago for me?" In a way, Breakpoint agents are his henchmen.Bruce has always disapproved of those methods of controlling people through handles, but for those omegas who yearn for power, they will be willing to go through fire and water as long as he provides a chance.

He also knows that these have drawn fear from the Pentagon and even other CIA executives. After all, "Breakpoint" is tantamount to holding all powerful alphas—the backbone of the military and intelligence agencies, the weakness of elites and people in high positions. .Those transformed omega, they are almost omnipotent.

Kent touched a nail that was neither soft nor hard, smiled and didn't care. "You're in charge of Breakpoint because the bureau trusts you." He knew Bruce didn't need him to remind him.

Bruce raised his chin: "I appreciate that."

The tall man made a joke before he left: "I guess, Bruce, that blond-haired one is your pet? ——Although the claws are a bit sharper."

Bruce looked at him indifferently: "This is the first time I've heard of this, Kent."

The deputy director of the CIA grinned at his mischievousness, and said, "It's very considerate to let your little leopard out from time to time and let him sharpen his claws."

Bruce sneered, "You'd better not let 'my leopard' hear that." As he said this, a real smile finally appeared in his brown eyes.

Kent stood up: "Okay, I should go." He nodded to Bruce: "I will leave the matter of District I to you, be careful."

The door of the office had just been closed, and before Deputy Director Kent's footsteps could go far, a piece of the ceiling was lifted.The blond agent quickly jumped down from above.

Bruce sits behind his desk, eyebrows raised.He looked at Randall in combat camouflage, with a dangling half bottle of vodka in one hand.

"Shouldn't there be a 'welcome back' at a time like this?" Randall winked at Bruce with a bright smile on his face.

Bruce's reaction was flat: "It's not commendable to lie in the ventilation duct and listen to my conversation with the deputy director." He looked at the blond agent's lazy and hippie smile, and there was no smile on his face: "This field mission Just because you're a rookie doesn't mean you can end your grounding, Mr James."

Randall shrugged his shoulders. He suddenly smiled and said, "I just thought today would be a pleasant evening, and I guessed it right."

Bruce glanced at the clothes on the agent. Those camouflage fabrics seemed to have experienced a terrible catastrophe, covered with mud, blood and unknown stains, and it was a miracle that they were still hanging on the blond agent."You need to take a shower and rest," he said.

Randall shook the wine bottle in his hand disapprovingly: "This is the best rest, trust me, sir." The blond man showed an ambiguous smile and said, "Thank you for your trust."

There was no expression on Bruce's face, he still maintained the steeple gesture, as if maintaining some delicate and difficult balance.This senior officer of the CIA is aware of his self-control, Randall did not use his pheromones, and when he found a blond man with blood and gunpowder approaching, he actually noticed those ridiculous golden eyelashes, that man His eyes are incredibly blue.

Randall blinked slyly, and he said, "It's a pleasure to be your pet." He wandered over to the glass cabinet on the side of the office, took out two wine glasses from it, and filled them with vodka.

Bruce watched Randall's movements, "I'll take you to Area I together."

Randall raised an eyebrow happily, and said, "I thought I just heard you say that my confinement is not over yet?"

Bruce's voice was flat: "As your guardian, you can be grounded beside me. You should know that you still have a tracker in your body."

Randall handed a wine glass to Bruce: "Oh, I know, I know, sir, don't mention such a spoiling thing, at this time."

Bruce smiled.He took the wine glass, and the acrid smell of alcohol rushed straight into his nostrils.

And Randall froze for a moment.The dark-haired man had extremely thin lips, and he always thought he couldn't smile.Just now, it was almost the biggest arc of lips given by his officer, and the most vivid expression he had ever seen.It seemed that for a moment this mighty alpha was no longer like an iceberg buried under the water, he was real and alive.

"Oh, what an honor," Randall muttered, tapping his glass against Bruce's and downing it.

Bruce watched the blond agent raise his head in front of him, he could clearly see the protruding Adam's apple and light blue blood vessels, and the neck line was beautiful.That's the fatal part.

The man's brown eyes narrowed slightly, and he suddenly said, "By the way, I like bourbon." Bruce finished and drank his glass of vodka.

Randall seemed to be slightly drunk, he showed a shaky and confused smile, and then said: "Understood, sir."

The blond man seemed to think that this inexplicable two-person drinking party with only a glass of vodka should be over. He dropped the glass and jumped up suddenly, with his hands already clinging to the lifted ceiling.

Bruce played with the wine glass in his hand, and said lightly: "I hope you leave through the gate, Mr. James."

Randall hilariously hung in mid-air for a while, then fell down: "Yes, sir."

The blond agent paused at the door, and said, "I'm glad that I'm your favorite work, sir."