Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 19 Cursing
Scott's neck was painfully pressed against the bulletproof plate of his tactical vest, and sweat dripped down the seams of the Kevlar fibers.

He kicked the motorcycle that had fallen to the ground in a fit of anger.

The humid, sticky air, carrying the stale smell of urine from the subway station, filled my nostrils, making me extremely irritable.

Taking a deep breath, Scott pulled out his satellite phone and, steeling himself, dialed Hansen's number: "Boss, the target jumped onto Line 1 and escaped. There was another guy too, he—"

Before he could finish speaking, he was interrupted by a string of angry curses coming from the other end:
"Two days! Two days! You can't even handle a fucking office clerk?!"

"When I got you out of the military court, you drug-addicted piece of trash, what did you say? Please give me another chance, sir."

"Now, I've even gotten you the license for thermobaric weapons, and what's the result? They're still alive and kicking? My B team, on the other hand, was wiped out!"

"Did you get fucking fucked like a dog in Iraq for so many years that you've forgotten how to fire a gun?"

That damn Asian guy is like an animal.

Why don't you give it a try?

Scott thought to himself, but didn't dare say it aloud.

He could only grit his teeth in resentment, remaining silent.

A few meters away, the bespectacled subway station attendant was still shouting at them.

"Sir! Sir! This is a public area!"

"You can't bring weapons in! That's against regulations!"

Seeing his relentless attitude, Scott suppressed his anger, covered the microphone, and shouted sternly, "We are on a mission. If you don't want trouble, get lost."

"Excuse me, sir, but I need to check."

"Can't you understand human language?"

Just as the station attendant was about to say something more, Bruno from the team raised his hand and shoved the butt of his rifle directly into Bruno's chest, pushing him backward several steps.

At the same time, Hansen lowered his voice on the other end of the phone.

"In short, the higher-ups have already received the information through the police."

Scott heard the clinking of glasses in the background: "The train will continue its detour, finally stopping at Central Station. PMEB will handle the surrounding area; you need to get there immediately. If we fail again..."

Hansen paused for a moment, then threatened menacingly, "I'll shove you down into the sewers of Corinthians prison and make you eat shit."

Turning his back, Scott's face twitched unnaturally. Just as he was about to make a promise, a scream suddenly erupted from his left rear.

"They killed him! They killed him!"

The station staff member wearing a fluorescent vest pointed to her unconscious colleague on the ground.

Bruno shrugged innocently and casually wiped the blood off the butt of his gun.

"Damn." Scott's eyelids twitched suddenly.

In an instant, the crowded people exploded like a hornet's nest that had been poked, surging haphazardly in all directions.

A tall, thin woman was pushed to the front before she could dodge, and screamed in terror, her voice so high it sent chills down your spine.

Hansen also heard the commotion, and his emotions, which had just calmed down, were reignited:

"What mess have you made now, you damn gay bastard?!"

Scott held the phone further away, feeling a throbbing headache and a ringing in his ears.

A glance across the platform revealed that even more people had been drawn into the chaos.

Staff, passengers, and even a child tugged at his mother's clothes, their cries sharp as needles, piercing straight into his nerves.

The anger in my heart grew stronger and stronger.

The scorching 37 degrees Celsius, mixed with the sweat and acidity of the crowd, felt like a wet rag plastered on one's face.

When Hansen received no response, his cursing intensified:
"If you keep causing trouble like a dog in heat, believe me, I'll chop you up and stuff you into my ass!"

"And while we're at it, drag your bunch of bastard teammates into this mess, and let your whole family put on a spectacular show!"

The words had barely left his mouth when the taut string in Scott's mind snapped. He yanked out his pistol and fired at the ceiling: "Quiet the fuck out of here!"

"boom!"

Concrete debris fell in a flurry, and the screams abruptly ceased.

The crowd froze instantly, as if a pause button had been pressed.

In the dead silence, Hansen's persistent voice drifted from the dangling satellite phone:

"Scott, you damned bastard, I sent you on a mission, not to play some damn Middle Eastern role-playing game!"

Scott raised his hand and pressed it hard against his temple, as if that would crush Hansen's foul mouth from his brain.

Unfortunately, the insults continued without any sign of stopping.

After closing his eyes and trying to gather his thoughts, he finally resigned himself to his fate, bent down to pick up the phone, and replied as calmly as possible, "I understand, boss. The target is at Central Station. We'll set off immediately."

"Better so."

The communications were ruthlessly cut off amidst Hansen's cold laughter.

Scott stared at the prompt on the screen, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

The next second, he suddenly looked up, took two steps closer to Bruno who was still grinning foolishly, and raised his hand to press the barrel of the gun against Bruno's chin.

The sudden turn of events caused Bruno's pupils to shrink, and he instinctively tried to lean back, only to find that Scott's gun barrel was firmly wedged into his jawbone.

"You're quite the show-off, aren't you?"

Cold sweat broke out on Bruno's forehead: "Boss, I...I was wrong, I was really wrong."

Ignoring his pleas for mercy, Scott narrowed his eyes and his knuckles tightened slightly.

"If you ever cause me trouble again—"

As he spoke, the muzzle of the gun in his hand moved up a few inches: "I'll nail you to Copacabana Beach as a living billboard, letting tourists urinate on you, understand?"

"Boss."

Bruno was having trouble breathing, his eyes trembling as he glanced down, trying to make out the location of the pistol: "I understand. I understand. I really understand. I was wrong."

After a few more seconds of stalemate, until tears welled up in the man's eyes, Scott slowly lowered his gun.

He raised his right hand toward the rest of the team, pointed his index finger at the ground, drew two circles, and commanded, "The boss orders us to meet at the central station immediately."

On the subway, Zhou Yi, who had changed his clothes, was aiming a gun at a young passenger wearing a gray hoodie.

Under the threat of death, the man completely lost his previous desire to join in the fun.

His face turned pale, and he frantically ripped off his hoodie and threw it on the ground in front of him.

Zhou Yi turned his head and gestured to Gina, who was leaning back in her seat panting, "Change into these."

The excruciating pain at the incision site was excruciating, pulling back and forth within my abdominal cavity with every slight movement.

Nevertheless, she struggled to straighten her back and put the hoodie on.

The subway is speeding at an abnormal pace.

It sped past the platform without showing any sign of slowing down.

The passengers in the carriage were uneasy, and a restlessness spread among them.

Zhou Yi looked out at the dark tunnel without any surprise.

The subway did not stop, the station was sealed off, and the military and police set up an ambush – standard law enforcement procedures.

Zhou Yi crushed the blood-stained tracking chip with his foot and whispered to Gina:

"Come with me."

(End of this chapter)