00:36:59.
Adam and Sergio were exchanging ideas rapidly, interspersed with many warlike gestures and suggestive words. Misaka Mita stared at the screen for a long time, but still couldn't understand what they meant.
The operatives in the Americas are always like that, just like those special forces, they like to come up with a bunch of languages that only they understand—especially those who have reached the C-level price without participating in many control missions. After all, the battlefields they have experienced can be described as crematoriums where they are at odds with the world—everyone must strive for the most tacit cooperation.
But she also knew what they were planning to do: a surprise attack, killing the target, and fulfilling the various demands imposed by their superiors. Words were just minor details; the rules of scheming and double-crossing were the same. Who knew they might turn on each other and fight to the death after the mission was accomplished?
As an observer, she had no reason to care so much, and even witnessing all sorts of ruthless battles was normal for her.
At this moment, Misaka Mita sat in the underground monitoring room. Outside the window was a real-time screen projected by a surface monitoring device. The boundless sky covered the city of Los Angeles. Eoubs' daily observation guidelines flashed wildly, staining the surrounding air and buildings red, like bursts of blood flashing across the sky.
On the other screen to the right, Joseph's health status was displayed. The information inside the headset kept repeating the mental pollution levels of the raiding squad, as well as the matters discussed at the midday impromptu meeting—such as whether to find an opportunity to kill B05 after the meeting, even though he was powerful, he was indeed a lot of an unstable factor.
They won't let a vengeful prisoner return to the underworld unless they already have a plan. It's nothing more than sending a few higher-ranking operatives to clean up the mess. If all else fails, they can release some biological viruses and use that to make a fuss—after all, the person will be dead by then, and all the negative news can be pushed over. Nobody will care who caused the trouble.
Meanwhile, another message was constantly coming through the internal channel—Adam and Sergio's coordinates; they were almost at the Dolphin Hotel.
This was clearly an operation intended to sacrifice the entire team in exchange for control of power.
Having served as an observer for so many years, she was naturally very familiar with this kind of thing. Even with reinforcements transferred from Yingzhou, she had seen plenty of those disgusting meeting contents.
Around 3 a.m. yesterday, while Misaka Mita was injecting herself with a sedative, a senior executive made a phone call. That idiot insisted that their work efficiency hadn't been ideal lately, and that just a few hours earlier someone had hacked into the system and viewed most of the action logs and the list of those who were doomed.
She immediately realized who the person she was looking for was, like a hunting dog smelling blood—but so what? This person was a natural disaster, having served you like a slave for so many years. Now that you're trying to outsmart a seasoned veteran, you deserve to be taken advantage of.
"What are your instructions?" That was the only answer she could come up with at that time.
The other person was silent for a moment, probably doing something, and then slowly reported that the thing on the bed was groaning terribly, and she didn't know what kind of suffering it was, but it did reach the level of "don't speculate" mentioned on the screen, but it was too damn noisy, so she went outside to listen.
The voice on the phone trembled slightly but was still clear. I told her there would be a reconnaissance meeting at midnight the next day, followed by an operation report, life status assessment, risk evaluation, and the characteristics and mutation patterns of the prey being ambushed... Control missions are always like this, tedious and tense, full of blood, death and hallucinogens. Without some of that stuff, you simply can't get through it. It's like a chain binding your throat, making it impossible to breathe.
The person on the other end didn't wait for her reply and continued, "At 7:30 this morning, he has to go to New York to attend a B-level operative extermination discussion meeting—a stupid meeting that's completely unnecessary to attend, but you still have to be there on time so that the other leaders know that you value the interests of this group very much, to the point that they are indispensable."
Misaka Mita heard another piercing scream on the other end of the phone, and a new observation plan was formed.
Now, the hounds sent from America are driving around the corner of Garden Avenue.
Sergio somehow acquired a brand-new suit, looking like a high-society figure, inexplicably sophisticated.
During their brief retreat, they apparently looted some shop that was open all night, and now they're discussing how to swallow those guys whole—an idea Joseph would definitely love.
Sergio was saying, "Damn, that bitch was really fierce. I bet she's got amazing skills in bed. That slap on my face was like a fucking missile being shoved into my face."
Adam was somewhat embarrassed by his analogy and sighed, saying, "You deserve it."
"But don't you think that line before the fight was cool?"
I don't think so.
"No, you have to agree with me."
“I don’t think doing that will make you more confident.”
"Please, have mercy."
Ten minutes later, the sports car arrived directly in front of the Dolphin Hotel parking garage.
That would definitely be a good location for an ambush. If it weren't for the forbidden object that created the site, as long as the artillery fire hits two load-bearing walls, the auxiliary building above would collapse instantly, and at that moment, the people inside would be completely at a disadvantage.
The prey, like the hounds, were wild and untamed, she thought, too brutal and boring; their very nature exuded a destructive urge to do whatever it took—utterly tedious.
"Alright," Adam chuckled from inside the car, "you win this time."
What Martian language are these two talking about?
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