On the quality improvement of Omega agents

"Tell me." Randall seemed to be suddenly interested, and his blue eyes were fixed on Rott.

Rot showed a mysterious expression: "I mean, you all have things that you don't want the other party to know, don't you?" He shrugged: "I have to admit, that sir values ​​you quite a lot, than You think more than he thinks." He paused, then added, "You too, Mr. Agent."

Randall raised his eyebrows, "Thank you for your evaluation of 'we love each other deeply'." He smiled coldly and said, "Bruce is a very smart person, don't guess what he is thinking."

He knew what Bruce hadn't told him, and Roth's words made Randall sure of that.I'll always know, Randall thought, not even sure where his confidence came from.

Rot stared at the blond man for two seconds, and he said, "I will hide from Bruce Stewart for you, what benefits can I get."

Randall leaned halfway on the rather soft and comfortable bed with a relaxed expression.He showed a slightly mocking smile: "Don't you want my blood sample?"

Rott's eyes lit up quickly.Although pregnant omegas are rare, it is not impossible to get test samples, but "a pregnant breakpoint agent" is not some experimental material that can be seen everywhere. ——In fact, the blond man in front of him is probably the only preserved "fruit" of the Breakpoint Project. The preciousness of Randall's blood is self-evident.

The blond agent had expected Rot's reaction long ago, and he lazily closed his eyes half-closed, waiting for Rot to agree.

"Okay." Rot said quickly, his eyes flickering with fanaticism.He took out a few test tubes from his medical kit and stuck them into the crook of his arm. The dark blood quickly filled Rot's test tubes, and Randall looked a little pale.

Root carefully put away his precious experimental materials, and he winked at Randall: "I'm glad we can share a secret together." He met the other party's warning gaze, and before leaving, he said Words: "Just to let you know that Bruce Stewart ordered a full 'cleanup' of the experimental items of the Breakpoint Project yesterday."

Randall raised his eyebrows, his eyes became probing, but not at Rott.Is Bruce going to make a move?Randall thought to himself.

That person is always good at judging the situation and finding the best and most beneficial way to achieve his goals. During this period, he does not hesitate to use iron and blood, which makes him look like a cruel person.And he is not.It is a bit strange to clear the breakpoint.

Randall watched Rott's thin body disappear outside the door of the confinement room, and the electronic controls containing fine steel closed with a snap.The blond man slowly tilted his head, his eyes stayed on the huge one-way glass for two seconds, and then slowly smiled.

He could vaguely guess a little bit of Bruce's plan, and because of this, he felt a little self-satisfied.

—Is it because of me, Bruce?

office.

Bruce was wearing his usual black trench coat, and the temperature of the air conditioner didn't seem to make up for the coolness of autumn.It was already dusk outside, and the black-haired man looked out of the window without focus, which made the senior CIA officer shockingly look dazed.

"Button".

"Come in." Bruce said quietly.

Come in Rot.Bruce has returned to his usual calm and calm appearance, his gaze across Rot's face like a blade: "How is his body?"

Rot stood respectfully in front of the desk, and he said: "Breakpoint No. [-]'s body is relatively weak, but there won't be much fluctuation recently."

Bruce looked lightly: "Very good."

Rot said slowly: "I have obtained Mr. Randall's blood, and I can start researching it." He paused, and continued: "To keep this child, he must stop using the consolidating agent."

Bruce nodded to show that he knew.

"But he had a history of substance abuse before. The hardeners hit his body hard, like a drug addict suddenly withdraws, and his body weakens quickly and he goes into heat."

Bruce raised his eyes and stared at Rot for two seconds, and then said "um" after a moment of silence.

After the black-haired man turned his gaze away, Rot realized that his back was drenched in cold sweat belatedly.

"Will he die?" Bruce asked.

Rott observed the expressions of senior CIA officials in surprise. He thought of his deal with Randall, and finally shook his head, "No." The physical weakness is temporary, and he will recover after giving birth.

Bruce looked at Rot, his sharp gaze made him tremble. "What did he say to you?"

Rot hesitated for a moment, he considered how not to arouse Bruce's suspicion, and considered his own words. "He didn't doubt it, our deal." Roth smirked, "The reason why I have survived until now is that the senior chief of the CIA needs an expert in attribute transformation to find a living agent for his favorite agent." The way to do it."—and you don't know, your agent makes me think that what you hide is that he can't live.

