Volume Dragon: Start by obtaining the Infinity Gems

Chapter 321 You Killed My Dependents
The rainstorm turned the highway south of Hawkins into a flowing black, and the asphalt road shone dark blue in the rain. The muzzle of Yegorova's Glock 17 sunk deep into the skin of Dan's neck, and the rain rushed down the folds of her khaki windbreaker, forming a muddy puddle on the passenger seat.

Professor Irene's pale face flickered in the rearview mirror, the fluorescent light from the dashboard reflected broken spots of light in her pupils, the hands that were clutching the hem of her linen skirt were trembling, and the folds of the fabric were soaked with the salty smell of cold sweat and rain.

As the rusty "Hawkins Machine Factory" sign passed by the car window, Yegorova suddenly cut the car radio wires. The sound of metal breaking formed a subtle resonance with the abnormal electromagnetic noise emitted by Irene's watch.

"What...what happened?" Irene was startled, and her broken trembling voice was shattered by the raindrops.

The agent cast a glance through the rearview mirror, her pupils contracted like blades under her dark golden eyelashes. In her opinion, the two people in front of her were just civilians. If she hadn't been injured.
She touched her abdomen, where she was pierced by metal fragments from the explosion of the refrigerated truck. The penetrating wound in her abdomen was oozing warmth with her heartbeat, and the blood that had soaked through the hemostatic bandage had already condensed into dark red ice crystals on the inside of her windbreaker. She had been hiding her weakness, but the pale face without blood had already been noticed by the perceptive Dan.

Yegorova's eyes were dark. Due to the massive blood loss, she felt dizzy and needed someone to take her to the base of the 'Crimson Traveler', which was the Hawkins Machinery Factory in front of her.

But she knew that her ruthless colleagues would shoot the Americans the moment they saw them.

Therefore, she had to destroy the car radio to prevent her colleagues in the factory from detecting the electronic signal. Then, she just had to let the two leave and then walk into the factory.
They and she would both survive.

"Stop at the gate and leave here immediately." Yegorova said coldly.

"Yes, yes." Dan said in a seemingly cowardly manner.

The car slowly stopped, and as Yegorova opened the door and got out, she suddenly realized something was wrong.

In the heavy rain with the smell of earth, there was a faint strong smell of rust.

Yegorova's pupils shrank and she knew something had happened.

She stumbled and pushed open the creaking freight iron door, and a strong smell of blood hit her nose. Twelve bodies lay radially on the hoisting platform, and the distribution of bullet holes showed that they had been back-to-back in a circular defense.

Yegorova's boot heels rolled over the blood-soaked "Pravda" and found that all the dead had double bullet holes in their temples - the standard method of executing prisoners of war by the KGB. She kicked away the overturned chemical barrel, and the light blue liquid formed the shape of the Russian word "traitor" on the ground.

"How is this possible!"

Yegorova was slightly dazed. The consequence of excessive blood loss made it almost difficult for her to stand. Coupled with the shock of the scene before her, she fell to her knees with a "pop".

The base of the Crimson Traveler should be a secret among secrets. Apart from these colleagues, only Oleg and I know about it.

etc.
She looked around but didn't see Oleg among the bodies.

She immediately went to the monitoring room on the second floor, only to find that it had already become a ruin. The display screen was smashed and the memory core was taken away.

"that is"

She picked up a silver pocket watch from under the monitor table, with the words "A.K." engraved on it. She breathed heavily, with disbelief in her eyes.

In the ruins of the monitoring room, Yegorova staggered and fell into a swivel chair. When her fingertips touched the silver pocket watch, memories tore her nerves like shrapnel - three years ago on a snowy night in Kiev, Oleg Kalugin put this pocket watch engraved with "A.K" into her palm. Yegorova opened the pocket watch with trembling hands. The Slavic youth on the inside of the watch cover smiled under the warm yellow light, and snowflakes fell on his eyelashes and condensed into tiny stars.

A.K. stands for Oleg Kalugin, and this is his pocket watch. Why was the base that only he and Oleg knew about attacked? Why was Oleg's pocket watch found at the scene when his body was not there? Why did the murderer execute those agents using the method familiar to the KGB?
Although Yegorova couldn't believe it in her heart, she had a vague terrible guess.

"Oleg Kalugin."

At this moment, the watch chain wrapped around her fingers was as cold as a venomous snake, and the broken display screen reflected the afterimage of her pupils shaking. At the moment when thunder exploded in the distance, there was a sudden sound of metal scraping deep in the factory, like someone dragging a rusty sickle through the corridors of hell.

Yegorova stumbled out of the room, but saw a black shadow in the distance in the corridor.

"Is it you?" Yegorova asked in disbelief.

As she stumbled back, the fluorescent tube in the monitoring room suddenly exploded. The glass fragments floated in the rain like a slow motion, and each one reflected the distorted figure at the end of the corridor - Oleg Kalugin.

The butcher knife in his left hand was dripping with chemical blue liquid, and the muzzle of the Makarov pistol in his right hand was still lingering with gunpowder smoke. His pupils without whites seemed to absorb all the light in the factory.

The moment the bullet grazed her ear, Yegorova smelled the stench of burning protein in her hair. She rolled over and smashed open the fire door, the harsh friction of the rusty hinges and the sound of the army boots approaching behind her intertwined into a death song. The old grease on the stair railing was sticky like blood in her palms, and every breath made the wound in her abdomen burst into fresh, warm scarlet.

Dan was hiding behind the rusty crane operating table when he saw the Slavic woman fall to the floor of the workshop like a night owl with broken wings. Irene's nails dug into his arm, and the professor's light-colored irises burned with a mixture of fear and excitement.

They followed Yegorova in secretly and saw everything: corpses all over the floor and a strange man chasing the female agent.

Irene clearly saw the man's dark pupils without whites. He was either wearing cosmetic contact lenses or was affected by some supernatural power.

“This is His will.”

Oleg's whispers were heavy with electronic interference, and the back of the butcher's knife reflected the broken Soviet emblem on the ceiling of the workshop when he raised it. In Yegorova's blurred pupils, the outlines of her former colleagues overlapped with the snowy night in Kiev in her memory, and the lips that once warmed her hands with their breath now uttered mechanical and cold words of judgment.

The sound of the iron rod breaking through the air tore through the bloody stagnation.

Dan looked at his shaking hands, the residual vibration of the galvanized steel pipe went straight to his heart along his arm bones. Oleg, who was hit in the back of the head, fell to the ground and was not sure whether he was dead or alive. Only Yegorova, who was still in grief, stared at him blankly.

"Why?" Yegorova's bloody fingers left five bloody marks on the ground. She watched Irene swear in Italian and tear open her windbreaker to bandage her. The silver cross pendant on the professor's neck was hanging upside down in front of her eyes. "You can obviously..."

"The Bolshoi Theatre's 1991 tour program," Irene suddenly whispered in pure Russian, the surgical knot taking shape neatly at her fingertips, "the yellowed page sticking out of your windbreaker pocket - that's the commemorative program for the last performance of Giselle in Leningrad." The professor's eyes behind her glasses were like an archaeological brush brushing away the dust of history, "and my father was the concertmaster that night."

"No matter where you come from, you just let us go, so we will naturally return the favor with kindness." Irene said with a smile.

Dan on the side scratched his head. He really didn't want to save the agent. If Irene hadn't kept begging him, he really wouldn't dare to take action against this scary-looking man.

"You killed my family."

Suddenly, a faint voice was heard amid the sound of the falling rain.

(End of this chapter)