Hong Kong variety show: The mastermind behind the scenes is emerging.

The helicopter sped along the winding foothills at low altitude, the roar of its engine creating a continuous low-frequency vibration in the cabin.

Inside the cabin, a somewhat disheveled Tverian leaned back in his seat, put away his beloved Walter P99, looked up at Silva (Thiago) opposite him who was still wearing that bomb vest, and couldn't help but twitch his lips.

"I mean... how long do you plan to fly in that thing?"

Silva glanced down at his chest, as if he'd forgotten about it: "Let's keep wearing it for now."

Why?

"We haven't built enough trust yet," Silva said calmly. "It wouldn't be good if you suddenly decided to throw me out, since the Black Sea isn't the right temperature for swimming right now."

"As far as I know, 00 series agents are not exactly easy to deal with," Silva said softly. "In this situation, I personally hope to maintain some deterrence."

"..." Upon hearing this, Tverian's face darkened, but he didn't dare to insist on anything, so he said sarcastically, "Fine, I hope this pile of junk doesn't explode in the air."

"Don't worry about that. I have a lot of confidence in my skills," Silva said, as he elegantly opened the front of his dark gray coat and pointed to a device attached to his left chest, near his heart. "This bomb is connected to my heart monitor. As long as my heartbeat is within the normal range, it will absolutely not explode."

Tverian stared at him for two seconds, then decided to skip this unsettling topic. He leaned back and said seriously, "Alright, just get to the point. You've come all this way to the Black Sea, and gone to such lengths to pull this stunt—what's your purpose?"

Upon hearing this, Silva smiled slightly, his eyes drifting to the dim, flickering wall lamp on the cabin ceiling, and unexpectedly began to introduce himself.

"My full name is Thiago Rodriguez—you may have heard of that name, after all, in the eyes of that old lady Mrs. M, I am considered one of her favorite students."

Tverian nodded. After all, he had heard of Thiago as a former intelligence genius. However, rumors circulated that Thiago had been secretly arrested by a mysterious force for acting illegally in Hong Kong, and it was unclear why he had ended up here.

"I was born in the Alexander district of Johannesburg, South Africa. In the winter of 1973, a gas explosion occurred in my apartment building, and my parents died in the accident. Because I had no other relatives, and because those shameless insurance companies took advantage of me as a child who didn't understand the law, I quickly ended up on the streets, becoming a stray dog ​​in the slums."

"Later, MI6 found me, they took me back to Japan, gave me food, gave me an education, taught me everything... and trained me to be a special agent."

At this point, Silva paused, a self-deprecating smile playing on his lips: "I always thought they were my benefactors... but I only recently learned that the so-called gas explosion was actually a failed MI6 assassination attempt. They got the target wrong, detonated the wrong floor, and killed twenty-three people, including my parents."

Tverian's fingers tightened slightly on his knee, as if he understood why the other person had approached him—because they had similar experiences.

Alec Tverian was a descendant of the Lienz Cossacks.

The story dates back to World War II, when some Cossack nobles chose to cooperate with Nagorno-Karabakh in order to resist Soviet rule. However, after the war ended and Nagorno-Karabakh was defeated, these Cossacks, to avoid Soviet retaliation, chose to surrender to Japan with their wives and children and seek asylum.

However, the hypocritical Japanese government outwardly agreed to the asylum request, but then turned around and forcibly repatriated tens of thousands of Cossacks they had taken in back to the Soviet Union in exchange for political gains from the Soviet leadership.

"My father received news of his deportation before he was deported, and he knew what would happen to him when he returned. So that year, he used a revolver at home to end the lives of my mother and aunt, and then shot himself... I was six years old that year, and I spent three days alone guarding their bodies."

Although nearly forty years have passed, every time this topic is brought up, Tverian's hands still tremble uncontrollably, as if he has returned to that midnight stained with red.

"After several transfers, I was adopted by an MI6 welfare organization. They gave me a new identity, trained me to be a secret agent, and made me go on missions with Bond... It's ironic that these same people who pushed my father to his death back then are now making me work for them."

"So," Tverian took a deep breath, turned to look at Silva, "I understand the feeling you're talking about."

It was precisely out of this deep-seated hatred that Tverian meticulously planned today's "fake death" drama. He not only wanted to incite tension between the two major camps of Japan and the Soviet Union, but also wanted to use this "fake death" to lie low and accumulate strength for his revenge.

"Mr. Tverian," Silva began slowly, "you surely understand the purpose of my visit, so I'll get straight to the point."

"I'm preparing to create an organization!" Silva said, enunciating each word clearly, "an organization powerful enough to shake the Japanese Empire. Would you be interested in joining me in this great game of revenge?"

Tverian turned his head to look out the window. The blazing firelight had long been blocked by the cold mountains. Only the midday sun shone on the snow-capped peaks, as if they were draped in a dazzling golden cloak.

"That organization you mentioned..." Tverian stared at the dazzling sunlight outside the window and said in a deep voice, "Have you thought of a name?"

“Of course,” Silva smiled, a smile that looked somewhat sinister in the dim cabin lights, “The Syndicate.”