35: Chapter 35 Counterattack! The Secret of CQC and Ouroboros

The white mist gushing from the liquid nitrogen was like a thick wall, slicing the morgue on the third basement level into countless bizarre, fragmented pieces.

The temperature here had already dropped to minus twenty degrees.

For the "Clean-up Workers" equipped with infrared thermal imagers, this was not just a visual blinding, but a tactical nightmare.

All heat source signals were masked by the extreme cold, and their goggles showed nothing but a chaotic mess of blue-purple noise.

"Attention all units, thermal imaging is offline. Switch to sonar assist, fire at will."

The Commander's cold instructions came through the earpiece, devoid of any emotional fluctuation.

This was a professional clean-up squad; there was no panic, no cursing.

The moment the order was given, five beams of tactical flashlights pierced the white mist like sharp swords, advancing inward in a fan formation.

Chen Mo pressed himself against the side of the stainless steel autopsy table, his breathing nearly non-existent.

[Law of Silence] was running at full capacity.

His heart was like an engine with its power dialed down, each beat slow and powerful, pumping blood precisely into his limbs without producing a single trace of unnecessary vibration.

In his perception, the sound of the five approaching footsteps was as clear as drumbeats.

Two on the left, two on the right, and the Commander in the middle.

"Three o'clock position, there was a gunshot just now," a Clean-up Worker reported in a low voice, the muzzle of his gun quickly turning toward the corner where George was hiding.

At that very moment.

Chen Mo moved.

He didn't fire directly, but instead slid out of cover silently like a snow leopard hunting on the ice sheet.

He had already taken off his leather shoes, and his sock-clad feet stepped onto the ice-covered tiles without making a sound.

Five meters, three meters.

The moment the Clean-up Worker was about to pull the trigger, Chen Mo materialized from the white mist behind him.

There was no need to aim; the muscle memory of [Sharpshooter] allowed him to lock onto the headset connection on the side of the opponent's bulletproof helmet the instant he raised his hand.

"Bang!"

The dull report of the M1911 exploded in the confined space, the .45 caliber bullet carrying immense kinetic energy, directly blowing away half of the Clean-up Worker's skull.

This shot was like a starting pistol.

"Enemy attack! Nine o'clock!"

The remaining four Clean-up Workers reacted extremely quickly, their muzzles turning instantly.

But Chen Mo was faster than them.

Before the recoil of the shot had even dissipated, he had already ducked, rolling himself into a ball and sliding under another autopsy table.

"Ta-ta-ta-ta!"

Dense bullets hit the steel plate, sparks flying everywhere, ricochets darting across the floor.

"George, do it!" Chen Mo growled.

"Taste this!"

On the other side, George violently pulled a fishing line hidden in the ceiling.

"Clang!"

A row of iron shelves filled with scalpels, bone saws, and various sharp instruments collapsed with a roar, crashing right onto the two enemies on the right flank.

The two men instinctively raised their tactical shields to block.

It was in that blind spot created the moment the shields were raised.

Chen Mo darted out from under the autopsy table like a phantom, but he didn't use his gun—the M1911's magazine capacity was too small, and it was hard to guarantee accuracy during the previous roll.

He used a knife.

It was a tactical folding knife confiscated from Marcus's men, now held in a reverse grip in his hand, gleaming with a bloodthirsty cold light.

[Close Quarters Combat Mastery (Blue)] fully activated!

Chen Mo's figure was so fast it left an afterimage, crashing directly into the chest of a Clean-up Worker who had been distracted by the iron shelf.

His left hand clamped onto the opponent's gun-wielding wrist like an iron pincer and twisted outward; as the sound of bone cracking rang out, the tactical knife in his right hand stabbed fiercely through the gap under the opponent's bulletproof vest, burying it to the hilt!

Heart shredded.

"Target two, silenced." Chen Mo counted coldly in his heart.

This series of movements was smooth and fluid, so fast that the opponent didn't even have time to scream.

But he didn't pause for a second; he pulled out the blood-stained blade, and using the falling corpse as cover, he performed a roundhouse kick on the spot, sweeping hard against the side of the knee of another Clean-up Worker who was trying to provide covering fire.

"Crack!"

That was the sound of ligaments tearing.

The man lost his balance and fell to his knees, and the M1911 in Chen Mo's hand was already pressed against his brow.

"Bang!"

Brain matter splattered.

In the blink of an eye, three were dead.

The remaining Commander and the last team member finally realized that they were not facing a lamb for the slaughter, but a monster in human skin.

"Flashbang! Retreat!" The Commander ordered decisively.

Two black cylinders rolled over.

But this time Chen Mo didn't dodge.

