Tehran Grocery Store: My Intelligence is Priced Clearly

The pickup truck drove out of the street corner, its engine emitting a dull roar.

Half an hour later.

"Boss, we're almost at the South District."

Farhad turned the steering wheel, and the car veered onto a bumpy dirt road.

The surrounding scenery quickly deteriorated.

High-rise buildings have disappeared, replaced by densely packed low-rise houses, rusty tin roofs, and piles of garbage everywhere.

This is a slum in Tehran.

It is also home to the city's largest underground black market.

Zhang Jian took out a cigarette and lit it.

"Farhad, give me a break."

"What exactly is the nature of Suleiman and his group?"

Farhad slowed down to avoid a large puddle in the middle of the road.

"Boss, their team has five people in total."

"Captain Suleiman, codename 'The Butcher'."

"He used to be one of the top assault soldiers in the Holy City Brigade, proficient in all kinds of light and heavy weapons and close combat."

"But this guy has a terrible temper and is very stubborn."

"The vice-captain is sniper Kamran, nicknamed 'Hawkeye'."

"He can lie in the desert for three days and three nights without moving. It is said that he once set a record in Syria by sniping an extremist leader from 1,200 meters away."

"Demolition expert Yassin is a madman."

"His favorite thing to do is stuff C4 into all sorts of unexpected places; he's just as crazy as Saddam Hussein."

"There's also Tariq, a communications and electronic warfare expert, and Hassan, a medic and fire support specialist."

Farhad swallowed hard.

"These five people together are a killing machine."

"Boss, Shahra is right about one thing: they're really hard to control."

Zhang Jian exhaled a puff of smoke and gently tapped the cigarette ash off his fingers on the edge of the car window.

Difficult to control?

What he fears least now is being difficult to control.

What does it mean that Ahmed could even tolerate a dangerous figure like Saddam Hussein?

This means that as long as you have enough value, those above will tolerate your transgressions.

The grocery store needs to expand its security team; relying solely on lowly soldiers like Bakhtiar is insufficient.

He needs a truly sharp knife, a knife that even Mossad and the CIA would have to think twice about.

"arrive."

The pickup truck stopped in front of an abandoned factory.

The two rusty iron doors were half-open, and faint sounds of metal clashing and shouting could be heard from inside.

Zhang Jian pushed open the door, got out of the car, stubbed out his cigarette, looked around at his surroundings, and strode inside.

Farhad followed closely behind, his hand instinctively reaching for the gun handle at his waist.

I just stepped into the factory.

A smell mixed with engine oil and tobacco wafted over.

Inside the spacious factory, there were several pieces of equipment that had long been obsolete, leaving a large empty space in the center.

At that moment, there was a group of more than a dozen people gathered there.

They were all dressed in gray robes, carrying steel pipes and machetes, and some even had bulging waistbands, clearly indicating they were carrying firearms.

Surrounded by them was a burly man who was over 1.9 meters tall.

The burly man wore a military green vest, revealing two thick arms covered in crisscrossing scars.

At that moment, he was looking down, fiddling with something, seemingly oblivious to the dozen or so menacing people around him.

"Suleiman! Don't you dare push your luck!"

The bald gang leader smashed a nearby scrap metal barrel with a steel pipe, making a loud "bang".

"Boss Daoud has spoken, ordering you and your men to go and protect his territory!"

"Five thousand US dollars a month is enough for you to live a life of luxury, drinking, gambling, and whoring in this godforsaken place for a year!"

"roll."

Suleiman kept his head down, not even lifting his eyelids, and coldly uttered only one word.

The bald man flew into a rage and suddenly raised the steel pipe, pointing it at Suleiman's nose.

"Suleiman, do you still think this is Syria?"

"You've been kicked out of the army!"

"You're now worse than a dog, an unregistered resident!"

"Boss Daoud thinks highly of you..."

Before he could finish speaking...

The miniature wrench in Suleiman's hand suddenly flew out.

"Bang!"

The wrench struck the bald man precisely in the face.

The bald man screamed in agony, blood gushing from his nose, and he fell backward to the ground.

The dozen or so gangsters around were stunned for a second, then roared and pounced on him.

"Kill him!"

Some people reached directly for the gun at their waist.

Just then.

A dark gun barrel suddenly peeked out from behind the window of the abandoned office on the second floor.

Followed by.

A figure rolled out from a corner of the factory, holding a loaded shotgun.

Behind the large iron barrel at the entrance, a tall, thin man stood up.

He was tossing two homemade explosives tightly wrapped with duct tape in his hand.

The whole process took less than five seconds.

The dozen or so gangsters who were originally arrogant were instantly locked onto by three crossfires.

If they dare to draw their guns, they're probably not leaving this factory today.

The entire room fell silent instantly.

Suleiman slowly straightened up.

He grabbed a tattered rag to wipe the dirt off his hands, then slowly walked up to the bald man lying on the ground groaning, and stepped on his chest.

"Go back and tell Daoud to stop bothering me."

"Otherwise, the next time someone goes to his place, it won't be me, it will be C4."

The bald man trembled with fear and nodded repeatedly.

"Take your men and get out."

The dozen or so gangsters, as if granted a pardon, grabbed Baldy and scrambled out of the factory, not daring to utter a single harsh word.

Zhang Jian stood in the shadows by the door, watching this scene, and couldn't help but clap his hands.

The crisp applause was particularly jarring in the empty factory.

Suleiman turned his head sharply, like a startled beast, staring intently at Zhang Jian.

The gun barrels on the second floor instantly changed direction and locked onto Zhang Jian's head.

Farhad immediately stepped forward, blocking Zhang Jian's path.

"Suleiman, don't do it! It's me!"

Farhad shouted.

Suleiman squinted and tried to make out Farhad's face.

"ghost?"

Suleiman threw the rag on the hood, his tone unfriendly.

"Didn't you die out there?"

"What are you doing in my lousy place, especially with a stranger in tow?"

"This is my boss, Zhang."

Farhad turned to the side.

Zhang Jian walked forward unhurriedly, his hands in his pockets.

"Top-notch reaction speed, perfect firepower configuration, and seamless cross-cover."

Zhang Jian looked around and finally fixed his gaze on Suleiman.

"As expected of the elite force produced by the Holy City Brigade."

Suleiman didn't buy it at all and just sneered.

Don't give me that.

"Ghost, bring him to me. If you want to hire us as bodyguards, the door's over there. Get out of here."

"I won't be a dog for those rich businessmen whose brains are full of fat intestines."

Zhang Jian smiled.

"What a coincidence, I'm not exactly a wealthy businessman either."

He looked around, picked up a piece of wood from the side, wiped it clean, and sat down on the oil drum next to him.

"To be honest, I'm here to find you guys some work."

Suleiman picked up the wrench from the ground again, his expression unchanged.

"Not interested."

Zhang Jian chuckled and threw out the prepared bait.

"Even if this job could get you back to guns and fight Mossad and the CIA openly, you still wouldn't be interested?"