192: Chapter 192 Infiltrating the Terrorist's Lair

Six pairs of boots. Three people. Pressing down from the staircase.

Li Li retreated behind the corner, raising his muzzle.

The emergency light cast the three figures in half-light and half-shadow. Dark jackets. Black masks. Short-barreled submachine guns. The same model as the group on the second floor. Wholesale goods.

The person in front opened fire first. A three-round burst.

The bullets struck the spot where Li Li had just been standing, sending sparks flying from the railing.

Li Li pressed against the wall, extended his submachine gun with one hand, and swept a burst upwards.

A muffled grunt came from upstairs. One hit.

The remaining two didn't retreat; instead, they stepped on the iron stairs and charged down.

Li Li leaned half his body out from the corner, lowering his muzzle. "Pop." One shot.

The person in front's left knee exploded, and he lunged forward, his gun slipping from his hands and rolling down the stairs.

Li Li rushed up in three steps, smashing his gun butt into the back of the man's head. "Bang." The man collapsed.

The last man retreated behind the wall, his gun barrel just peeking out. Li Li lifted his foot and kicked the submachine gun on the floor up at him.

The gun body struck the opponent's lower leg. The man's body tilted.

Li Li had already closed the distance, clamping his left hand onto the barrel and twisting it outward. Metal scraped across his palm. It was excruciating. The gun was snatched away.

Li Li backhanded him with the gun butt, smashing it into the opponent's temple. The man hit the wall and slid to the edge of the stairs. Three people, all down.

Li Li leaned against the wall, his chest heaving heavily. His ribs were still aching. From the cockpit to the cabin, to Victoria Harbour, to the unmanned vehicle, and then to the fire. This body had been modified by the system for five months, but it wasn't a perpetual motion machine.

His legs felt a bit shaky. The palm of his left hand was broken, and blood was dripping down from the web of his thumb.

Blue system text popped up. [Host's physical energy level detected to have dropped to 22%.] [It is recommended to replenish energy in time.] [The nearest convenience store is only 200 meters away in a straight line.] [How about ordering takeout first?]

Li Li took two breaths and raised his hand to close it. "You really know how to crack jokes."

There were still people upstairs. More than twenty. Rushing up with a gun alone wasn't called being a hero. It was called delivering equipment to the enemy.

Li Li bent down and dragged the three men into an unlocked guest room nearby. A standard room. Two beds. The curtains were drawn. The lights weren't on, only a little light leaked in from the corridor's emergency lamp.

The three men were tossed into the corner by him. The first was unconscious. The second had a gunshot wound to the knee, curled on the floor, teeth clenched tight. The third was half-fainted, his shoulder still twitching.

Li Li removed the magazines from all three guns and kicked them under the bed. He pulled over a chair and sat down. The submachine gun rested on his knees. The muzzle pointed at the three men. "Let's talk."

No one made a sound. Li Li pulled off the masks of the second and third men.

The second was of Indian descent, in his early thirties, short beard, his knee was bleeding, but he didn't cry out. The third was The Caucasian, twenty-seven or twenty-eight, blonde, his face covered in sweat, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

Li Li then removed the first man's mask. A local face. In his thirties. A work ID was tucked into his collar, half-covered in blood. A local security company in Hong Kong. Very good. There was an inside man too.

Li Li looked at the three men for a few seconds. The interrogation skill he had just acquired began to work. Breathing. Muscle reactions. Adam's apple movements. The amplitude of finger tremors.

The Indian-descendant one was the steadiest. He had been trained. The Caucasian was the most panicked. His psychological defense was weak. The local one was half-conscious; when he fell earlier, he protected his head first, not his gun. His training wasn't deep. But his loyalty was higher than The Caucasian's. The answer was already on the table.

"First question." Li Li held up one finger. "How many people are there in total?"

The only sound in the room was the crackling of the burning ceiling in the distance. None of the three answered. The Indian-descendant leaned against the wall. The Caucasian kept his head down. The local continued to feign unconsciousness.

Three seconds. Five seconds. Li Li stood up, walked over to the Indian-descendant, and crouched down. The two were very close. The Indian-descendant gritted his teeth and didn't move. Li Li raised his handgun. "You won't talk."

"Bang." One shot. Chest. The bulletproof vest had already been stripped off by Li Li earlier. The Indian-descendant's body slammed backward, and he went still against the wall.

The Caucasian jolted, his mouth agape, his voice stuck in his throat. The local stopped pretending and snapped his eyes open. Blood seeped from under the Indian-descendant into the carpet.

Li Li turned his muzzle toward The Caucasian. "First question." "How many people are there in total?"

The Caucasian's lips trembled. "Thirty... thirty-four." "Three team leaders, one leader." "Divided into three teams."

Li Li nodded. "How do you distinguish your own people?" The Caucasian was about to speak. The local beside him propped himself up against the wall and roared at him. "Shut up! If you dare say another word—"

"Bang." Second shot. Left chest. The local hit the wall again, his words cut off. The Caucasian slumped to the floor, his pants soaked.

Li Li sat back in the chair. "Continue." The Caucasian shook even harder. "Shoe... shoelaces." "Each team has a different shoelace color." "Red is Team 1, blue is Team 2, yellow is Team 3." "The code." "The weather is nice." "The reply... suitable for a long journey."

Li Li pointed his gun at the local. "Which team is he in?" "Team 2." "Where is the Team 2 Leader?" "I don't know the specific floor." The Caucasian swallowed a mouthful of saliva. "We are only responsible for patrolling the floors. The team leader is upstairs."