He was gambling.

Gambling on the system's judgment.

[Law of Silence] trait activated: Mental pressure resistance and pain suppression 30%.

"Hum—!"

Intense light and a loud bang filled his senses again; Chen Mo felt as if his brain had been struck hard by a heavy hammer, his eardrums stinging.

But this time, he didn't fall, he didn't even sway.

His gaze remained locked tightly on the last team member who was trying to cover the Commander's retreat.

"Want to leave?"

Chen Mo stepped over the bodies on the ground; his right hand was trembling slightly from the previous combat, but the finger pulling the trigger remained as steady as a rock.

"Bang bang! Bang!"

Two shots to the chest, one to the head. The Mozambique Drill.

That was a standard execution.

The last team member fell.

The Commander saw that things were going poorly, and unexpectedly threw away the MP5 in his hand, pulled out a military dagger with a backhand, and lunged at Chen Mo.

This was an expert.

His movements were concise, lethal, and without any flourishes, aiming straight for Chen Mo's carotid artery.

If it were the old Chen Mo, this strike would have been fatal.

But he had just touched the "Clean-up Worker" corpse lying at his feet.

[Ding! Contact target: Former Delta Force member (Time of death: 15 seconds).]

[Extraction successful!]

[Acquired skill: Close Quarters Combat (Green · Mastery)]

[Acquired memory fragment: Ouroboros's order]

A cold stream of data instantly rushed into his mind.

Grappling, joint locks, knife fighting, close-quarters suppression... countless killing techniques were burned into his muscle memory like a brand.

The originally crude and savage [Close Quarters Combat Mastery] seemed to have been injected with a soul, becoming more precise and vicious.

Chen Mo's pupils constricted sharply.

Facing the dagger thrust by the Commander, he did not retreat, but instead stepped forward to meet it.

Sidestepping, he let the blade pass.

His left hand shot out like lightning, grabbing the opponent's wrist and pulling, using the opponent's own momentum to disrupt their center of gravity.

His right hand formed a palm and struck fiercely at the opponent's Adam's apple!

"Gurgle..."

The Commander clutched his throat, his eyes bulging, unable to make a sound.

Chen Mo didn't give him a chance to catch his breath, his right knee slammed into the opponent's abdomen, and then he wrapped his hands around the opponent's head and twisted with force.

"Snap."

The world went quiet.

The corpse slid down limply.

Chen Mo stood in the middle of the pile of corpses, his chest heaving violently, the M1911 in his hand smoking.

He looked at his own hands; that cold sensation of controlling life and death gave him a thrill that was almost perverse.

"My God..."

The white mist gradually dissipated, and George walked out from the corner carrying an M870.

He looked at the bodies all over the floor, then at Chen Mo, who stood in the pool of blood with an expression as calm as if he were shopping at a supermarket, and his eyelids twitched violently.

Those moves the kid just used...

If [Sharpshooter] could be called a talent, then that last combo was clearly top-tier military CQC (Close Quarters Combat).

And it was the kind of dirty style, refined through actual combat, specifically used for killing in trenches and indoors.

"Where exactly did you serve before?" George couldn't help but ask, "With skills like this, I haven't seen many, even at Langley."

Chen Mo squatted down and wiped the blood off his hands onto the Commander's corpse.

"If I said I learned it on YouTube, would you believe me?"

George rolled his eyes: "Believe it? I believe you were sent by God to collect these bastards."

Chen Mo didn't explain.

His attention was focused on the memory fragment he had just extracted.

It was a short electronic briefing, and the blood-red text seemed to still linger on his retina:

Mission codename: Clean-up Operation.

Executing unit: Ouroboros - 9th Action Group.

Target: Unit-734 (Recover implant), Witnesses (Eliminate all).

Authorized by: The Council · Cleanup Planning Committee.

"Ouroboros..." Chen Mo whispered the name.

Not just a killer organization.

This was a blade of the Deep State, a scalpel specifically used to excise "diseased tissue."

And now, he and George had been marked as "diseased tissue."

"George." Chen Mo stood up, his eyes colder than the liquid nitrogen from before, "We know who they are now."

"Good thing." George spat, "At least we'll know who to curse on our tombstones later."

"But the problem is," Chen Mo glanced at the metal door at the entrance that had already been cut halfway open; more chaotic footsteps and the sound of heavy vehicle engines could be heard outside.

"Can we leave here alive?"

George didn't answer.

He walked to the row of pushed-aside refrigerated cabinets and pointed to the dark, moldy-smelling passage behind them.

"Alive?" The old man grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth.

"What we need to do isn't just survive, but leave them a souvenir they'll never forget."