32: Chapter 32 The Gift of Death and Plan B

"Don't move. Let me ask this guest a question first."

Chen Mo stopped George, who was about to pull the power switch, his palm pressing steadily against the corpse's cold forehead.

Thinking about touching a corpse at a time like this?

George gave Chen Mo an odd look, but he didn't stop him, only staring vigilantly at the tightly closed door.

He knew this young Chinese agent possessed some uncanny luck—or perhaps something else entirely.

Chen Mo closed his eyes, and the system interface instantly unfolded across his retinas.

[High-value target detected... Extracting...]

[Warning: The target's residual spirituality is extremely weak and contains high-intensity mental corruption...]

[Mental Power - 15]

An icy, bone-chilling coldness instantly burrowed from his fingertips into Chen Mo's brain; it felt as if he had been thrown into the Arctic Ocean, freezing even his thoughts.

But Chen Mo didn't even frown.

As a capitalist who had rolled in the muck of Wall Street and piles of dead bodies, his nerves had long been forged into something unbreakable by greed and cold calculation.

[Extraction successful!]

[Obtained Blue Passive Trait: Law of Silence]

[Obtained Key Memory Fragment: Plan B]

Chen Mo snapped his eyes open, a flash of eerie blue light flickering deep within his pupils.

[Law of Silence (Blue · Passive)]: Your heartbeat, breathing, and micro-expressions will be under absolute control.

While stationary, your presence is reduced by 50%; when under interrogation or mental pressure, pain perception is blocked by 30%, and you cannot be read by lie detectors.

Good stuff. It's a divine skill tailor-made for assassins and undercover agents.

Immediately after, that memory fragment exploded in his mind like a slideshow.

A blurry, first-person perspective: heavy rain, an alleyway.

A cold, synthesized electronic voice came through the earpiece: "Unit-734, cleanup failed. The target has escaped."

The person whose perspective it was clutched their chest and collapsed, their vision blurring.

The voice in the earpiece remained devoid of emotion: "Exposure risk assessment for Stronghold No. 3 (morgue): High. Initiating Plan B. Cleanup squad has departed. Estimated time of arrival: 10 minutes."

"10 minutes..."

Chen Mo glanced at the Patek Philippe on his wrist.

Exactly nine minutes had passed since he entered.

"George." Chen Mo's voice became unnaturally steady, without even a hint of tremor; the Law of Silence was in effect. "We have one minute."

"What can we do in a minute? Write our wills?" George bit down on his cigar. Although he was spouting trash talk, his body was already coiled tight like a drawn bow.

"Plan B." Chen Mo spat out the words, his eyes as cold as ice.

"It means total erasure. Every living person here, every corpse, even every cockroach, is on the cleanup list."

George's face darkened instantly.

Of course, he knew what "Plan B" meant in black-ops terminology—it was a scorched-earth policy, leaving no survivors.

"Those sons of bitches." The old man cursed, but he wasn't panicked; instead, he revealed a ferocious grin.

He kicked the metal cabinet beside him, and the door popped open, revealing that it wasn't corpses inside, but a small arsenal.

Several handguns, two boxes of C4, and even a serrated military combat knife.

"I've been guarding dead bodies here for ten years just waiting for this day."

George grabbed a remote detonator and tossed it to Chen Mo, "Don't ask. If you do, it's just the romance of an old man."

Chen Mo caught the detonator steadily, his estimation of this old coroner rising another notch in his mind.

Sure enough, there wasn't a single normal person in this morgue.

"Listen, George." Chen Mo quickly pried the metal plate from the corpse's chest; the thing was still faintly warm. "They use this for tracking."

Chen Mo looked around, his gaze locking onto the high-temperature incinerator in the corner used for burning medical waste.

"Tell me, if this metal plate were moving at two hundred meters per second, or dancing in a thousand-degree heat, would they be very troubled?"

Chen Mo curled his lips into a cruel smile.

George blinked, then grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow by tobacco: "You kid, you're even worse than I imagined."

"Thanks for the compliment."

Chen Mo threw the metal plate into the incinerator and set the timer to start.

Then, utilizing the spatial construction abilities granted by Street Smarts and Advanced Deception, he quickly pointed to the ventilation duct and the only heavy iron door.

"Place a charge under the ventilation duct on the left; I'll go behind the door. Since they want to clean up the trash..."

Chen Mo drew his glock and pulled the slide, the sound of the bullet chambering ringing out with exceptional clarity in the deathly silent morgue.

"Then let's show them who the real trash is."

Just then, a faint sound came from outside the window, like the friction of a glass cutter dragging across a surface.

Zzz—

The sound was very light, but to Chen Mo, whose hearing was heightened by the Law of Silence, it sounded like a thunderclap.

The two exchanged a look and simultaneously extinguished their light sources.

Darkness fell.