"Do you know each other?" "No." "We are all people living in Hong Kong; some were gathered temporarily, others were arranged long ago." "Trained?" "Some have been trained." "Some are holding a gun for the first time today."

A motley crew. A few veterans leading a bunch of temps. No wonder those three on the second floor had decent positioning but terrible reaction times.

Li Li raised his muzzle. "Where is the leader?" The Caucasian was about to cry. "I really don't know!" "Only the team leaders know!"

Li Li stared at him for three seconds. Breathing erratic. Hands shaking. Answered too quickly. But he wasn't lying. He holstered his gun and backhanded him with the gun butt, smashing it into the back of The Caucasian's neck. The Caucasian fell forward and went silent.

The room fell silent. Two corpses. One unconscious. Li Li had no time to write eulogies for them. There were still hostages upstairs. Jiang Rumu was still out of contact. That text message from Yossi was still sitting on his phone. He didn't dare to gamble. He couldn't afford to, either.

Blue system text popped up. [Interrogation time: 1 minute 47 seconds.] [Efficiency rating: S.] [Methodology rating: Simple, crude, but effective.] [Moral rating: No comment.]

Li Li didn't even look. He crouched beside the local's corpse and began changing his clothes. Dark jacket. Black tactical pants. Black shoes with blue shoelaces, half a size too big, but wearable. Mask. Gloves. Communication headset.

After changing the whole set, he walked to the bedside mirror. The person in the mirror looked about the same as those militants outside. Only, his clothes were stained with blood. His shoulders and back were too straight. He didn't look much like a temp. He looked more like a debt collector.

Blue system text popped up again. [Current disguise rating: B+.] [Deduction points: Too much smell of blood, temperament too fierce.] [Suggestion: Slouch appropriately to lower your presence.] [After all, you are currently playing a motley crew, not an instructor here to evaluate them.]

Makes sense. Li Li loosened his shoulders. He hid the submachine gun inside his jacket. He tucked the handgun into the back of his waistband. He stuffed the magazines into his pants pockets. He pushed the door open and went out. The stairwell was empty. He started running up.

When he reached the fifth floor, he deliberately made his footsteps chaotic. He also made his breathing heavy. "Fxxk! They're all dead!" Damn. They were all dead. Hong Kong-style English, with drawn-out tail sounds.

Seventh floor. "That crazy guy killed them all! Only I managed to get out!" That crazy guy killed them. I'm the only one who ran out. He cursed all the way. English mixed with Cantonese. His voice was panicked and urgent. The Cantonese skill provided by the system was being used in this kind of place for the first time. It could be considered making good use of everything.

Tenth floor. Fifteenth floor. Twentieth floor. On the way, he ran into two people in dark jackets. Blue shoelaces. The other side glanced at him and didn't stop him.

Li Li cursed and scrambled past, shoulders slumped, footsteps unsteady. Acting like a waste. He was familiar with it. When he used to work, if he encountered a manager acting crazy, acting like a waste could save him three hours of work. This was also a skill.

Twenty-fourth floor. The passage from the stairwell to the twenty-fifth floor was blocked. Two teams. Six people. Lined up on both sides of the stairwell, muzzles pointing downwards.

Li Li slowed his pace and raised both hands. "The weather is nice." The leader looked him up and down. "Suitable for a long journey." The code matched. The muzzles shifted away.

"Team 2?" "Why did you run up here?" "Aren't you supposed to be patrolling downstairs?"

Li Li panted. "The third floor is completely finished!" "Some crazy guy popped out from nowhere and used a fire extinguisher to take all three of us down!"

The man scoffed. "Three people taken out by one person?" "Is that all your Team 2 is capable of?"

Li Li gritted his teeth and didn't retort. To act like a waste, one had to have the professional qualities of a waste. The man lifted his chin. "Your team leader is in the twenty-fourth-floor gym." "Go find him." "Don't block the path."

Li Li nodded and pushed open the twenty-fourth-floor fire door. The corridor lights were still on. The carpet was thick, making no sound when stepped on. The gym was at the end of the corridor. Li Li walked to the door and paused.

Twenty-fourth floor. Mandarin Oriental. On this floor, every Hong Konger remembers a name. April 1, 2003. Brother Leslie.

An inappropriate thought popped into Li Li's mind. How about sending this team leader down too? The next second, he pushed the thought back down. No. Leslie was a legend. This kind of trash didn't deserve it.

Li Li pushed the door open. The treadmill was stopped. The rowing machine was stopped. A few dumbbells were scattered beside the barbell rack. In the lounge area in the center, a man sat on a bench. No mask. Thirty-five or thirty-six years old. Thin. Wearing glasses. A white shirt tucked into dress pants, tie loosened. He didn't look like a terrorist. He looked more like a middle-management supervisor who drank three Americanos a day and used Excel to push progress. This was the Team 2 Leader? He looked like a walking KPI.

And beside him. A woman was kneeling. Her evening gown was crumpled into a ball. Her shoulder strap had slipped to one side. Her hair was mostly disheveled. One tassel earring was broken on the floor, the other was still hanging, swaying very slightly. She was hugging her own shoulders, her body shaking uncontrollably. Low sobs leaked out from between her fingers. Li Li's feet stopped inside the door. Vivid, striking features. Arched eyebrows. Big, wavy, Hong Kong-style hair. Dark cherry-red ends. Yin Ruoying.