On the quality improvement of Omega agents

"Sir, sorry I just fell asleep."

The blond agent met his officer's eyes when he opened them, the brown pupils showing no emotion.

Bruce slowly tightened the thin thread in his hand, "You haven't slept for long." He slowly inserted the thin steel needle into the agent's flesh.

Randall grinned.He lowered his head to see that the metal staples that had been driven into the flesh had all been pulled out, and a thin black thread was running between the open wounds, using standard surgical suturing techniques.

Bruce looked up at him, "You should be glad you were in a deep coma just now, James." He said deadpan, "When your officer took out the nail you put in the wound." And that pain is enough to put a Wake up a person who has fallen into a deep coma.

Randall wanted to shrug his shoulders as a gesture, the steel needle pierced the tissue around the wound again, and the blond man held back a muffled groan in his throat.He watched Bruce lower his head, leaned forward and bit off the thin black thread with his teeth, and then neatly tied a knot with one hand.The blond man looked at the "masterpiece" on his body with an admiring expression. Blood beads oozed from the horrible wound that was tightly stitched up with black cotton threads. Randall watched Bruce take the gauze slowly. Wrapping it up slowly, his officer's fingers looked sharp, slender and strong.

The blond agent licked his lips, as if he had just recovered his voice, and said with a hoarse smile, "Your methods of first aid in the field are not unfamiliar."

Bruce said indifferently: "It's enough to ensure that you are stronger than them." He returned the exact words Randall said an hour ago.

Randall was taken aback for a moment, and then laughed recklessly, a little red stained the gauze, Bruce didn't speak, just let his agent laugh like a fool.Randall laughed for a while, slowly adjusted his breathing, he looked at Bruce seriously, his blue eyes were surprisingly bright: "Sir, I will not die, this is a guarantee."

What I promise, can never be done, as long as you order me, as long as it is what you need.

His officer tightened his hand, and Randall shut his mouth consciously.

Bruce didn't intend to say anything more to his agent, he stood up and found himself a more comfortable position to sit down, closing his eyes and resting his mind.The blond agent opened his mouth, but made no sound.

The pain of the broken right arm came up in waves, and Bruce was expressionless.He tried to guide his thoughts to consider the next direction of action, but the scene just now kept replaying in his mind.The man huddled in the shadow of the corner of the wall, closed his damn blue eyes, and looked as pale as dead.Red oozes from his waist and abdomen, smearing into large patches of wetness.For a split second Bruce actually thought he was dead.his agents.

Bruce guessed that he should have imagined Randall's death countless times. This increasingly powerful and dangerous beast crossed the bottom line drawn for him more than once, and more than once made Bruce move the real murderous intent.He felt that one day he couldn't tolerate the blue-eyed leopard leaving his cage.

And the truth is confusing and frustrating.

——The dark-haired man found that he never thought about the reaction he should have to face Randall's body.

——And whether he could tolerate such a death.

The sun in the desert area was scorching and strong, and when he returned from the village, the sun was so blinding that it almost took Bruce a few seconds to find the location of the blonde agent.Because of the deep coma caused by blood loss and exhaustion, Bruce is not a doctor, but he can clearly distinguish the difference between sleep and unconsciousness. The senior chief of the CIA has always been good at controlling his emotions, and he has rarely experienced such violent emotional fluctuations, such as anger.

His agents never knew what obedience was.Always make good claims, always be unscrupulous, and always take getting out of his control as the most pleasant experience.The black-haired man squeezed his fingers, and anger spread from the bottom of his heart. He knew that something was getting out of control.

That person knew that he was at the end of his battle, but he didn't say a damn word!

"Are you angry?" the blond agent yawned lazily, as if the tiredness on his face was really caused by lack of sleep, he asked, with a cautious, flattering smile .

Bruce sat against the wall, he closed his eyes, not looking at Randall's expression: "James, I remember you said, 'There is no next time'."

Randall scratched his blond messy hair in embarrassment, and muttered, "You still remember that." He smiled shamelessly, "It was two hours ago when I said that. , I thought you would have been wiped out as useless memory long ago."

The blond agent propped himself up on his elbows while talking, and the clothes on his body were wrinkled a little with his movements. Randall lowered his head and looked at the little thing protruding from under the camouflage undershirt, "the tail of the bowknot" .He chuckled.

