On the quality improvement of Omega agents

Randall, who came out of the infirmary, wandered in the corridor unsteadily, his leisurely appearance was particularly eye-catching among the scientific researchers and field workers who came and went in a hurry.

Not far away, Garcia was talking to a man in a suit. The man had an agent identification tag on his breast pocket. He had yellowish skin, deep eye sockets, and looked like a Middle Easterner.The sound of their conversation came over, and the content could not be heard clearly, but the voices of the two could be vaguely heard.

Randall raised his eyebrows with interest, and "accidentally" bumped into the man as he walked over.

"Oh, sorry!" Randall looked sincerely apologetic, his sea blue eyes looked directly at the Middle Eastern man, and his peripheral vision quickly glanced at the identification plate on the man's chest.

"It's okay." The Middle East man gave him a light look and said.

Listening to the other party's voice, Randall laughed, turned and left.

5 minute later.

The sound of the toilet flushing in the bathroom overwhelmed the "snoring" sound of someone's throat being punctured.Bloody spun around in the toilet, and was flushed into the sewer with the flow of water.

Randall let go of the corpse that was still firmly held in his arms, and let out a long breath.Killing a well-trained agent in a toilet cubicle is a little tricky, but it's done perfectly.The guy made a lot of noise when he was struggling, and Randall had to insert a straightened paper clip into the man's trachea while making a lifelike "hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" sound to make a curious Overweight people scurry away thinking some kind of piston movement is going on in the compartment.

Randall watched coldly as the blood flowed from the small hole in the Middle East agent's neck, staining the white tiles red.He pulled the straightened paper clip from the corpse's trachea, wiped off the blood on it, and then hid it in the neat hem of the cuff.

The man pushed away the people in the compartment, rinsed his hands under the tap, then nodded politely to an unknown agent next to him, then turned and left gracefully.

"Breakpoint number three!"

Garcia's voice came from behind, Randall stopped, and the female soldier hurried to catch up: "The officer asked you to put it away."

The blond man looked at a small communicator in Garcia's palm, and suddenly curved his lips into a smile.He picked up the tiny communication device, put it in his ear without looking at it, and made a grimace at the serious expression of the female soldier as a gesture.The man whispered in that soft, non-threatening tone, "Tell sir, you don't need to thank me." After he finished speaking, he stopped looking at Garcia's reaction and walked away unsteadily.

When passing through the security check, the alarm device rang loudly as usual, and a few soldiers were about to step forward, but Garcia waved impatiently from behind: "Let Agent No. [-] pass."

Randall showed a beautiful smile to the soldiers on the side: "If I were you, I would obey the orders obediently."

The soldier stared blankly at the man walking away.

The underground garage was breezy, and Randall shrank his neck. He got into his inconspicuous gray car and started it.

When the CIA secret agent dispatch office heard the second-level danger alarm, the man's car had already driven out of the underground garage, and Randall watched from the rearview mirror that the garage door quickly dropped behind him, and the flashing red light above showed that there It has entered a state of complete blockade and alert.He hooked the corners of his lips, turned the steering wheel, and the gray car blended into the rolling traffic on the main road like a ghost, and disappeared.

Bruce stood in front of the toilet cubicle with a cold expression. The blood had stopped overflowing, and the solidified crimson had a strong visual impact. The man took a step back to prevent his leather shoes from being stained with blood.

After a few seconds, he said coldly: "Send the person to the forensic doctor's office, let's clear the alarm."

Garcia stood behind Bruce and said yes briefly.She felt that she was almost speechless in the face of such a scene.A small hole in the neck of a Middle Eastern man is almost indistinguishable, and it seems to be the result of a sharp object piercing through it.The precise piercing of the trachea with something so small that it caused death was beyond guesswork.She suddenly thought of the way the blond man had smiled at Yanyan when he left, her lips moved, but she didn't make a sound.

When Bruce turned around, the staff who had gathered at the time of the incident had dispersed "sensibly".Only the two forensic doctors who had just arrived were busy putting the blood-soaked agent into a body bag.

"Your behavior is not worthy of praise." He said suddenly.The man's voice was not loud, but it was cold.

He listened to the sound of cars coming from the communicator in his right ear, and the noise of some heavy metal band.

Randall turned the steering wheel, and the car turned onto a relatively secluded path. He raised his hand and turned off the music station. He knew that the people over there could not see his expression, but he still smiled seductively and provocatively. "Is it just 'not worthy of praise', then it seems that this is indeed the right choice." The blond man said this, but the smile in his eyes didn't really go deep.

