On the quality improvement of Omega agents

The fight ended in less than 2 minutes.Randall put down the AK-47 assault rifle in his hand, walked past the blood-bubbling corpses without looking at them, bent down and picked up the communicator that he had just rubbed out of his ear from the ground There was silence on the communication channel.

Randall sighed, he still looked unhurried, and said as if talking to himself: "The interrogation is over."

There was another two seconds of silence in the earphones, and then a voice came, which seemed a bit abrupt after the too long silence.

"Don't drop your communicator next time, Agent."

Randall laughed softly. He stretched out his hand to dust off the dust on his body, but accidentally stretched his abdominal injury. The man took a deep breath silently, and then said: "I accept criticism, sir." But Not going to repent.

Bruce Stewart's voice came clearly: "Mr. James, I suggest you leave that house now."

Randall shrugged, "Understood, sir."

The communicator was quiet.

The fight and Johnson just now obviously alarmed the other people in the guerrilla headquarters, and the sound of footsteps quickly came to the torture room.

The blond agent looked around. The torture room transformed from an old factory building was crude but solid. The windows were all equipped with thumb-thick steel bars. It was not easy to escape.Then his gaze fell to the corner of the room.An old desk is blocked in front of a gate.

The man walked over quickly, threw the table away, and the steel gate was completely exposed. There was a big lock on the door. There were rust spots between the opening handle and the crack of the door. It was probably made for transporting goods when it was originally built. exit.

Randall drew out his pistol and shot at the lock, sparks splashed on his arm.The man stepped forward and pulled the handle hard.It's been too long, and most of the steel products have been embroidered. The man used both hands, and the muscles on his arms bulged terribly and trembled slightly.Randall only felt his temples jump up and down, and his blood boiled due to the output of strength.

The door finally opened slowly.

Randall could almost hear the clock in his head running fast, and the beeping of the alarm made colorful stars flash before his eyes.

The man didn't care about panting, he stuffed himself into the somewhat narrow dark passage, and crawled forward.

The corridor behind the gate was narrow and cramped, and the oxygen was thin. Randall listened to his heart pounding against his chest, emptied his brain, and kept speeding up.

——The rats living in the pipes should also be surprised by the speed of this human being.

Finally, there was a light ahead, and Randall climbed forward suddenly, and then pushed open the rusted mesh iron door at the exit of the pipe.He squeezed himself out like a sticky rice pearl that had finally reached the top of the straw.

Randall gasped for breath, the hot air tickling his windpipe, but the good feeling of having oxygen filling his lungs at the moment made this little flaw seem trivial.But he doesn't have time to enjoy this luxury of oxygen yet.

The man's clothes were not damaged in the slightest during the "miraculous" battle just now, but at this moment they were scratched and torn while crawling.A piece of cloth hangs from his shoulders, looking extremely embarrassed.

Randall bounced up from the ground.He almost rushed forward with an incredible speed.At the same time, two drones buzzed and flew from afar, their silver-gray wings reflecting dazzling light in the desert sun.

"A1 locked on target," "A2 locked on target,"

"A1 launches." "A2 launches."

Randall didn't bother to look up.The sound of the missile flying through the air at high speed seemed to be screaming, and the long tail of smoke dragging behind it crossed the clear blue sky.

"boom!!!"

A huge air wave blew up violently, the blond agent was thrown around, and then fell forward heavily.

The yellow sand fell rustlingly, and Randall shook his hair, watching the sand grains of similar color shake off his head.His whole body was pressed to the ground by the impact of the explosion, and his whole body was in pain like a frame falling apart. When he looked back, he was three or four meters away from where he had just stood.

The flames soaring into the sky ignited, and the flames were blazing.Randall turned over on the hot sand, seeing the spooky place not far away turned into a sea of ​​flames, he suddenly laughed.

"Hahahaha...haha..."

I don't know if it's because of the slack in escaping from death just now, or some kind of weird pleasure watching the enemy disappear, the man lay on the ground laughing until he choked.He patted his chest to breathe, watching the smoke rise slowly against the eerie desert blue sky.

The agent who was almost killed by his own missile just now had a particularly happy expression on his face, and his eyes were also very blue.The speed of life and death in the transportation pipeline, the extremely hot sun in the desert, the flames soaring into the sky, and the gravel hitting the cheeks at high speed.Everything is wonderful.

Licking the blood, feeling death rubbing the tip of the nose, this makes people feel alive.Randall thought with satisfaction, these are the happy days.

He laughed out loud.

