The dance music in the golden hall is still going on, and the pink box seems empty at this time. There are only a few female workers organizing the room, trying to clean up the garbage produced by ladies and ladies during the day before the evening rush hour.
Tick tock, tick tock.
In the closed utility room, bursts of pale white mist spread wantonly, and a girl wearing a white gauze slowly walked out of it, with a cold look on her face.
His white right arm was entangled with wisps of faint black energy, and a piece of sticky flesh as scarlet as blood was tightly grasped in his palm, and bloodshot streaks were pinched out by his slender fingers.
"Insects that fell from the mother tree!" The ethereal and melodious voice became deeper. He stared hard at the piece of meat in his palm that was constantly beating and trying to break free at any time, squeezing it tighter and tighter.
Finally, His accumulated anger reached its peak.
boom!
The pieces of meat exuding the smell of sulfur exploded and exploded, and the sticky residue like paste had not yet landed on the ground, but it festered into puddles of sludge under the extreme "distortion" and "corruption".
"It's a pity that this body has reached its limit, otherwise I can still try to swallow this part of the power." As an incarnation of the same old person, Charlotte Tamara Treville is not worried at all about being desired for this reason.
The brainless thing in the mother tree pollutes in reverse.
After adjusting his condition, he walked out of the closed utility room with a natural expression. His blue-violet eyes ignored the confused looking cleaning lady at the door. His eyes penetrated the wall. After searching for a while, he locked his eyes on tonight's dinner.
Xia Lu, who looked relaxed and happy, slowly licked her lips and took even lighter steps.
It seems that even He himself has not noticed that he also uses the inefficient method of devouring flesh and blood to maintain the stability of his body. Why not choose the cleaning lady who has everything at hand and no one cares about her death? Why not abandon this identity and go to a chaotic place?
Eastern District?
The girl with a delicate face and iconic figure opened the door, and her "witch" side occupied the high ground of her thoughts.
Now He is her again.
............
An older style of hired carriage was mixed in with the crowded crowd. The driver sitting in front was leisurely and content, not at all annoyed by the traffic jam.
The gentleman behind had already agreed in advance that this trip would be charged according to time, so he was happy to be stuck in traffic for a while.
The curtains in the carriage were tightly drawn, and Mike, who had rough skin, pressed against the wooden wall at the rear of the carriage, his face still pale.
For so many years as a reporter, this was the first time he encountered someone shooting at him. If Sherlock hadn't reacted faster just now, he would have returned to the Kingdom of God!
Fortunately, I found an experienced detective as a bodyguard in advance... He had lingering fears. Klein, who was sitting next to him, swallowed slowly.
"Sherlock, who do you think was the one who attacked me just now?" After a long silence, Mike cautiously glanced at the partition between him and the coachman, then lowered his voice and asked carefully.
With his eyes closed tightly, he felt the direction of the "spirit lines" around him. Klein, whose brain was swollen and exhausted, closed the "substitute", rubbed his forehead, and replied:
"At least not the people behind the Golden Rose."
Just now, when the shooting stopped and he picked up Mike and fled to the intersection, he did not encounter any other attacks, and he also vaguely heard the bodyguard shouting in the direction of Golden Rose.
They also seemed very surprised that someone outside their home dared to draw a gun in the street.
Mike, who was still tense and pale, wiped away the non-existent sweat, nodded slightly, and agreed with this statement.
"I think so. If they were afraid that the things behind Golden Rose would be exposed, Lopez wouldn't have to tell me that much. Even if they dragged me away in the lobby, no one would care."
After all, he was an experienced reporter. After the initial panic, Mike began to think about this question, but he was still unable to come up with an answer.
This is not necessarily true. What if they just want to create this illusion to deceive people who are biased towards Kaping?
Having read many modern literary and artistic works, Klein has become immune to many weird reasons and is extremely receptive. Klein cursed in his heart, but did not directly express his conjecture. He only gave his employer a meaningful look.
As a "clown" who has almost digested the potion, Klein can be sure that even if the shot really hit Mike, it would not be enough to kill him.
Klein, who was sitting aside, adjusted his body shape, put his left leg on his right leg, and a coin spun down from the air, face up in the dark palm wrapped in a glove.
Sure enough, if it hits, Mike will still not be fatally injured.
Klein, who had confirmed his guess through divination, coughed lightly. Seeing that his employer's attention was attracted, he spoke softly:
"Perhaps, the other party doesn't want to kill you, but just wants to make others look more real?"
As he spoke, he put away the coins in his palm and looked at Mike sincerely with his ice blue eyes.
Looking at Klein's eyes that gradually became darker after turning on his spiritual vision, Mike, who was still a little panicked, slowly calmed down and began to think along the lines of ideas proposed by Klein.
