Chapter 42 About the Suitcase
"No one can challenge the authority of the Wing, and you will be no exception."
In the darkness, a snow-white arm reached out to the wall. Then, light dispelled the darkness, and the haggard blonde woman slowly sat up. She brushed her long hair, which was soaked with cold sweat and stuck to her back.
She had lost count of how many times she had dreamt of the scene of their parting and Carly's face. This woman, who was like a ghost in her mind, kept haunting her dreams, driving her to hide in the base closest to Lobotomy Corporation, even when she was trying to escape.
She didn't know why she didn't stay far away, but instead returned to what was arguably the most dangerous place for her. Was it out of fear from her dream or something else? In any case, her mental state was deteriorating, and who knows, one day she might not be able to bear it anymore and run back.
The woman tidied herself up and slumped against the sofa, when there was a knock on her bedroom door. She opened it to find Bourbon's smiling, dark face.
Bourbon, in a way, shared a similar fate with him. He had been under the thumb of those two for quite some time, while those two were probably still being bossed around by their unscrupulous supervisors at Lobotomy Corporation.
Despite the many thoughts swirling in her mind, Vermouth, an internationally renowned superstar, maintained her usual playful expression and spoke with a slight smile:
"Bourbon, what do you need me for?"
She had already spoken to the BOSS and told him she wouldn't be going on missions for a while. Besides, Bourbon was acting strangely. This man was constantly traveling between missions and was becoming the Gin of the intelligence team. He usually had a sour face when he was at the base, but now he was smiling. Had he finally gone mad?
Bourbon was clearly not there for a visit. He turned to his left, revealing the stranger he had previously hidden...?
Bourbon brought two men with him, and they kept talking.
Vermouth could only hear the pounding of her own heart, and all she could see was the person who had been brought there; she had completely ignored the other person.
Vermouth, who has honed her disguise skills to perfection, recognizes people not just by looking at their appearance, but also by subconsciously analyzing their bone structure.
She recognized the middle-aged man at a glance—his short black hair slicked back, his sophisticated striped suit, and his golden eyes—exactly the same as the man in her nightmares. She was certain that once her supervisor aged, he would definitely look like this.
Even fathers and sons wouldn't be so in sync; only twins or clones could achieve that.
As Amuro Tooru introduced the two newcomers, he suddenly noticed that the blonde woman's smile gradually disappeared. She was already in poor condition, and her face began to turn pale, but her expression gradually calmed down, as if she had resigned herself to her fate after everything had settled down.
This was the last stop for face recognition. After successfully bringing the two back to the nearest base, Bourbon, following Rum's instructions, took them to meet all the codenamed members temporarily staying at the base.
Logically speaking, given the organization's consistent emphasis on secrecy, it would never introduce a newcomer in such a grand manner, especially since this newcomer is not even officially a member, let alone given a code name.
Amuro first took them to see Vodka, who was still recovering from his injuries. Gin had gone out on a field mission and was not at the base. Then they met Vermouth, who had been locking herself in her room.
Vermouth's tone was unusually calm, like a delicate doll devoid of emotion:
"I understand. I will go back, report to the disciplinary department, and repent for my behavior."
If she survives.
Unlike Bourbon, who was completely unaware of the situation and confused, the middle-aged man, who should have reacted or at least agreed, did not respond to her words at all, as if he did not know her.
“I am not the person you think I am, and I have no interest in your actions. You can call me Abel.”
The middle-aged man's words interrupted Vermouth's train of thought and made her heart, which had sank after everything had settled down, rise again.
What did he mean? What does it mean that he's not the person he thought he was, that he...?
Bourbon noticed Vermouth's distraction earlier and chimed in at the opportune moment:
"This is Mr. Abel, who recently joined the organization. The one behind him is his assistant, Herbert. And this is Miss Vermouth, who is also a codenamed member."
Amuro Tooru noted down this unusual place. It seemed that Vermouth had definitely been in contact with Abel, and Abel's reaction was that he didn't want him to see their connection.
Without much conversation, Abel suggested visiting the base's affiliated laboratory. Soon, Bourbon, whose thoughts had been interrupted, led the distinguished guest away, leaving only the blonde woman watching their retreating figures.
Perhaps it's time to return to that underground facility filled with monsters and despair. Ironically, in Vermouth's memory, she may have only been there for less than a week.
She had a strange feeling that she had been there in a past life, and her sense of belonging to the organization where she had been for decades was not as strong as it had been in those few days.
The secretary, who was busy assisting the supervisor in directing the employees, received a communication request from the main entrance. It was a woman wearing sunglasses and a mask, dressed very conservatively. Had she finished her business?
