Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 86 Samaria
The strong smell of gunpowder mixed with the stench of blood filled the narrow space.

Three technicians were tied behind their backs with nylon cable ties against the wall, kneeling on the ground with cloth bags over their heads.

Their chests heaved violently, and faint groans escaped intermittently.

The continued bleeding caused one of them to begin losing body temperature, and his neck and behind his ears turned blue.

Anton, however, had no intention of letting them go.

He crouched down in front of the group, observing them carefully.

He then reached out and gently patted the person's cheek, not too hard, as if to confirm that the other person was still conscious.

Then he spoke.

He read out a long string of words that Zhou Yi couldn't understand at all.

The ending note rises, the rhythm is slow, the tone is flat, and there is not much emotional fluctuation.

It sounds more like a reiteration of some kind of procedural declaration, like that of a "revolutionary court."

Wow, that's pretty professional.

Zhou Yi leaned back on the stool, his rifle resting beside his legs, and glanced to his left.

The yellow team member sitting next to him was a short man wearing a gray hat, who was bending over to check his equipment.

He looked up and tilted his head slightly after feeling Zhou Yi's gaze.

The two stared at each other for less than two seconds.

The short man shrugged slightly at Zhou Yi, then shook his head, making a helpless expression that said, "I don't understand either."

At this point, Anton finally finished delivering his lines.

He paused for a few seconds, took out earplugs and industrial cotton yarn from his pocket, stuffed them into the ears of the group, and then wrapped them tightly with a layer of tape.

One of them instinctively struggled twice, trying to tilt his head to avoid it, but it was all in vain.

Zhou Yi watched as Anton stood up, dusted off his trousers, and slowly walked to the northwest corner of the control room.

"Give me the stuff," he said casually.

The man who had previously cooperated with him immediately took out a can of spray paint from his bag and handed it over.

Anton took a few steps back, glanced out the window, and confirmed that he could be photographed by "that photographer" on the rooftop.

Immediately afterwards, he raised his hand and pressed down the nozzle.

"Click——"

The steel balls inside the can made a soft rattling sound.

Red spray paint fell onto the wall, the pigment spreading along the rough concrete, leaving a ring of smudges.

The remaining members of the Yellow Team leaned against the door and watched without saying a word; only the occasional faint static of the Red Team's communication could be heard through their earpieces.

"ЗЕМЛЯ-ДЛЯ-НАС—ПРИДНЕСТРОВЬЕ-ВЕРНУЛОСЬ"

Anton stopped, took two steps back, and checked the angle again.

“Almost,” he said, a smile playing on his lips, “just enough to fit in the frame.”

He casually tossed the spray paint to the team member next to him, then glanced at the subdued people inside the room.

"Give the reporters outside one minute, then drag these guys out."

"No, wait—"

Anton frowned, then said, "Why don't we deal with this first? We won't make it through tonight anyway."

"Fahold, aren't you the most creative one? This job is yours."

Zhou Yi sighed inwardly, picked up the narrow-bladed dagger, and walked towards the man on the ground.

The man was unable to move, his face was ashen, and his breathing was weakening.

damn it.

Why am I, such a kind person, always forced to do these kinds of things?

Zhou Yi pressed the tip of his blade against the triangular area from the opponent's chin to the earlobe, and slightly gathered his strength.

The movements are clean and crisp.

It ended his suffering.

Then, Zhou Yi, with bloodstains on his face, added a line under the newly sprayed slogan:
“PMR-жив”

Just then, footsteps sounded at the door.

The red team and the yellow team returned together.

"Is everything taken care of?" Anton asked, turning his head.

"All done." The red team captain nodded.
"You guys are pretty quick. We're still throwing chairs around in the meeting room over there."

Anton stepped aside to make way for the doorway, saying, "We value art here, please come in and have a look."

The group walked in one by one and immediately noticed the graffiti and blood-written words on the wall.

The air fell silent for a few seconds.

"Tsk, that's ruthless." The Red Team captain scratched his head and grinned. "SBU will probably have to issue an arrest warrant tomorrow." "No, they'll only be after the Ghost Soldiers of Dniester," Anton said casually, pulling the latch on the door.

He gestured with his chin to the two remaining men on the ground: "Alright, you guys take the guests out and keep watch outside."

"There are still some things to take care of here, Fahod, you stay here."

The red team captain didn't say anything more, he just waved his hand.

The group left one by one.

A few seconds later, the door opened again, and two new prisoners were thrown in.

This time, it's not a technician anymore.

Instead, it was two men dressed in plain clothes, handcuffed together.

His face was covered in bloodstains, his mouth was swollen, and his left eye was bruised.

They wore no insignia, but their eyes revealed a deep-seated hatred.

Anton pulled out his Makarov, pulled the slide, and with a click, the bullet went into the chamber.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he handed the gun to Zhou Yi.

"Dispose of it."

Zhou Yi took the gun: "Who are they?"

“The enemy,” Anton said. “They came here six months ago.”

"Why not handle it on the spot?"

“Igor said he wants you to come.” Anton shrugged.

Zhou Yi didn't respond. He looked down at his pistol, but his gaze met that of the prisoner on his left.

He stared at Zhou Yi's hand, and suddenly his lips twitched.

"You don't know who you've messed with."

His Russian accent was very strong, but every word was extremely clear.

"My people will find you, no matter where you are hiding on Earth."

"Samaritan will not forget its warriors."

"You scum always think no one will remember what you did."

"But we remember, we've always remembered."

“And after you die, the judgment in heaven will not show you any mercy.”

"In the sulfur well, you will devour the corpses of your kin until their eyeballs melt and their tongues rot."

Upon hearing this, Zhou Yi chuckled: "Israelis?"

The man continued talking to himself, even tilting his head slightly upwards.

His companion remained silent throughout.

His face was ashen, as if he had given up all resistance and was quietly waiting for death.

Zhou Yi looked him up and down before pulling the trigger.

"boom!"

Blood splattered onto the face of the person who was still cursing.

The warm touch made him shudder involuntarily and shut his mouth.

“Come on,” Zhou Yi said, “tell that part again.”

The person remained motionless.

"forget?"

"I remember it quite clearly, 'You don't know who you've messed with,' right?"

"I'll give you a chance to read it again."

Hearing this, the man decided to take a gamble, took a deep breath, and said, "You don't know—"

"boom!"

Before he could finish his words, gunshots were heard.

The body fell to the ground with a thud.

Zhou Yi pulled the safety and handed the gun back to Anton: "Does this mean I passed Igor's test?"

"of course."

Anton took the gun, pulled out the magazine to check it, and then casually put it back in.

"You not only passed, you fucking taught these bastards to shut up."

"Well done."

(End of this chapter)