On the quality improvement of Omega agents

Bruce Stewart

The name is legend to some, nightmare to others.Obviously Stewart himself prefers the latter.He didn't need the CIA to put his name in gold letters on any of the "Distinguished Special Agent" or "Honored Service" walls.Higher-ups will probably like this.

But the nightmare at least means that your name will return to dust with the death of those who remember it.So you don't have to worry about what you've done being brought up endlessly, over and over again, long after.

There is no eternal fame, only crimes remembered.

The CIA intelligence officer put down the black coffee in his hand.He signed his name on the last document, then stood up and stretched.The clock showed that it was ten past three in the morning.

It is now noon in District I.Twenty hours have passed since Breakpoint [-] arrived at the predetermined area.

After two hours of sleep, Bruce changed into his gym clothes and did his usual three kilometers a day.It was snowing in Langley, and he saw the white breath coming out of his mouth.

"sir?"

Bruce stopped.Garcia's voice came through the handset.

"People from the Pentagon want to see you."

Bruce brushed the snow off his cotton sweatshirt. "Got it. Two hours later, Bureau."

I country.11:30 noon.

The sun in the desert area is unbearable. The tall white man wears a pair of toad mirrors on his face, covering most of his face. His golden hair is shining in the sun, which is very eye-catching.Randall was wearing a simple white T-shirt, unmarked combat pants, tucked into brand-new boots, and new sunglasses, shiny and reflective in the sun.

Breakpoint Three has always liked "glittery" things, just like himself.

The small hotel is the kind of apartment building remodeled, with a patio in the middle, and at least two wire ropes for drying clothes on each floor. All kinds of clothes are floating above the yard, looking like a large pile of different shapes. Regular bunting.

Randall carried his huge rucksack across the patio and up the stairs, careful not to let the fresh black-market firearms in the bag rattle suspiciously.

He suspected that he was suffering from heat stroke, and his temples throbbed and hurt.

Years of wars in country I have made the not-so-developed town even more desolate. A homeless man is lying under the eaves of buildings along the street to hide from the shade, and the begging bowl is empty.Several young boys chase a shell casing kicked by a dang ball through an empty street.

The blond man sat by the window and looked down. There was no suspicious person.He quickly loaded the magazine into the Kruger pistol, then stuffed it into the back waist of his jeans, and then pulled off the white T-shirt, trying to cover up the bulge.

Randall groped in his backpack and pulled out a small medicine bottle.It was he who slipped the plastic bottle out of the cabinet in the infirmary of the dispatch office.The man plopped down on the creaky mattress and poured the medicine from the plastic vial all over him.His fingers seemed too thick compared to those small pills, so he could only count them carefully.There are 45 pieces in total.

The man squeezed two pills and threw them into his mouth, and swallowed them without chewing.He opened the watch on his right wrist, and put all the remaining pills into it.

Randall pressed his temple, then stood up.

"You should know the consequences of lying to me."

The man's voice was relaxed and cheerful. If his muzzle hadn't been firmly pressed against the opponent's eye socket, it could be called harmonious and friendly.

The man being questioned was a fat man with a thick, bearded chin trembling constantly.

Randall looked persuasive: "It's better to tell the truth than to lose an eye, isn't it?"

The fat man swallowed hard.He tremblingly said: "The seller is Heisha, you know, they, they never show up."

Randall snorted. "Black Sand" is a local guerrilla group. It has become a well-known armed organization in the whole region within a few years from a local snake gang. "Where's the buyer?"

The fat man trembled: "The buyer, the buyer is a Russian."

As if to reward his confession, Randall raised the muzzle of the gun slightly upwards, "Where can I find him?"

"At, at the Whirlwind Tavern, where the Russians are said to be every night..."

Randall withdrew his gun, and he gave the bearded black market arms dealer a particularly charming smile.

"Thank you for your cooperation."

There was a crisp "click".The arms dealer's head tilted to one side uncontrollably, and the completely broken cervical spine made him lifeless.

The man's gun twirled in his hand, he put the weapon away in a fancy posture, and left the small courtyard with long legs.

seven o'clock in the evening

Randall took off the toad mirror on his face and put it in his coat pocket, then walked into the "whirlwind".

The light in the local tavern is a bit dim, and the thick adobe makes the room more shaded.Before the business was booming, there were not many customers.

The blond man picked a corner and sat down. He called the bartender and ordered a glass of vodka.

The bartender was a local. He glanced suspiciously at the tall white man, and put the wine in front of the man expressionlessly.

Randall went back to the hotel to change his clothes before. He was wearing a pale pink slim-fitting shirt. The material was thin, but it looked like a high-end product. It perfectly complemented the man's wide shoulders and narrow waist. The beauty of strength dormant in his body, underneath is a pair of high-end casual trousers, dark gray, with straight trouser lines, making him look like the type of person who just escaped the boring meeting of the board of directors and came out to have fun.

The blond hair and blue eyes of the caucasian make Randall particularly attractive in this violent and down-and-out town.