"You mean, they want people to think that I was attacked by Capin's men in order to block my mouth and prevent me from exposing the human trafficking behind him?"
Looking back on his sobriety at that time, Mike felt more and more that his guess was extremely close to the truth.
"This is just a possibility. If the truth is really like this, it can only be said to be very rough and not very effective." Klein nodded slightly, without expressing absolute agreement, but still trying to guide Mike's thinking.
Mike, whose face had returned to normal and who no longer acted fearful, breathed a sigh of relief and his tone basically returned to normal.
"No, Sherlock, you have been living in a holy place of knowledge like Lundberg before, so you may not know much about the practices of these gangs and high-level officials."
Mike felt more and more that his guess was closer to the truth, and his tone gradually became more confident.
"If this bullet was really shot by them, if I really tried to expose Kapin, and even achieved certain results, no one would make a fuss about this attack, and maybe they would still regard it as Kapin.
Ping wants to have irrefutable evidence of murder and silence. Believe me, those big shots will make other reporting newspapers and police stations 'believe'."
"Then what are you going to do next?" Seeing that his hint had an effect, Klein asked in a calm tone.
After all, he is not a professional, nor is he an extraordinary person in the "audience" path. He is not capable of letting the other party's way of thinking completely follow his own.
Oh, if I have the ability to have "nightmares", I might be able to try a dream within a dream to confuse the target's subconscious affirmation of the memory and blur his cognition... Klein rubbed the cane that he had been holding tightly in his left hand.
, relaxed his body, and listened to Mike's answer that he had been considering for a long time.
"I, I don't mean to report this bastard directly."
He caught a glimpse of Klein's probing gaze and couldn't help but dodge his eyes.
"Sherlock, you are still single, right? You may not quite understand. I have my own family, and my home is in Backlund. If I really offend such a gangster who has no bottom line, my family will suffer.
"
As he spoke, his speaking speed gradually increased, as if trying to hide something, he said quickly:
"Of course, I will continue to investigate various problems faced by grassroots people, compile them into reports, and submit them to caring big shots. I will also mention issues such as human trafficking in passing. This is the best I can do at the moment.
Good help.”
He was still talking ramble, gradually ignoring his raised voice and no longer caring whether the coachman could hear him, he just lowered his head and explained alone.
Klein, who was sitting next to him, slowly closed his eyes. He placed the cane horizontally in his palm and unconsciously pressed the mechanism at the head of the cane with his right hand, remaining silent.
............
On the first floor of an apartment near Backlund Bridge, a leisurely Aigron held a gilded novel in his hands, sat back at the front desk, and relaxed.
Dang Dang Dang.
He slowly took his eyes off the lines of the book and raised his head in confusion.
In the not-so-bright apartment lobby, a man of medium build was tapping his knuckles on the table at the front desk.
He stared at a head of relatively sparse blond hair, and his scalp could be vaguely seen at the crown of the hair. His light blue eyes were sharp, and his square face, coupled with a serious expression at all times, gave people an old-fashioned feeling.
Aiglon looked at the black-toned formal suit he was wearing, his eyes inadvertently passed over the inside of the coat and the slightly exposed square scarf on the formal pocket, and he put down the novel in his hand.
"If you had come earlier, all the tenants here would have returned."
The serious and old-fashioned middle-aged man had no expression on his face. He took out a key from the side pocket of his coat and pushed it on the table at the front desk.
"I need to keep this house safe."
"Actually, you don't need to be so cautious. His Highness the Prince will definitely not live in a place like this by himself." Aigron looked at him with a strange look. He picked up the brass key that reflected the dim light on the table with his thick palm and put it away.
In the drawer.
The old-fashioned man who stood upright looked at his movements and replied seriously:
"Since it is His Highness the Prince's mission, I must treat it with the highest standards."
They are both soldiers who have been favored by Prince Edsac, but now, one has become a peripheral member of MI9, and the other has taken the position of the team leader.
The person who had previously handled Rosago's follow-up affairs was this newly promoted "Punishing Knight".
Due to physical reasons, Aigron, who was semi-retired, had no intention of arguing with him, nor did he reveal that the occupant of the house was Sherlock Moriarty.
Although he could trust his former comrades, he never trusted the so-called integrity of intelligence agencies like MI9.
At least for the sake of His Highness the Prince, they will not take the initiative to find out who will stay in that house.
"Has the higher ups prepared any actions recently?" Although he was older, Aigron still retained some of the flavor of his youth as he touched his unshaved beard, "Absently."
The cold-looking man's body suddenly tensed up like a conditioned reflex, and after deliberately controlling his relaxation, he answered vaguely and solemnly:
"Always be prepared for encirclement and suppression."