Eh? You want to try the humanoid girl's iron fist too?

Vorhovacs was dragged out of the cargo box, his hands still bound with cable ties, his shirt soaked with sweat, his face streaked with dried tears, and he staggered like a prisoner who had just woken up from a nightmare.

“He doesn’t need to come along,” the woman said.

“He needs to catch up,” Raphael said, unmoved, but quickened her pace to close the distance between herself and her secretary.

Vorhovacs is a card; keeping him will give you more chips.

"Don't even think about it," the female secretary said as she walked. "The person you're looking for is right here; he's been waiting for you for a long time."

Why wait for us?

"Mr. Adrian lost many good men, all of whom were carefully cultivated reserve talents."

“Oh, serves you right,” Raphael said.

"……indeed."

The female secretary agreed, saying, "Acting rashly without understanding the situation doesn't make one worthy of the status of a 'reserve cadre'."

"It sounds pretty legitimate."

"It depends on how you look at it; I can never beat you guys."

After passing through two doors and several closed rooms, the female secretary led the group to a lavishly decorated lobby.

The corridor floor was marble, polished to a shine, and several landscape oil paintings hung on the walls.

Three of the doors have a bronze plaque inlaid with the words "Sauna Room, Steam Bath, Cold Soak Pool".

Steam escaped from the crack in the door, mixed with the sound of water and a faint scent of pine.

The UMP45 submachine gun hung at his side, muzzle down, but his finger rested outside the trigger guard, ready to be raised at any moment. The UMP9 carried a small bag, held a pistol in his hand, and scanned the corridor, keeping an eye out for any hidden sentries.

HK416 stood behind Raphael, raising her branded weapon.

She took two steps back, slightly raised the muzzle of her gun, and aimed it at the back of the secretary's head, leaving a gap in her position to avoid being ambushed.

“Come on, Mr. Flöhwatz.”

Folhovacs' voice trembled like a sieve, his shirt was soaked and clung to his body, and he was crying his eyes out, tears streaming down his face.

"Please..."

“At this point, there’s no need for all this formality.” Raphael reached out and grabbed Vorhovacs’ collar, dragging him inside with brute force.

Vorkhovac staggered a couple of steps, nearly falling onto the non-slip mat, letting out a muffled whimper.

She had nothing to worry about; even if there were axemen lying in ambush, the only ones who would get hurt would be Vörhofatz.

With a puppet body, there's nothing to worry about.

The room was filled with heat, blurring the view, and the floor tiles were wet and glistening.

The wooden door of the sauna was half open, steam was pouring out, and the cold soaking pool was in the corner. The water was calm, and occasionally a drop of water fell from the ceiling with a soft thud.

Through the mist, Raphael saw a figure half-submerged in the water, with his back to them, soaking in the hot tub, with broad shoulders and rosy skin.

She squinted, trying to make out the details.

A man nearing fifty, with a gray buzz cut, his back was clean, without the tattoos covering the body of a street thug. His muscles were a bit loose, but he still had a sense of strength.

may be.

She mentally searched for a picture of Krauser, thinking he looked somewhat like her, but...

"action."

Raphael promptly gave the order.

Hesitation will defeat.

……

Once the signal was confirmed, HK416 immediately moved, the muzzle of the assault rifle steadily aimed at the female secretary's head, his index finger slid down from the guard, and his fingertip gently pressed the trigger.

da~

The gunshot was short and sharp; the bullet pierced the air and headed straight for the female secretary's head.

Following the sound of gunfire, the female secretary was forced to lower her head.

But in that instant, HK416's pupils contracted slightly—she saw the bullet hit the opponent's face, deform, jump up, leave a dark streak, and finally crash into the wall.

The bullet seemed to hit metal and then ricocheted.

Damn it, the female secretary isn't human.

Completely different from the isomer! She, no, she is an even more abnormal being.

HK416 is certain that it is a "human" because the fluid splattered from the wound is blood, and there is also half a piece of scalp hanging down... all of which prove that it is a "living" biological individual.

—A further upgraded version of the isomer?

—Perhaps it's a finished product.

she thinks.

The female secretary jerked her head up and turned to look at the UMP45 beside her.

Volume 5 Dancing in Shackles: Chapter 51 Encounter

Suddenly, a steel rod slammed heavily into HK416's right arm from the side, with a force as great as a hammer, making her arm go numb and almost causing her to drop her assault rifle.

A series of red overload warnings flashed in her vision, her right arm's hydraulic system emitted a slight creaking sound, and pain signals came through the nerve interface, stinging like needles.

The attacker was a lean man wearing a black vest, with taut muscles, a scar on his face, and fierce eyes, like a hungry wolf.

