American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 116 The First

Beta gently lifted the simulated gel with both hands. As the gel touched his face, his fingertips began to smooth it out, ensuring that every inch adhered to the filler underneath.

Beta first gently pressed the contour of the eye socket with her fingertips, then used a fine brush to apply transparent adhesive and carefully outlined the area around the eyes until the seam between the artificial skin and the real skin completely disappeared.

Next came the more meticulous work. Beta tilted his head slightly back to work on the nostrils, trimming them to create natural breathing channels. Then came the edges of the lips, where he carefully shaped natural lip lines with his little fingernail. Finally, he adjusted the connection between the earlobe and the earlobe three times before he was satisfied.

As the last piece of gel headgear was attached to the face mask, Beta paused for a few seconds. The reflection in the mirror gradually became clear; the familiar face had completely disappeared, replaced by a completely unfamiliar man.

The new face has a wider nose bridge, a more square jawline, and even the hollows of the temples have a completely different contour.

The only thing this stranger retained was Beta's icy blue eyes. But as a pair of colored contact lenses were put on, those icy blue eyes were also concealed.

Katalia turned to look out the window; the orange-red sunset had already dyed half the sky.

She gently shook the now-cold coffee in her hand, her tone tinged with amazement: "A full three hours. Like an artist treating a work of art."

Beta didn't look up. With a steady hand, he used the fine-tipped paintbrush to place the last mole on the gel mask. He repeatedly checked the position against the ID photo until the tiny black dot matched the picture perfectly.

A familiar smile appeared on the stranger's face in the mirror: "Details determine success or failure."

Katalia disappeared through the bathroom doorway, followed a moment later by the sound of a drawer opening and closing. When she reappeared, she was wearing gloves and carrying a Sig Sauer P30 pistol and five fully loaded magazines.

“Black market exclusive.” She handed the weapon to Beta: “It was handcrafted by an arms dealer I know. The barrel rifling and firing mechanism are perfect replicas of the originals. Even the bullets were cast by him. This gun has never existed in any records.”

Beta took the pistol, gently ran his fingertips over the barrel, and then slipped it into the holster on his lower back.

Catalia handed over a brand new silencer: "I remember you prefer a quiet working style. Brand new, zero usage record."

The cool metal tube fell into his palm, and Beta stepped forward to give Katalia a brief hug: "Thanks, I meant it."

Katalia gently patted his back: "Who else can you turn to besides me? You don't even trust John."

Beta released his grip: "After all, you're much faster at escaping than John. That old guy's knees probably can't even run a hundred meters."

"Shut up and get lost." Katalia pretended to kick him. "Want some dinner?"

Beta shook his head: "I have to stay up late tonight."

As the door to the safe house clicked softly, Katalia looked at the empty entryway, where the wall clock pointed to 19 p.m.
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The New York night was as thick as melting asphalt. Beta was hidden in the shadows of the riverbank across from Charles Restaurant, and the dim glow of the streetlights shattered into shimmering gold foil on the river surface.

Through the restaurant's huge floor-to-ceiling windows, one could clearly see Simon Black, the owner of "Alpha Construction," enjoying a candlelight dinner with his young female secretary.

This well-built man looks more like a construction worker who toils on the front lines year-round than a businessman in a suit and tie.

His thick arms encircled his female secretary's slender waist, the two exchanging intimate whispers, their demeanor indistinguishable from any other wealthy man having an affair. His rough fingers roamed around her waist, occasionally picking up a glass of red wine to reveal the Rolex on his wrist. Beta straddled the motorcycle, his black helmet clicking shut, completely obscuring his face. The engine's roar was particularly jarring on the silent riverbank; he had deliberately avoided choosing a quieter mode of transport, as tonight's actions required leaving ample "traces."

As the key turned, the headlights illuminated, their blinding beams piercing the darkness where Beta was hiding. He pulled out a Sig Sauer P30 from his back pocket, deliberately without a muffler.

Street vendettas don't care about being quiet; he needed to make Simon Black's death feel like a brutal gangster revenge.

The deafening gunshots, the panicked witnesses, and the blatant modus operandi all led the police to focus their investigation on a murder hired by an enemy.

Only such a death could prompt the police to launch a full investigation into "Alpha Construction Company" and truly disrupt their construction plans.

The roar of engines echoed through the streets.

Beta twisted the handlebars sharply, the motorcycle tracing an arc across the road. The engine roared higher, and he deliberately made the exhaust pipe emit a deafening backfire, then drifted straight up the sidewalk steps.

Pedestrians screamed and scattered, some women even flung their handbags to the side of the road. Beta maneuvered the car, weaving through the chaotic crowd, finally bringing it to a screeching halt in front of the restaurant's floor-to-ceiling windows. The sharp screech of tires against the pavement shattered the restaurant's previously elegant atmosphere.

Simon Black's hand, holding a glass of red wine, froze in mid-air.

Through the crystal-clear glass, he saw a man dressed entirely in black, wearing a helmet, riding a Kawasaki Z650 motorcycle whose front wheel was almost touching the window frame. At such close range, he could clearly see the warm restaurant lights reflecting off the helmet visor.

The restaurant fell silent, and everyone's eyes were fixed on the scene that looked like a movie scene.

Then everyone clearly saw the man in black on the motorcycle suddenly pull out a pistol from his pocket, the dark muzzle pointing directly at the guests sitting at the table by the window.

"Bang bang bang bang bang bang!"

The six deafening gunshots rang out almost in quick succession.

The bullet pierced the floor-to-ceiling window at extremely close range, and the tempered glass shattered into countless crystalline fragments, which poured down like a sudden rain.

Simon Black's body was pinned to the back of the chair by the enormous impact, six gruesome bloody holes bursting open on his chest and forehead, blood splattering onto the snow-white tablecloth and mixing with the spilled red wine.

The secretary's screams even drowned out the echoes of the gunshots. The entire restaurant descended into chaos instantly; customers overturned tables and chairs and scattered in panic, tableware crashing to the ground with a chaotic clatter.

Beta calmly turned his gun around and shot the restaurant security guard who was about to draw his gun from his waist.

Sheathing the smoking pistol, Beta twisted the throttle, and the motorcycle roared to life. The wheels rolled over shards of glass, pausing briefly before the fallen security guard. Beta bent down and grabbed the dropped pistol.

The roar of the engine tore through the night sky once more, the black motorcycle weaving through the traffic and quickly disappearing into the dazzling lights of New York. Only screams echoed from the restaurant behind it, and chaos began to spread.

(End of this chapter)