Bruce walked down the empty hallway, past the huge barred metal door, and he just said, "He's a CIA agent, Mr. James, and you just let him bleed to death in the bathroom."

Randall shrugged innocently as he drove, trying to sound sincere: "I thought he was the enemy. And he was, sir. I don't see anything on him that says he's an agent. Well." He said in a pitiful tone: "Those wooden sticks really hurt, sir."

The moment the Middle Eastern man spoke, he had already confirmed that the other party was the leader on the phone when he was in "Black Sand".Now that Bruce had made up his mind to clean up that organization, he wouldn't mind doing his officer a small favor by cleaning it up, and of course, taking revenge for the way he was treated in Black Sands.Randall is not without a grudge.

Bruce was expressionless. "The Special Service is not a place for you to kill at random, Agent."

Randall hit the brakes.The anger of the man in the communicator was overwhelming almost instantly, and he shot straight at him.

The agent clenched the steering wheel tightly with one hand, his protruding knuckles were a little blue, and his voice was laughing as usual: "It's up to you, sir, if you want a murderer or something else, I can do it." He He muttered silently, "Control freak," and took a deep breath.

Bruce's voice returned to cold and calm: "You can have your own guesses, James, just don't put them into practice without my consent." His voice was cold, "Don't forget what you said yourself, you are I agents."

Randall licked his lips as if reminded of something, his expression became more ambiguous: "Of course, of course, you really moved me, sir."

Bruce said suddenly, "I hope you haven't been affected today."

Randall laughed. As expected, he found that the topic of the CIA agent who died in the bathroom was ended.Although this does not make him happy now.He said slowly: "I am 'Breakpoint', sir." He found that letting Bruce continue talking about this topic would undoubtedly be very, very detrimental to an "omega agent who knows his own body structure and acts rashly", so Then he said: "Also, sir, I thought you knew that I would have three days' vacation after I came back from District I. You don't want to continue to monitor my private life, do you?"

Bruce didn't say anything more, and there was silence in the communicator.The blond agent listened intently. He thought he could hear Bruce breathing, and what followed in his mind was the dark-eyed, dark-haired man's chest, wide and hard, rising and falling slowly and steadily as the air was drawn in and out. .

Randall just felt that the small space in the car made him hard to breathe.He thought of the taste of Bruce's lips.Then I just felt a rush of heat rushing up.

The blond man finally put away the smile on his face, and he frowned slightly. ——Sure enough, will you still be affected by those smells?

Bruce sat down at the desk, he looked at the empty computer desktop for a few seconds, his eyebrows moved slightly.A deeper blue than that person's eyes.The older man seemed to have suddenly realized something, his extremely thin lips were tightly pressed together, and the expression on his face was almost cold.Bruce paused for two seconds, and then slowly opened the drawer. He took out a very thin needle tube from a box, then lifted up his sleeve, and injected the liquid in the needle tube into the vein neatly, watching the floating The veins in the blood were a little blue, Bruce threw away the needle, and exhaled lightly.

He hated the feeling.

estrus.Captured by nature.beyond the control of reason.That represents danger, shame, and harm.

Bruce Stewart was an alpha, an alpha so damn powerful that he needed special inhibitors to control his impulses.The stronger an alpha is, the more it will be provoked by the smell of omega.vice versa.

Bruce hadn't bonded, and he knew his agents didn't either.And he couldn't put more pressure on those omegas who had endured a long month of torture.

Obviously, it was a hasty decision to follow Mr. James into the secret room just after seeing the surveillance video.Bruce thought of that unexpected kiss again, and squeezed his fingers impatiently, which was rare.

Sitting in his tiny gray sedan, Randall took two deep breaths.He pushed open the car door and got out.

The man was standing in a dilapidated alley at this time. The trash can seemed to have not been cleared for a long time. The waste was scattered here and there, exuding a pungent smell. In front of him was a small two-story house. , the red brick wall has been somewhat mottled.

Randall stepped up the steps in twos and threes, and he stretched out his hand and opened the iron door casually.There is no lock, either the owner is too careless, or there is really nothing worth locking in this house.Clearly Randall was not a family man.

The blond man turned back and bolted the iron door. Standing in the front hall of the house, he took a deep breath, then strode past the food packaging bags and dusty furniture scattered on the floor, and went straight to bar counter.

Well, luckily his whiskey is still there.The man drank the amber liquid in the cup, but his brows still did not relax.As if a knife was stabbing and twisting in his brain, the man almost couldn't help but groan.He poured another glass, then slowly took out the communicator in his ear, and after throwing the thing into the glass full of wine with a relaxed face, the blond man finally gritted his teeth and pressed his temples and let out a low hum .