He hid behind the sauna door and launched a surprise attack amidst the chaos, gripping the steel rod so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

The UMP9, who was on guard by the door, turned around decisively, raised his pistol, and fired two shots. The bullets grazed the female secretary's shoulder, hit the wall, and cracked several tiles.

She dodged it, at a speed no human could match.

—Judgment: Not human.

UMP9 adjusted its position and began firing short bursts at the "female secretary's" chest.

After glancing around, the UMP45 focused its attention back on the VIP bath area, raising its submachine gun to scan the hot tub and the surrounding shadows, wary of any further ambushes.

On the other side, HK416 saw the attacker, drew his steel rod, and slightly adjusted his posture: he turned sideways, shifted his center of gravity backward, and raised the steel rod to his shoulder.

His muscles tensed, veins bulged, and his eyes were fixed on HK416, assessing her reaction.

As the opponent's muscles tensed and he prepared to strike, HK416 decisively withdrew his hand to counterattack, striking the opponent's elbow with the butt of his rifle.

The force was precise, causing his arm to tremble and the steel rod to almost slip from his grasp.

The lean man cursed under his breath and swung the steel rod at HK416's face. The rod sliced ​​through the air, creating a whooshing sound.

The attack is invalid.

HK416 sidestepped the slash. The steel rod grazed her shoulder and slammed into the floor, instantly creating a spiderweb-like pattern.

She released the branded weapon, letting the assault rifle fall to the floor, grabbed the stick with her left hand, and wrapped it around his arm, using a joint lock to subdue him.

Next, HK416 grabbed the enemy's arm, lowered his body, shifted his center of gravity, planted his right foot firmly on the ground, bent his left knee slightly, and delivered an over-the-shoulder throw.

The man was thrown over the shoulder, his body arcing through the air before crashing heavily onto the floor, cracking several more tiles and scattering shards that landed in the corner.

He groaned, his voice hoarse, as if he had been struck and breathless. The steel rod slipped from his hand, rolled to the corner of the wall, clattered twice against the wall, and came to rest next to the wet, non-slip mat.

The enemy's face was contorted in pain, with a scar that looked even more menacing in the dim light. His eyes were fierce and defiant, but blood was seeping from the corner of his mouth as he winced in pain.

HK416 didn't hesitate, extending his foot to hook the weapon, the movement so fast it was almost instinctive.

The boot struck the grip of the assault rifle, flipping it over and landing it safely in her hand. She gripped it tightly and lowered the muzzle.

First, fire three shots in quick succession into his left and right chest and heart areas.

blah blah~

The gunshot was short and sharp, echoing in the bathhouse. The bullet pierced through the vest, and blood splattered on the tiles, dispersing with the steam.

The man's body trembled, and his eyes quickly dimmed, but she didn't stop. She then slapped him twice on each cheek.

The bullet struck the cheekbone and chin precisely, sending blood and bone fragments flying and splashing onto the edge of the nearby hot water pool.

To prevent resurrection, cut off all possibilities.

……

Bang~!

The bullet tore through her jacket, penetrated the mechanical structure of her right arm, and took away many parts, which flew and clattered onto the wet tiles.

Wow, that shot was pretty accurate; the bullet even shattered after hitting the frame.

Raphael glanced down at his right arm; his jacket sleeve had a large hole, revealing the metal frame and broken wiring underneath.

The bad news is that his right arm is now unusable; the control signal is stuck at the shoulder, and there is no response below the elbow.

The good news was that she learned it was a hastily set trap, and most likely one that was set up without Krauser's approval.

The door to the changing room next door opened, and two men wrapped in bathrobes came out.

The leader had slicked-back black hair and wore a tight black vest that was deliberately two sizes too small, showing off his drug-induced tattooed arms and chest.

The classic miscellaneous fish has appeared.

One of them was holding an AK with its stock sawed off. The receiver had very rough machining lines, so it was probably an early derivative model of the AKM.

Gangs love doing this.

The gun itself is powerful, and after the stock is sawed off, it can be stuffed into a coat.

However, the ideal model would be the AKS-74, the one with a folding stock.

Her right arm hung at her side. She tried to lift it, and her shoulder joint could still move, making a slight clicking sound, but the control signal could not be transmitted to the elbow and below.

“Just as rumored, Ms. Lovelace, you’ve been using remote puppets as substitute bodies for a long time,” the leading man said, with a slight accent.

"Could you please introduce yourself?"

"Mikhail Bulgakov".

The man grinned, revealing a few crooked teeth. He took a step forward, his shoes making a sticky, slapping sound as they stepped into the blood.

His companion held up an AK, waving the muzzle as if trying to aim, but his posture was amateurish, as if he hadn't practiced much.