About a minute later, the unconscious man came to again.
He seemed confused due to a lack of oxygen to his brain, looking around groggily until his eyes met Dean’s icy gaze. That jolted him into awareness. He wanted to scramble away, but with all his limb joints shattered, he could only struggle on the ground like a maggot.
Dean squatted down. His finger swept over the hem of his clothes, and a blade appeared at his fingertips. Under the man’s terrified gaze, he gently slid it across his eyelids.
The blade moved away. Two thin pieces of flesh lightly fell, exposing most of the man’s eyeballs, which, in the dim light, looked as bizarre as a goldfish bulging its eyes.
"This is called ’lingering death’—keeping the person conscious while, in front of him, you slice him bit by bit, dismembering him gradually until all the skin is peeled off and salted. Once the wounds scar over, you start over. If done skillfully, a complete person can endure thousands of cuts and still be alive," Dean explained, calmly speaking of such horrific things.
Even as a seasoned mercenary who had seen much of life and death, the sniper couldn’t repress the terror welling up inside him. He wished he could die right then to avoid facing the monster before him.
"If you don’t want to try out this ancient technique, then tell me: who are you, and why did you attack the Dagger Gang’s hidden base?"
The blade twirled at Dean’s fingertips, its flipping exerting immense psychological pressure on the prone sniper.
The sniper bit his lip, trying to close his eyes. But without eyelids to cover them, no matter how he rolled his eyeballs, he could only watch helplessly as the terrifying blade inched closer to his nose. Another part of my body is about to be marred!
Finally, the sniper cracked. "FK! I’ll speak! Take away your demon hands! You’re a demon!"
"A wise choice!" Dean retracted the blade.
Let him curse. I’m a kind-hearted person, after all. I’m about to kill the man; I can’t very well deny him a few last words. That wouldn’t be right.
The sniper, only wishing for a swift death, no longer resisted. "We are the Wanderer Mercenary Corps; we used to operate in the Middle East. But a few days ago, someone spent over one hundred million US dollars to hire several small mercenary groups, including ours—totaling over a hundred people—to gather here. Their sole purpose was to get us to storm that damned farm and kill everyone inside!"
"Didn’t you investigate this farm?" Dean looked puzzled. These men were well-equipped. If they had investigated beforehand, their chances of successfully taking such a small farm would have been high. They wouldn’t be in this embarrassing situation, surrounded by the Los Angeles police.
"We did!" the sniper, vaguely feeling the drugs losing their effect and the pain returning, hurriedly spoke, "We managed to obtain information on the people inside and even procured the layout of the place. At first, we wanted to simulate a chemical leak and poison those inside, but their life support systems were all independent. We couldn’t find a way in and had to resort to a frontal assault. Once the battle began, we wiped out the guards. But the materials of the base beneath the farm were wrong. It was military-grade! Our prepared C4 explosives were ineffective! By the time we realized, gunmen surged from the surrounding towns, pushing my brothers back. Not until the police arrived did those bastards retreat!"
Hearing this rendered Dean numb. So, besides this Lincoln Farm, the nearby towns were all populated with Dagger Gang members, or rather, people from the Snet Family... What secrets could be hidden beneath the farm?
"Other than yourself, are there any similar forces hidden outside the farm to provide cover?" Dean asked, picking up a nearby Barrett sniper rifle.
"Definitely. But within our corps, it was only me. As for the last few men, they’ve likely been killed by your comrades already."
He looked vacantly towards the night sky and pine needles, murmuring, "Kill me... Let me reunite with my brothers..."
Such brotherhood! Dean inwardly praised, then walked away.
The sniper watched as Dean turned and walked away, hope rekindling in his eyes. Who would choose death if they could live?
Dean didn’t reply. Having walked some distance, he turned around, aimed at the sniper on the ground, and pulled the trigger without hesitation.
What—?! The sniper’s thoughts fractured.
The next moment, his consciousness plunged into darkness amidst excruciating agony.
Several loud bangs later, all that remained on the ground was splattered blood and flesh; there was no sign of the sniper.
"What was I thinking?" Dean muttered, rubbing his somewhat sore shoulder. "I just didn’t want to get splattered with blood." This heavy-duty sniper rifle sure has fierce recoil. Of course, with a superior muzzle brake and the stock’s cushioning rubber, it can be reduced to a level an ordinary person can withstand.
Wiping the fingerprints from the rifle, Dean hung the Barrett on a pine tree. After ensuring no oversights, he used the cover of night to return to where the Fourth Squad was located.
He already understood the reasons behind what happened. The Dagger Gang had set up a secret base here, undoubtedly for some shady business. And behind this cannon fodder of mercenaries lurked a mysterious figure. It was just unclear whether this mysterious person was targeting the Dagger Gang or the Snet Family that backed them... But none of this concerned him. For now, he couldn’t afford to provoke either side. However, he would remember this incident that had startled him! Once he became stronger, he would definitely settle the score with the Snet Family!
The gunfire around him began to subside; the mercenaries were nearly all dead. The remaining vehicles of the Fourth Squad had turned on their roof spotlights.
Monet and the others were lying in a row, still unconscious and in a rather dismal state.
The good news was that no one was dead. They hadn’t been directly hit by the Barrett. Plus, they were wearing full protective gear and lying on the ground. So, aside from various wounds caused by shrapnel from the vehicles, their lives weren’t in danger.
The only one seriously injured was Robert. That simpleton had been having too much fun shooting and hadn’t completely lain down, so he bore the brunt of the shrapnel impact.
Phoebe was also unlucky. She sustained a significant wound on her face. Even if it healed, it would likely leave an unsightly scar. This was undoubtedly a hard pill for a young lady to swallow.
Lawrence was busy tending to everyone’s wounds with makeshift bandages. Harry followed him around, helping, but was clearly distracted, his face practically screaming, ’I have a secret.’
"Harry!" Dean slapped Harry on the shoulder.
Harry jumped at the touch, then sighed in relief. "Dean, it’s so good to see you unharmed! Lawrence and I were worried sick!"
Lawrence also stopped what he was doing and turned around, a relieved expression on his face. "Buddy, you didn’t let us down!"
If they hadn’t been helping stop the bleeding for Robert and the others, they would have wanted to come over to help sooner.
Dean nodded. "This situation seems complicated. Help me keep it a secret. I don’t want others to know I dealt with a sniper."
After they agreed, Dean gestured Harry over with a finger. "Buddy, we need to have a serious talk."