Bruce's voice was flat: "He doesn't need to know this." He glanced at Rott threateningly, "You'd better not talk too much."

Rott whispered: "Yes." He quietly exited the office.

Bruce frowned slightly, and he turned his attention back to the table. There is still a lot of information waiting for him to read. The struggle between the Pentagon and the top CIA is still going on, and the battlefield without gunpowder often eats people without spit out bones. He has only one choice, and that is to win.

It was nearly one o'clock in the night when Bruce stood up and left the office.The black-haired man walked alone in the slightly empty corridor of the special task force, except for the agents on duty, there was no sound of anyone else in the confidential area.He paused at the door of the room in charge of Randall, then amused himself at the urge to listen to something.In this cage-like place, how could his agents judge through the door panels made of fine steel and the thickened walls that someone was standing outside trying to sense his existence ridiculously through these impenetrable and insurmountable obstacles.

Bruce stood for a moment.

The monitoring room is right next to it, but Bruce doesn't want to go in. He always sees too clearly through the glass, as if all the thoughts in his heart have nowhere to hide.Even if they knew they couldn't see each other.

The dark-haired man turned and left.

In the confinement room.Randall was in a drowsy sleep—he had been getting more and more lethargic recently, as if there was something worth pursuing for a long time in the dreamland, but in fact, except for the dream that Bruce killed him that night in Russia, Randall I have never had any more plotful dreams, like an ominous omen.He opened his eyes dimly, and looked at the door and window as if he could really see something other than the reflective glass. The incandescent lamp formed a distorted light and shadow in the blurred vision.Randall muttered, turned over to close his eyes, and his breathing became heavy and long again.

"...I thought you were really outside...it's just a dream..."

His hands rested unconsciously on his high protruding stomach.

Outside the door, the black-haired man turned and left.

It was very late at night, Bruce raised the collar of his windbreaker, and he heard the sound of his own footsteps on the silent road.The car turned off the engine and parked quietly on the driveway. The neighbors on both sides had already turned off their lights.Bruce stepped slowly up the stone steps in front of the door.

There are not many real estate properties under his name, and he seldom comes back to this set in Langley. Most of the time he travels to and from secret bases across the country, looking at documents with "top secret" stamps in those encrypted offices, and occasionally In a foreign country, do shady intelligence transactions in a turbulent war zone, or plan a coup in the capital of an unknown small country that is beneficial to the country.

It is very difficult for people in this line of work to return home, even for senior CIA officers.

Bruce rummaged in his pocket to find the keys he didn't use often, and the sound of the metal gadgets vibrating and colliding alarmed the creatures by the door.

"Meow--"

Bruce stopped opening the door for a moment, and then he saw the cat squatting by his door in the night. The black fur made the little animal almost melt into the night, and only the golden pupils shone slightly.The stray black cat was frightened and moved uneasily, as if it wanted to escape into the grass not far away, but its hind legs were trembling and unable to move. It could only look at the human in front of it in horror, and screamed more and more horribly.

Bruce opened the door and pocketed the key.He squatted down to look at the black cat in a strange way.

A stray cat with a dirty body, its black hair has become a lock due to the dirt, its ears are quivering uncomfortably, and there is a large bloody wound on its hind leg.It probably knew it couldn't escape, so it could only stare at Bruce, bared its teeth threateningly, and let out a dangerous grunt from its throat, as if it was going to fight to the death.

Bruce doesn't know why he thinks this embarrassed, shrunken feline looks like his agent.The way he gritted his teeth inexplicably made people laugh.

"If you want to come in, you're welcome." The man didn't seem to realize how weird it is for a senior officer of the CIA to talk to a wild cat at the door of his house in the middle of the night, and he added another name to his words : "Mr. Cat?"

The cat stared at him intently, its hind legs still shaking.

The black-haired man paused for a while, and found that the animal's hostility had not diminished in the slightest, so he stood up and entered the house.He was very tired, and it was rare that he didn't think about those intrigues, cloud waves and cunning, and the repeated clips were all his agents.This makes the exhaustion seeping into the bones less difficult.Maybe that's the problem, Bruce thought.The ferocious beast he raised finally got rid of the pet's collar, which made him burnt out, but every time he thought about it, his heart softened unknowingly.

And Bruce knew it couldn't be blamed on fatigue.