34: Chapter 34 Old soldiers never die, they just hide.

"Cough, cough..."

The thick smell of gunpowder mixed with the chemical stench of burning, making one's lungs ache sharply.

Chen Mo leaned against the cold tiled wall, the glock in his hand so slick he could barely hold onto it—it was blood, some from his enemies, some his own.

Although they had managed to hold off the recent assault, a stray bullet had grazed his left arm, tearing away a chunk of flesh, and blood was dripping down his sleeve.

"I'm low on ammo." Chen Mo checked his magazine; only seven rounds remained.

"Same here." George leaned against the wall opposite him; his originally pristine white forensic coat was now covered in soot and bloodstains, and the barrel of the M870 shotgun in his hand was glowing red-hot.

"These guys are mad dogs; once they bite, they don't let go."

The gunfire outside had temporarily ceased.

But this wasn't a retreat; it was the calm before the storm.

Chen Mo could hear a faint sound of mechanical friction; some kind of heavy equipment was being set up.

"They're setting up a heavy machine gun, or maybe a battering ram." Chen Mo judged calmly. "This cover won't hold for ten seconds."

George didn't speak.

The old man pulled a flat silver flask from his coat, unscrewed the cap, took a deep swig, and handed it to Chen Mo: "Take a drink; this is painkillers."

Chen Mo took it; the spicy, low-quality whiskey cut through his throat like a knife, but it instantly sharpened his senses.

"Listen, kid." George took back the flask, his eyes suddenly becoming deep, filled with the unique calmness that comes after experiencing the vicissitudes of life.

"Do you know why this morgue is on the third basement level?"

"To isolate the smell?" Chen Mo said casually, while vigilantly watching the entrance.

"Bullshit." George scoffed. He struggled to stand up and limped over to a row of stainless steel cold storage units in the corner.

That was the area used for storing unidentified bodies, which had been locked and covered in dust for years.

"This place used to be a Cold War-era bomb shelter before it was converted into a police station."

George's fingers moved rapidly across a row of numbers, finally stopping at the door of locker 007.

He took a deep breath, removed a key that looked like it had been polished from some kind of bone from around his neck, and inserted it into the keyhole.

"Click."

It wasn't the sound of a locker door opening, but the roar of some hydraulic device activating.

The entire row of cold storage units actually popped outward by an inch, revealing a complex network of pipes and valves behind them.

"Hiss—"

White, frigid air instantly gushed out.

George didn't hesitate at all and yanked down one of the red emergency valves.

"Warning: Cooling system leak. Warning: Hazardous gas emission in progress."

An electronic alarm blared throughout the entire basement.

The sprinkler system overhead didn't spray water; instead, it released a massive amount of extremely low-temperature liquid nitrogen cold mist.

In just a few seconds, the entire morgue turned into a vast, white, dead zone.

Visibility instantly dropped to zero; even thermal imagers would be completely ineffective in such an extremely cold environment.

"This is..." Chen Mo's pupils constricted.

"My contingency plan." George's voice seemed somewhat ethereal in the white fog. "Follow me; I know the way."

A rough, large hand grabbed Chen Mo's wrist.

George didn't run toward the exit; instead, he pulled Chen Mo into the maintenance passage behind the cold storage units.

It was so narrow that only one person could pass through sideways, and the pipes were as dense as a spiderweb.

"Duck, turn left."

"Step over that; it's a high-voltage line."

George navigated this maze like a fish in water, as if this weren't a dark, damp maintenance passage, but his own backyard.

"Who exactly are you?" Chen Mo asked, following behind him, finally asking the question that had been swirling in his mind for a long time.

"An ordinary forensic doctor wouldn't know how to modify a refrigeration system to use as a smoke screen."

The figure in front paused.

"Me?" George gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Just an old antique discarded by the times.

The people at Langley (CIA headquarters) prefer to call us Cleaners."

Chen Mo felt a shiver in his heart.

Although he had guessed as much, hearing it confirmed firsthand still shocked him.

"Twenty years ago, I handled situations even worse than this in Berlin."

George pushed open a rusted iron door, revealing a small secret room that was only five square meters in size.

There were no corpses in the secret room, only a simple folding cot, an old-fashioned radio, and... a wall full of weapons.

"Back then, we didn't have these high-tech gadgets; we relied on these legs and our brains."

George walked to the wall and took down an M1911 pistol wrapped in oilcloth.

He skillfully pulled back the slide and checked the mechanism; his movements were fluid, possessing an artistic beauty.

"This gun has been with me for thirty years." George handed the gun to Chen Mo, his eyes like hard rock.

".45 caliber, first-class stopping power. Even if the target is wearing a bulletproof vest, it can shatter their ribs."

Chen Mo took the heavy old gun.

The walnut on the grip had been worn to a shiny sheen, and the gun body bore the scratches of time, but every part fit together perfectly.

This was not just a weapon; it was a legacy.

"Since you are a Cleaner, why are you holed up here?" Chen Mo asked.

"Because I know too much." George turned around, grabbed two grenades from a box, and hung them on his chest.

"Just like you today. When you see things you shouldn't, you either die or become a ghost."

He patted Chen Mo's shoulder, with a heavy force.

"Ready, rookie?" George grinned, revealing his smoke-stained yellow teeth.

"These brats think they can win with high-tech? They haven't seen real hell."

"Bang!"

The sound of a battering ram hitting the wall came from outside. The enemy had started clearing every room.

"30 seconds." Chen Mo glanced at his watch and gripped the M1911 in his hand, his eyes becoming incredibly sharp. "Let's show them."

George kicked open the other door of the secret room.

"Time to work!"