On the quality improvement of Omega agents

Bruce didn't speak anymore, he closed his eyes and closed his eyes to rest.Del watched with interest for a while when his own official closed his eyes, his eyes circled along the outline of Bruce's face, and traced it carefully.His chief has lost some weight recently, there are slight blue shadows under his eyes, his aquiline nose looks taller, without the kind of eyes that can almost penetrate the brain along the eyes, but he still looks stern and intolerable Distinguished temperament.The black-haired man should have just shaved, and his smooth chin was slightly blue, showing hard and beautiful lines.

Randall smacked his lips. His father's official is indeed a man who looks more and more interesting.The blond agent glanced at the two Delta Force soldiers sitting on either side of Bruce, obviously well-trained, with their fingers resting on the triggers of their assault rifles, fully alert. ——But it's still an eyesore no matter how you look at it.He himself looks like he just escaped from a refugee camp.

"Sir, maybe you need a more professional bodyguard."

Bruce opened his eyes to look at him, and suddenly smiled: "What's the matter with you, Mr. James?" The black-haired man's smile was not wide, but it was rarely genuine.

Randall shrugged his shoulders, "I just think you should pay more attention to your own safety. After all, someone who wants me to die doesn't necessarily have good intentions for you." He grinned, and said: "Of course you It can be understood that I'm just trying to get your attention, sir."

Bruce didn't put away his smile, he said lightly: "Is Mr. James recommending yourself to me?"

Randall tilted his head: "Maybe." The blond man scratched his almost sticky locks of hair and said with a smile, "I'm better than them."

Bruce watched his agent's slightly raised jaw, like a proud cat. The chief of cia doesn't seem to mind teasing his wounded and volunteered pet during this boring journey.

His agent is brave enough and cunning enough. This blond man is no longer the skinny omega in the snow. He is Bruce's most outstanding work, but his metamorphosis has become too dangerous, and the only one that makes Bruce unable to make up his mind to destroy All that was lost was the arrogance and cunning childishness of his agent.

All pretense is part of being real.

Bruce raised his eyebrows with interest, and said, "Oh, I don't know how you are better than them?"

The corner of Randall's mouth curled up. He twirled a finger boredly with the gauze bow protruding a little from under the camouflage T-shirt, and opened his mouth.

"because I--"

"boom!"

The helicopter shook violently as if being hit by a giant hammer, the propellers rattled, the whole fuselage trembled violently, and then began to tilt to the right after a few seconds.The loud noise of the explosion makes it easy to understand what happened.Sharp metal fragments flew in all directions, and the glass of the porthole was completely shattered.

Blood spattered Randall's face.The special soldier who had just handed him the camouflage T-shirt fell down a few tenths later, with sharp shards of glass stuck in his throat.Randall pushed the body away from him.

Bruce sat still, lighting up the file he had just looked at.The helicopter was still falling.

The unexpected attack caused Randall to be thrown far away in an instant, his back slammed against a row of iron shelves, and the blond man grinned.

"We're hit! We're hit!" the pilot yelled.

The side of the helicopter was already on fire, and Randall could see the parts of the Iron Wing Eagle falling one by one with the flames, the wind rushed in, and the whole plane began to accelerate its descent.

The remaining soldier showed no panic on his face. He tried his best to overcome the violent turbulence and rushed to the cockpit, trying to help the pilot control the plane that was at the end of the road. "It's a Stinger missile!" he shouted.

A single soldier missile, such as the Stinger, is enough to shoot down a helicopter, which is lucky not to explode and disintegrate in mid-air.Bruce gripped the side rail of the seat, expressionless as he fell and tipped.Randall was pressed to the other side of the cabin by inertia, and his eyes fell on Bruce.

As soon as the control lever was pulled all the way, the engine hummed and idled.

Randall frowned, about to crash.

200 meters from the ground.

The plane dived toward the ground, and if the helicopter hit the ground, none of them would survive.Randall moved inch by inch toward the cabin door, looked at Bruce, and put his hand on the metal handle of the cabin door.

100 meters from the ground.

Bruce let go of the hand that held him, and he quickly moved towards the cabin door.Randall tilted his head, and the black-haired man had already stopped beside him, his profile was very close.The blond agent was still in the mood to joke. He panted, "Looks like you really need new bodyguards, sir." At their feet was the body of the Delta soldier.

50 meters from the ground.

Randall nodded to Bruce, and his officer put his hand on the metal bar on the hatch. The CIA's senior intelligence officer's white shirt was rolled up to the elbow, revealing his thin forearm, and the tight muscles showed the strength hidden there.Randall looked up, meeting Bruce's eyes.