Bruce opened his eyes to look at him, the corners of his lips curled into a cold arc, and said, "Maybe I should create a folder for my memories so that I can record how many times you violated my orders."

Randall was taken aback when he heard it,——Bruce Stewart, were you joking with him just now?

The blond agent blinked: "Sir, I actually like your tone very much." The agent's face was still pale, but his expression was very happy. "That way you're more human."

The dark-haired man glanced at Randall coldly, the blond agent shrugged his shoulders, and then curled up slightly because of the pain in the wound.There was an inexplicable emotion in Bruce's eyes.He said lightly, "You still have two hours to rest."

Randall smiled softly, "Understood."

Tired of supporting himself with his arms, Randall slowly flattened his body on the hard, potholed ground in the earthen house, and exhaled.The wound throbbed and throbbed, but the blood didn't flow like a gate, and the cotton thread was much better than messy staples.Randall narrowed his eyes, his eyes flicked over Bruce's arm, and the corners of his lips curled up.The blond man raised his eyebrows. He imagined Bruce and the locals exchanging needles and threads with a watch, and finally resisted the urge to joke. ——Even if the CIA's senior intelligence officer is willing to make a joke when he almost died quietly, it doesn't mean he can do whatever he wants.

His wound needed stitches, and Bruce had to make contact with the locals. If the people who blew up the helicopter were still searching for them, they would find them here sooner or later, and ask the local population for their news.

Randall closed his eyes.

The man could feel the light gradually dimming, his dream was full of scorching red flames, one piece after another, far and near, and he couldn't catch it with his hands, but it was burning hot, and the blood all over his body was screaming boiling.The man flexed and stretched his fingers repeatedly, he was vigilant.

Two hours.

The blond agent opened his eyes suddenly, the blue pupils were full of clarity.

Bruce didn't move, he looked directly at Randall.

The distance between nose and nose was one centimeter, and Randall blinked after a few seconds.He laughed: "sir?"

Bruce stared at him for two seconds, then turned away blankly.He said lightly: "Get up when you have had enough sleep."

Randall sat up slowly.After two hours, the sky outside had already darkened. Bruce was standing at the window of the earthen house, his brown pupils were deep in the dimming light, and no emotion could be seen.

The blond agent stood up and saw an old kettle in the corner. He picked it up and shook it, but it was full.

Randall was also polite, and he unscrewed the lid of the pot and gulped a few mouthfuls, only to feel that his throat, which was so dry that it was almost on fire, became a little moister.He strolled up to Bruce and bumped his elbow to his officer: "Drink water."

Bruce

He took the kettle from Randall, took two sips and screwed on the lid.

"We should go."

They need to go to the nearest city to get in touch with the Intelligence Branch of Area I.

Randall followed behind Bruce, squinting his eyes to see the dark-haired man's back. The senior intelligence officer of the CIA is still wearing a stained shirt, and the burns from the explosion are clearly visible on the trousers. The man is tall, with broad shoulders, and a little thin. He is no longer young, but he has a straight figure Can't see the embarrassment.

Randall remembered what seemed like a long time ago when this man wore combat boots and a woolen overcoat over his combat coat.He emerged from the musty-smelling air-raid ducts and looked up to meet the brown eyes of his trainer.In the hands of his trainer, the military thorn was so elegant that it didn't look like a sharp weapon for killing people. Randall still remembered the cold and sharp touch of the military thorn against his eyelids.

Bruce asked him, if I dare to follow someone by my side, do you dare.He heard himself say, Sir, I die with no regrets.He opened his eyes, the blue pupils shrank opposite the point of the knife, and did not move.

He wanted to be strong, and Bruce made him.

The blond agent shrugged his shoulders, interrupted his reverie, and blamed the confusion caused by the high fever for the memory that was jammed in his head just now.He quickened his pace to follow, looking up just in time to see Bruce turning from the front.

He looked at him under the moon, and for a moment it was like a flashback of a memory from how long ago.

Randall blinked, and walked towards his chief while muttering in a low voice: "It's not that people like to recall the past when they are about to die, oh, I don't need to die in sorrow."

Then the blond, flushed with fever, smiled at Bruce and loaded the bullet.