As the four horses roared one after another, the slave carriage shook the carriage wildly, and an iron cage was thrown off the carriage.
The people inside kept wailing, but the young man sitting in front of the carriage stabilized his hand on the pen and already wrote a certain name in his notebook.
The sense of crisis was like an electric current wrapped around Victor's body, constantly stimulating his nerves. It was as if there was a voice in the dark reminding him frantically that he must not let that person finish writing the content on the page!
The carriage was already dozens of meters away from him. Victor picked up his pistol and aimed forward. Only the posture when Arthur taught him how to shoot came to mind.
"When you truly master a gun, you don't have to think about anything when you shoot, and you don't need to simulate the trajectory. You have to treat the bullet as a life. As long as it lives, it will definitely run towards the target."
These were the last words of the Eastern Gun King before he left, and now they seemed to be ringing in Victor's ears again.
In an instant, the pistol seemed to turn into the flesh and blood extending from Victor's own palm, and was closely connected with him.
The flames from the muzzle roared angrily, like the breath of a giant dragon, spraying bullets full of kinetic energy directly into the front seat of the bumpy slave truck dozens of meters away!
The young man named Albert was still writing furiously, even if the carriage kept shaking, he didn't care at all.
But suddenly, he felt a cold feeling on the back of his hand holding the pen. First, there was a cold feeling coming from his wrist, and then there was intense burning and pain, which spread from his palm to his whole body.
The pen fell suddenly, and the young man could not reach out to pull it because his entire right arm had lost all feeling and he could not pick it up at all.
With a stunned expression, he looked at the terrifying hole in the center of his palm. The flesh and blood were opened, and the thick hand bones could be seen through the hole.
Ah~~~!!!
He grabbed his right wrist with his other hand, frantically looking for something to stop the bleeding.
But the bullet not only penetrated his palm, but also exploded a large mass of flesh and blood. The index finger and middle finger looked like two sausages that had been half eaten by mice, with only a strand of meat still attached.
This right hand was completely disabled. Even if he could stop the bleeding, he would no longer be able to hold up a pen and write anything.
The slave truck rushed out of the auction entrance and sped away. As soon as it left the scene, police sirens sounded, and a large number of police officers, led by agents from the Police Bureau, rushed to the entrance of the auction.
The leader was an investigator from the Inspection Bureau.
They rushed into the scene. Seeing that something was wrong, Mike continued to call Victor's name, but found that Victor who was originally there was missing.
There was no way he could be caught by the police station, so he had no choice but to escape from the narrow intersection by himself.
…
Victor did not choose to leave with Mike because he saw the notebook in the young man's hand fell into the mud after he was hit by him, so he went to pick it up and check it.
The surrounding light was very dark. People from the Police Bureau and the Police Department had already rushed into the auction and were searching various places where people were hiding. They found many slaves in the warehouse.
"Put down the gun! Squat on the ground with your head in your hands!" An agent from the Inspection Bureau came over and pointed a gun at Victor, but the next second he found the ten-star medal that the other party had already taken out and pinned on his chest.
"Inspector?!"
With an exclamation, the investigator leading the team rushed over and asked Victor for instructions with a shocked face.
Victor ignored him, and now he saw the contents of the note clearly, and his expression was as shocked as that of the investigator.
"Which department are you from..." The investigator confirmed Victor's identity again.
Victor calmed down and answered him coldly: "Prevention and Suppression Department."
"Elite agent?" The investigator took a deep breath and asked in disbelief, "Why are you here."
After closing the notebook, Victor looked up at the other party: "I also want to ask you, this is the human trafficking market of the Cigar Club. It has been there for a while, but you have never discovered it? Who gave you the order tonight?
?”
The investigator was just following orders and didn't know the specific situation, and he didn't recognize the name of his direct superior, Victor.
But one piece of information is very clear, that is, the Inspection Bureau just received intelligence not long ago that some dangerous items were hidden here, so it asked the police to cooperate and called in a large number of people to deal with it.
This information was obviously accurate, as the bodies of the two bat-winged demons were still lying there.
It seemed like a coincidence. After the communication was completed, the Police Bureau and the Police Station began to process the scene and arrested the cigar-making thugs and slave traders who should be captured.
In fact, many people had already escaped during the previous riots, and almost half of them were arrested and taken back for interrogation.
Victor, on the other hand, returned to the Police Bureau with them overnight, wanting to ask Henry something.
Henry was sleeping in the lounge upstairs. He was a little sleepy when someone woke him up in the middle of the night. He got up and made himself a pot of coffee first.
"What can't be done tomorrow?"
Victor sat down opposite him: "Your colleagues are still on duty tonight, and they haven't slept yet. How can you sleep?"
Henry chuckled and replied: "When I was working at night, they were also sleeping. This is the system of the Inspection Bureau. Oh...with the exception of your Anti-Suppression Department, elite agents can even refuse to perform tasks."
"Anyway, I'm awake now. Let me show you something." Victor spread the notebook on the table in front of Henry.
Henry was wearing a coat and holding a coffee cup. He glanced at the page and paused while sipping the coffee.
"Luc Dillon... Jose Garcia, Joe Sandra... are all the names of dead Progressives, and... what is the content below? How does it feel like I am writing for them?
Obituary?”
The paragraphs of text that Henry looked at were all obituaries one after another, recording in detail the name of the deceased, the cause of death, and other information that the police and the police had obtained. Many of the contents were impossible to understand without visiting the scene in person.
The families of the deceased held separate funerals afterwards, choosing different burial times and cemeteries. The obituaries must have been written by different people and could not be concentrated in one notebook.
Henry discovered the problem and looked up at Victor opposite: "Where did you get this notebook?"
"The slave trading market your colleague raided tonight was left behind by a seer named Albert."
After receiving the reply, Henry understood the seriousness of the matter and proposed to take the notebook to report to his superiors.
As a result, Victor refused to provide the original and asked Henry to make a copy for himself.
Henry didn't understand, but Victor said he planned to take the anti-suppression department back to ask William's opinion tomorrow.
"In that case, why did you come here tonight to disturb my sweet dream?"
After hearing Henry's complaint, Victor's expression suddenly became extremely serious: "I doubt that the seer's ability means that the people he wrote the obituary will die according to the content in the obituary."
Henry's expression changed, and after thinking about the contents of the note, he felt that everything made sense.
Victor continued: "During the firefight with him, I heard his name. Although I later disabled his right hand so that he could no longer hold a pen, for the sake of safety, I must tell you this clue first.
…”
Henry's eyes widened, and he suddenly realized that the key to writing an obituary was to first find out who the deceased was. If, as Victor expected, the other party's ability was to use the obituary to kill people, then Victor would be in danger if his name was exposed.
He seemed a little worried about Victor's condition, but the latter flipped the note to the last page, pointed to the paragraph at the end and asked Henry: "And this, have you seen this slogan?"
The words he refers to are - there are cracks in everything.