25 meters from the ground.

The two people worked hard at the same time, lifted the metal latch, and the hatch was opened.The violent wind rushed in all of a sudden, and the ground almost rushed towards him.Randall reached out and patted his officer, "Jump, sir."

Nearly five meters from the ground.

The two jumped out of the helicopter at the same time.

The momentary weightlessness is not comfortable, and the feeling of falling rapidly makes the heart seem to stop beating, and the blood seems to be drained in an instant.What fell with them was a huge helicopter and various fragments flying across the air.Almost at the moment of jumping out, Randall felt that the people around him seemed to push him.

Almost at the same time, the bang of the explosion rang in his ears, and Randall saw the flames rising into the air when he felt himself falling heavily on the ground.He doesn't know where Bruce is.

I don't know how long it took.

"... sir?"

The blond hair turned gray and stained with blood, and Randall slowly raised his head, his face black with dust and smoke.

Bruce sat up from a piece of gravel not far away, "Mr. James, are you okay?"

Randall laughed "hehe" with a hoarse voice, "It couldn't be better." He got up and asked, "Can you go?"

Bruce moved, his voice flat: "Okay." Then he walked in Randall's direction.

The blond agent narrowed his eyes.His chief was still wearing the standard attire worn by senior CIA officials during talks. The white shirt was already covered with various stains, and one trouser leg of the ironed suit trousers was torn apart, and the other trouser leg was torn. There are also traces of burning.He laughed to himself, and casually tugged at the tight T-shirt on his body, rubbing his fingers over his waist, there were already traces of wetness.

His officer came over, embarrassed and calm.

Randall smiled with two rows of white teeth: "Sir, I haven't seen you like this before."

Bruce looked at him indifferently, and glanced at the gray gauze tail: "It's like you didn't expect me to be on the helicopter." There was a creaking sound underfoot. "There are many things you can't think of, Mr. James."

Randall looked at Bruce, the man's already unrecognizable shirt sleeves were still rolled up to the elbow, even though his right forearm was bent abnormally.The blond agent took a breath: "Sir, this is really beyond my expectation."

Bruce didn't respond to the subject, and walked past Randall toward the still burning wreckage of the plane.The blond agent paused for two seconds, then followed.

The iron-winged bird just now has turned into a pile of burning scrap iron. After the fuel tank exploded, the metal was bent and deformed, and its original appearance was almost invisible.Both the pilot and co-pilot were dead.Randall found a stick and rummaged through the ruins, trying to find something that could be used-apparently he and Bruce could only play "survival in the desert" on their own before cia's unreliable rescue arrived.The half of the pilot's scorched head was right next to his boot, and Randall walked around it expressionlessly.

It's amazing that the special soldier from Delta is still alive.

The blond agent stopped in his tracks, watching Bruce half kneel in front of the soldier.The dark-haired man holds a pistol in his left hand.Randall raised his eyebrows, but he didn't look surprised. He found a place for himself to lean against, and the smoke from the burning helicopter wreckage drifted over one after another.

"what's your name."

"...Smith...Morgan, sir, my name is...Smith Morgan."

The black-haired man looked calm, and he repeated the soldier's name, "Smith Morgan."

The special soldier who lost an arm spoke intermittently, and thick blood was gurgling out from his severed arm.The heavy breathing made him arch his body continuously, toward a fish struggling in the air for the last time. "I, I'm from Kentucky. I..." Blood mixed with air bubbles and pieces of internal organs flowed out of his mouth, and he couldn't speak clearly.

Bruce looked at him. "You're a good soldier, Morgan."

"boom--"

The blue smoke from the muzzle quickly disappeared into the air, and the soldier who was still struggling just now fell motionless in a pool of his own blood.Bruce stood up, and he turned his head to look at the blond agent leaning aside.Randall smiled, and he said to Bruce: "I haven't seen you use your left hand to use a gun." He shrugged: "I just realized today that I didn't know you have so many places."

Apparently the joke was ill-timed, as Bruce brushed him off with a nonchalant expression.Randall ruffled his tangled hair, fine grains of sand falling from the blond locks.

Bruce walked past him, and the blond agent reached out, rubbing his thumb against the side of his officer's cheek.His voice was very soft: "You have blood on your face." He wiped the little blood on Bruce's face with his dirty fingers, leaving a gray-black mark, but at this time the two of them did not lack such blood on their faces. s color".

The dark-haired man let his agent touch his face with his fingers, and he saw himself reflected in those blue eyes.

"Kentucky is beautiful," said the blond agent.