Because of the previous incident of the supervisor absconding, everyone's focus was on how to get the supervisor back.
After the supervisor returned, the company started working overtime non-stop again, and no one remembered her. Even Carly put the matter aside. Perhaps only Apple, who was still glad that her goddess had escaped, remembered that she had not returned.
After being verified by Angela, Vermouth returned to the place she had left a month ago, only to find a stranger sitting in the house, watching TV?
Why would anyone watch TV in this godforsaken place?
Cervantes didn't expect anyone to arrive so early, and they seemed to know the way well, walking straight towards the elevator until they saw him at the corner.
Holding a mask and sunglasses, Vermouth didn't want to talk to anyone. After confirming that this wasn't any minister, she simply nodded coldly at him and prepared to leave.
"They've already started working down there, so I suggest you wait a bit before going down."
Cervantes, finding the woman increasingly familiar, prompted, "You are... Chris Vineyard?"
How come someone here recognizes me?
The TV screen suddenly started flashing static, and then Angela's voice came through:
"Stay up there for now, someone will bring you down later. Remember what he said."
The TV flickered again and then returned to its original content... What is this? What is this "Cinq Association's Closing Person Livestream"? Is it a new reality show?
A handsome young man, dressed in a magnificent cloak and wearing a large hat adorned with long feathers, smiles broadly at the camera, showing the audience the enemy behind him.
"This is my client, and that is the target of this commission."
Vermouth also sat down at the table, intending to watch the strange television program. The live broadcast gave her a weird feeling. The next moment, the target was impaled on a rapier by the smiling young man. This was definitely not a special effect. In this era, no one would kill someone live.
Finally, this bloody live stream ended with the young person in charge. Please support him. He is so-and-so from the Cinq Association.
Vermouth, who considered herself a ruthless member of an organization with countless lives on her hands, was also puzzled by this livestreaming method of killing people and then asking for support.
She couldn't help but wonder if she was still half asleep. In fact, she hadn't seen the old manager or returned to Lobotomy Corporation today.
Unlike Vermouth, who was questioning her existence, the Spaniard, who had watched the otherworldly livestream for a long time, skillfully switched channels after the livestream ended.
A blonde girl covered in blood stepped out of the elevator, greeted her close Spanish friend, and then turned to Vermouth:
“Miss Beckham, I am here on Miss Angela’s orders to take you down.”
X, who was scheduling employees, suddenly realized that one of the Don Quixote duo in the Central Headquarters Area 2 was missing. The interface showed "Working," but he hadn't sent her to work. Where is my employee?
"Supervisor, during your amnesia, one of the staff members in the records department took leave. I just sent Don Quixote to pick her up."
After confirming that none of his employees were missing, the supervisor responded and continued to work overtime. The more overtime he worked, the more energy and power he gained. Given enough time, he could pull boxes into the shape of a war god!
The black-haired youth suddenly thought of a certain black hole in combat power and began to have some doubts. Could Li Xiang have secretly died somewhere? He really didn't have much confidence in the number one sinner.
And why did he feel strangely uncomfortable last night when he went to sleep? I should check him out after work; could he be catching a cold?
The thin man holding a cup of hot water sneezed, then began to cough violently.
"Hey! Are you alright?!"
The young boy with bright orange hair, as radiant as the sunset, asked anxiously, "This man was pulled out of the river by me. He developed a high fever that very night. He wouldn't have anything as precious as medicine, and even if he did, he wouldn't use it on an adult of unknown origin."
The man, whose fever was so high he could practically cook an egg with his body heat, stubbornly endured it, though he kept coughing. Fortunately, his companions, the lambs, were very considerate and didn't suggest he throw the man out.
Today, the man finally woke up, but he ended up coughing like this.
"I felt it, the longing from afar."
The man's voice was so hoarse from coughing that Chuuya could only make out some indistinct syllables, what was he mumbling?
The kind child, whose hair was the same color as Ishmael's, gently pushed the suitcase back onto his bed and took away the cup that was about to spill.
“This is not ideal,” the dark-haired man murmured.
"Since your throat is like this, you shouldn't speak for now!"
When dealing with adults, Nakahara Chuuya is not as patient as he is with children.
"Now that you're awake, do you know where you live? Do you have your family's contact information?"
Seeing that the man was going to continue torturing his voice, Chuuya Nakahara quickly took out paper and pen. There were also children in their area who had gone to school but had become orphans. He had also learned some characters and was not completely illiterate.
The black-haired man obediently took the paper and pen and began to scribble. Nakahara Chuuya looked at the page full of scribbles and slowly typed a question mark: What is all this? Is this still Japanese?
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