Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
The luggage was ready.
They gathered in an open area in front of the military camp.
Before long, Russell arrived with a group of people.
"Why are there so many of us? I thought it was just going to be a few," Bainam exclaimed in surprise.
Not only that, but everyone present was also startled by the imposing figures behind Russell. Aside from a few researchers, the rest were all burly men who looked ready to sweep the battlefield with their Woods Submachine Guns at any moment.
Each one of them could be a formidable weapon on the battlefield, and they certainly looked the part.
However, leading this group was not just a headache for Russell; he was the acting captain of this full five-man unit.
Now he had to not only organize tactics and strategies but also keep an eye on this bunch of potential loose cannons who might raise their guns at any moment. They didn’t seem like obedient soldiers; every one of them exuded an air of determination to follow orders without question.
Yet their behavior didn’t reflect that clarity. When faced with problems, they would undoubtedly disregard the safety of others.
They were an extremely dangerous group, a special unit known as the Suicide Squad.
Each one of them, after reciting a prayer to God, was prepared to embrace death while clutching a grenade.
“How should I know? It wasn’t my suggestion to call so many people here,” Russell replied, sounding uncertain.
“Hahaha, from now on we’re brothers, grasshoppers on the same rope, facing death together without abandoning each other,” one of the researchers stepped forward to ease the awkward atmosphere.
“Absolutely.”
Russell appeared anxious. Turning back, he felt responsible for ensuring the safety of this group behind him; it would almost be easier to kill him than deal with this situation.
He knew that in battle, there could never be absolute certainty. Even if things got dire, he couldn’t simply abandon his comrades for the sake of the researchers' safety.
Although he had assured his superiors that he would guarantee the researchers' safety, it was nearly an impossible task.
He believed his superiors understood this as well. As for why he agreed to it—out of respect for their authority, he had no choice but to comply with the order.
However, if things went south and someone died, his superiors couldn’t really execute him for it.
The five researchers who had come along this time were clearly well-prepared; the Submachine Guns they carried were essential gear.
Although they were researchers, they knew how to handle military Submachine Guns. Even the only woman among them was capable of confronting violent thugs, able to draw her knife and strike with lethal precision.
If they were as formidable as their profiles suggested, Russell wouldn't mind; let them go.
Listening to their stories was one thing, but facing the true forms of those Evil Spirits up close was another. They knew and understood the terror these beings instilled.
Even bullets might not always be effective; the scales that covered their bodies seemed to resist all bullets. It was hard to tell if they had evolved over such a long time.
Bullets didn't guarantee safety, but they were better than nothing. The best weapons available to the Military Department were these. As for Alchemical warheads, Alchemical technology, and Alchemical Weapons, those were out of the question. The Military Department would never entrust such crucial technology to just a few people; no one knew if they would survive the future.
If any of those creatures learned the secrets of Alchemical technology or attempted to merge the runes within Alchemical Weapons, the Zerg could potentially evolve even further.
Currently, dealing with these creatures was already difficult enough; there was no way they would hand over such weapons to a team that might not survive.
From the moment they received their orders, this team had become a shadow unit—a Suicide Squad destined for death.
The Military Department would provide them with all necessary support, but if the mission failed and they needed to retreat, the Military Department had the right to say, "Complete your mission first. We'll send a helicopter for you afterward. We believe in your ability to succeed. Even if you die, we trust you'll do so standing. So go forth, warriors; you have the people's support behind you."
Who knew which deranged leader would take charge then? It would surely be that lunatic, Corporal Uto.
If he dared to act like that, Russell would make sure he survived—he'd raise his gun and point it at him, sending him off to meet God.
"We have thirty minutes until the helicopter arrives," Russell said as he adjusted his jacket and glanced at the others nearby. "While there's still time, write your wills. Don't let your families fight over your petty affairs after you're gone."
"Don't worry; we're all special forces. We understand what we're getting into."
At that moment, a tall black man from the Special Forces Suicide Squad spoke up. He stood nearly seven feet tall with a lean physique and carried himself with an air of fragility that seemed out of place for a member of a Suicide Squad—more like a professional athlete's build.
However, anyone standing here appeared normal on the surface but harbored their own secrets within.
"We're all orphans, abandoned by God. From birth onward, we never expected love from others; we only do one thing: send them off to meet God."
On the other side, a chubby man puffed on a large cigar, taking two quick puffs before speaking.
At that moment, laughter erupted among the other members of the Suicide Squad.
"Alright then, that's good. I trust in your professional abilities," Russell smiled.
What else could he do besides showing an awkward smile? Should he join them in their madness? The Suicide Squad was indeed a specialized unit, but even among Special Forces, there was no atmosphere completely out of touch with society here.
On the contrary, this place was remarkably harmonious. The only difference was that the people here were disconnected from society, exhibiting a pathological trend where nonsense became the sole pursuit determining whether one could survive in the ranks of the Suicide Squad.
It was akin to an artist's pursuit of art; they could elevate nonsense to a level of clarity and transcendence, much like singing or reciting poetic lyrics.
"Hmph, I see you don't quite believe it. Otherwise, you wouldn't be wearing that smile. You just don't believe," said a bald Black man nearby, immediately launching into nonsense.
"I don't mean to look down on you, but could you show some respect, please?" Russell shrugged.
"Black man."
The members of the Suicide Squad widened their eyes. Was this a discrimination against their darker skin? This was racial discrimination.
However, the man quickly laughed again. "Hahaha, that's right! We are indeed Black men. It seems you have potential for nonsense, but sometimes you take things too seriously. That's not fun."
"Uh, what are you thinking?" Russell took a deep breath, huffed, and turned his head away, ignoring them from then on.
Comment 0 Comment Count