Tall, muscular, handsome, and perhaps also be described as attractive.

Randall blinked, he pressed the watch with the mechanism, and then threw three small white pills into the wine glass.

The spicy wine burns all the way down the throat and into the stomach, the man smacks his lips in satisfaction.

There are not many things that Randall likes in this world, spirits, beauties, battlefields, and if he can count the fourth, his superior Bruce Stewart.

Randall exhaled a long breath, his mouth full of the taste of alcohol, which made him feel better.After all, not every omega likes the smell when they are in heat.The man's hand stroked his chest, and he unbuttoned two buttons, revealing a gap in his chest. Smooth and fair skin, as one of the sexual characteristics of an omega, is extraordinarily alluring in the dim light of the tavern.

The smell of vodka set him on fire.

Some people in the tavern with "a keen sense of smell" obviously noticed the situation, and soon several alphas approached the corner where Randall was intentionally or unintentionally.

The man smiled a little bored.He stood up straight away, and walked towards the bar under the eyes of almost the entire tavern.He sat down in a conspicuous place, and asked the bartender for a glass of vodka again.This time, the bartender, who was obviously an alpha, brought the glass graciously, and when he put it down, his fingers brushed against the back of Randall's hand intentionally or unintentionally.

Man is always irresistible to nature.

"Hmm...it seems to be getting hotter and hotter." The man muttered in a low voice, and he tugged at the collar of his shirt irritably. A large piece of his chest was exposed.

The bartender paused for a moment, his eyes fixed on Randall's exposed skin uncontrollably, and he swallowed hard.

Randall took a drink from his glass.

The hour hand pointed to nine o'clock in the evening.It's no easy task to get rid of those hungry alphas, especially when you have to resist the urge to break their necks.But Randall has maintained the intensity of his hormone release, which makes him look like he is on the verge of heat without completely losing his mind.He showed bewilderment and apprehension at the hospitality of all the alphas who approached him, and politely rejected everyone, saying that he didn't feel well, probably because of the vodka.

The alphas obviously felt that waiting for this unmarked omega kneeling in front of them with moist eyes and begging them to be inserted into that hungry hole was just a matter of minutes, so they were willing to spend a little more time admiring an omega who didn't even know she was in heat. The ignorant omega is gradually conquered by nature.

Finally Randall waited for his goal.

At this time, a strange atmosphere had already formed in the tavern, the betas wisely got up and left when the alpha was about to move, and the rest of the people sat as close to the bar as possible, staring at each other.The bartender knew what kind of chaos a large group of alphas and an omega in heat would cause in his tavern, but he couldn't care less about it.Spirits kept being poured into Randall's cup.

And someone on the verge of a "rut" doesn't seem to notice it.He took a sip of vodka, and almost jumped when the man who smelled of alpha sat next to him.

The Russian laughed softly: "Are you uncomfortable, your face is very red?"

Randall narrowed his eyes.He gave a low "hmm".

This unconscious sound carried the magnetism of a man's voice, and the ending was slightly raised, probably because of discomfort, and there was a faint trembling, which immediately made half of the Russian's body numb.He looked this omega up and down.

Strong, no doubt, those muscle lines hidden under the shirt make one can't help but imagine how conquering it must be when he is pressed under him.Coming from European and American countries, his face is sharp and deep, and his golden hair reminds him of those beautiful yellow leaves in autumn under the light of the bar.

Who wouldn't like this kind of omega, beautiful, powerful, a little dazed and innocent.

The Russian looked carefully at the omega's eyes, which were as blue as the sea, with the watery light of being impacted by desire, and a little bit of panic caused by the coming of estrus.

Just looking into his eyes made the Russian feel hard.

"Are you alone?" asked the Russian in a low voice.

Randall took another sip of the wine, and he let his body release more of the smell of estrus, "Yeah." The man's bright red lips seemed to rub against the glass unconsciously, "What about you, sir?"

The Russian swallowed carefully.A maddening, unmarked omega, nothing short of a stunner.He has to get him.He smiled softly: "I'm here for business."

Randall frowned.He had previously drawn the relevant characteristics of the Russian from the bartender, and it seemed to be this one.The Russian was always alone, staying in the same hotel as him. If the blueprint was not on the Russian, it was in that hotel, so it was easy to find.

Randall's blue eyes scanned the Russian's lower body, where the tent had been propped up in his regular slacks.He smelled the alpha in estrus.The plan is half done.It was time for him to push one last time.

"Um...uh..."

Randall swayed slightly, his hand could barely hold the wine glass, his originally slender and straight body almost turned into a puddle of spring water, and an uncontrollable groan came from his lips.And the Russian looked at the omega in front of him, whose body was weak and had to hold on to the bar to prevent himself from sliding down, and his slightly moist blue eyes, and his mind was instantly emptied.

The strong omega heat smell finally broke out, and the hormones swept through like an atomic bomb.

No one can resist this.