There was a loud noise coming from the earphones, which seemed to be broken.Randall took off the communicator nonchalantly and threw it away.

It's time for him to go back, or his officer will probably have to fill out many more reports.

The blond man stood up neatly, stepped on the sandy ground with his old boots that had been worn for a few days, and his figure gradually faded away.

Behind him was a crazily burning flame, and the ammunition exploded violently, setting off violent air currents and high-speed rotating sand and gravel.

The flesh-colored miniature communicator was quickly buried by the wind and sand.

"Target confirmed to be destroyed." "Repeat, target confirmed to be destroyed."

CIA headquarters.

Bruce sat on the armchair in the office, turned off the real-time video transmission with a flat face, and the sea of ​​fire in the desert was replaced by the dark blue computer desktop.There was a "stinging, stinging" noise from the earphones. The man took off the gadget and raised his hand to look at his watch.

Bruce stood up. He was wearing a black haute couture suit. The well-tailored clothes made him look taller.The man's fingers ran across the hem of his suit, and he looked nonchalant.

The door of the office was pushed open with a "bang", and the roughness clearly reflected the unhappy mood of the person who pushed the door.

Bruce raised his eyebrows, and he looked at the "uninvited guest" who broke into his office.

The CIA's head of Middle East affairs, John Clark, stormed into Bruce's office, his semi-permanent black trench coat swaying exaggeratedly because of his movements.

"Mr. Stewart, I would like an explanation from the Special Service regarding the explosion that just occurred."

Bruce stared at Clark for a few seconds, then nodded knowingly, "Regarding this matter, Mr. Clark, I cannot watch my agent being tortured by hostile forces."

Clark smirked: "If I remember correctly, you are the highest-ranking CIA intelligence officer."

Bruce said: "Clark, this is not a beautiful beginning." His sentence was short, as if he had already concluded the conversation.

John Clark choked suddenly.He had just reminded himself who he was talking to.As soon as Brussel Stewart gave an order, he mobilized two unmanned bombers to blow up the "Black Sand" he had painstakingly managed for more than a year, and this person was not only the direct commander of the special task force, but also a senior executive of the CIA .Of course he knows that "Black Sand" itself is a force supported by the CIA in Area I, and he also knows how many high-level struggles and entanglements of interests are behind it.

But still, two missiles were smashed in the past.Maybe it's because of that "agent being tortured by hostile forces" or just because he likes it.

When a person controls the life and death of an unknown number of people while talking and laughing, or wipes a huge organization off the map with a wave of his hand, he will always make people feel scared.

Bruce smiled, and his tone sounded sincerely reassuring: "I know that the Middle East has been difficult for a while, Clark, but I have also seen your achievements, and I think the headquarters is the same."

John Clark shuddered at the man's tone.He has been in the CIA for a long time, and he has gone through many bloody storms to climb to the position of such a department head, but he understands more and more that as long as some people move their fingers, he will probably die without even ashes. left.

The first half of Bruce's words were threats, and the second half were lures.It was simple and clear, but it made Clark, who was already furious, speechless.He originally came to Xingshi to inquire about his crimes, but he didn't want to be completely suppressed by this person who was apparently equal to him.

The black-haired man looked at the person in charge of the Middle East who was a little embarrassed in the middle of the office, and smiled, "If you're fine, I still have a staff meeting to hold, Mr. Clark."

John Clark left the office quickly, full of frustrated anger and a certain unacknowledged fear, trying to make his back look less like fleeing.

"Black Sand" can no longer stay.The threat posed by this local armed organization that is actually in the hands of the CIA is far greater than the benefits that can be obtained.If the media learns that the CIA has fostered local forces as eyes and ears in Area I, I am afraid that there will be another uproar, and the reputation of the bureau will indeed not be able to withstand more tests.

Clark has always hoped to sell the fake drawings to the Russians through "Black Sand", which can be regarded as the only remaining role of "Black Sand".And for Bruce, that wasn't enough.

The man rubbed his fingertips carelessly in the joint meeting.Bruce was a little annoyed, and he knew why.The image on the computer still remained in his mind, the blond agent was laughing loudly among the sea of ​​fire and dust, his eyes were reflecting the too blue sky, but there was nothing.

It was almost nine o'clock in the evening when the meeting ended, and Bruce sat at the head of the long table, his hands resting on the smooth mahogany tabletop.The man has slender fingers and his skin looks a little pale.His eyes glanced at the silver ring on his ring finger, but it suddenly occurred to him that maybe he really should pick a place to bask in the sun.

Although Mr. James' aesthetic is not worthy of recognition.