When Tobin offered the promise of a payday in the hundreds of millions, Colin didn't even flinch. Instead, he sneered, his expression cold and disdainful.
"No wonder you're being hunted. You've got a death wish.
Some money might look tempting—but you need to live long enough to spend it."
Though he hadn't officially completed his apprenticeship, Colin had undergone extensive live combat training under Cross.
He might not be rich, but he was worth a few million dollars himself. "Rather than talk nonsense, how about telling me who's chasing you?"
"You ever heard of White Ghost?"
Colin's heart skipped a beat. He instantly recalled something Cross had once told him. Without hesitation, he grabbed Tobin by the collar and growled,
"You bastard—so you ran into the U.S. consulate in Johannesburg to hide from him?!"
"Calm down, calm down," Tobin chuckled. "You're not a regular CIA rookie. Honestly, you might not even be CIA.
Otherwise, you wouldn't know who White Ghost is—and definitely wouldn't know about the Transformers."
"So, pal... who are you really?"
Seeing the flicker in Colin's eyes, Tobin's own lit up. "It's fine if you don't want to tell me. But if you're not CIA, then you don't owe them anything.
And let me warn you—don't even think about killing me to shut me up."
Staring at Colin's hand gripping the pistol, Tobin quickly continued,
"This room's sealed. If you kill me, you'll never be able to explain it to the CIA. They'll find out who you are, one way or another."
Colin's expression darkened. He slowly released Tobin's collar. "What do you want?"
Tobin raised his cuffed hands and shook them. "Uncuff me. I promise neither of us will die. You'll walk away with a fortune, and maybe even keep your CIA cover."
Acting like he was thinking it over, Colin hesitated for a while before finally pulling a key from his pocket and tossing it to Tobin—
but his gun hand never moved, his finger firmly resting on the trigger.
"No need to be so tense," Tobin smiled as he unlocked the cuffs one-handed with practiced ease. Lifting his shirt, he revealed a small bump on his waist.
"You got a knife or something?"
Colin's expression shifted. Tobin quickly explained,
"Don't worry. I hid something important in my subcutaneous fat."
Colin blinked, surprised—but when Tobin pinched the spot, the bump beneath his skin was clearly visible.
Impressed despite himself, Colin tossed over a throwing-knife-style blade and watched Tobin make a shallow incision, squeezing out a tiny, transparent, thumb-sized data chip.
"This contains the most important intel I have. That should prove I'm serious."
As Tobin passed the bloodied microchip to Colin, the younger man reached out to take it—only for Tobin to twist his wrist, yanking Colin closer.
With the throwing knife in his other hand, Tobin thrust toward Colin's neck.
But before he could finish the move, he felt Colin's arm jolt. In a flash, Colin broke the wrist lock, seized Tobin's knife hand—
—and reversed the weapon straight into Tobin's forehead.
Squelch.
Tobin froze, eyes wide with disbelief. He slowly turned to see Colin behind him... and then everything spun.
He collapsed, lifeless.
"Whew…"
Even though he'd been ready for Tobin's betrayal, Colin still gasped, heart pounding in his chest.
He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, then carefully picked up the dropped microchip and stepped out of the interrogation room.
Watching through the spider drone embedded in Tobin's clothing, White Ghost was momentarily stunned.
He hadn't expected a legendary underground figure like Tobin Frost to die so easily. Letting out a sigh, he revealed himself and fixed his gaze on Colin.
William, watching the same footage from afar, immediately turned to Sunday. "How long would it take to make a microchip like the one on Tobin?"
"Sir, MI6 already has that kind of tech. If needed, there's a complete implantation setup at the London safe house."
One teleport later, William arrived at the safe house, retrieved the necessary tools, and ordered,
"Copy the CIA's black ops roster, corruption records, and the footage of us wiping out the Decepticons at the Qatar base—each into a separate microchip."
"Understood, Sir."
Once Sunday finished the task, William teleported back to the Johannesburg safe house, where Colin and White Ghost were discussing how to clean up the scene.
They had already implanted one of the chips into Tobin's other hip, and though Tobin was barely alive, he still twitched.
White Ghost considered killing him then and there, but changed his mind. A brain-dead Tobin might be more valuable than a dead one.
He cast multiple psychic shock spells, turning Tobin into a vegetable, then followed it with a halved-strength healing spell—just enough to keep him alive.
Only then did William start listening to the ongoing conversation.
Colin wanted to vanish, but surprisingly, White Ghost wanted him to stay with the CIA.
He even offered to teach Colin the dual-blade technique if he took the risk.
"But how the hell am I supposed to explain why I'm the only one still alive?
And if we don't leave now, once the cops and U.S. reinforcements get here, we're screwed!"
As Colin finished ranting, White Ghost looked around the wrecked rooftop and grinned.
"Buddy, if you're willing to take a little pain… I can bury you."
Bury you…? Colin was about to curse him out when he followed White Ghost's gaze—
to the half-collapsed rooftop, hanging by a few thin steel bars.
"You trying to crush me to shut me up?"
"Relax. We'll stack a couple chairs next to you. When the ceiling falls, they'll shield your head. You'll get banged up, sure, but you'll survive.
Unless you want to be hunted by every agency on the planet, this is the way to go."
"You sure about this?"
Colin eyed the ceiling, then looked at White Ghost, clearly torn.
William wasn't going to let this drag on. Colin wasn't going to die anyway, not with him around.
A spider bot crawled up Colin's leg—then zapped him with a jolt of electricity.
Zzzap! Colin passed out instantly.
In White Ghost's ear, Sunday's voice spoke up,
"Reminder: Johannesburg police have been ordered to move toward your location."
"Fine," White Ghost grumbled. He picked up the microchip, slung Colin over his shoulder, and carried him beneath the damaged ceiling.
He dragged over two chairs and propped them beside the unconscious man.
"Sorry, pal," he muttered, then kicked the steel rods.
As the slab of ceiling began to fall, White Ghost braced it with his arms, slowly lowering it—
And right as he was about to buckle, he rolled aside, letting it crash down.
At the same moment, William used telekinesis to guide the slab just enough to avoid killing Colin—
though not enough to spare him from splitting his head open and dislocating a shoulder and a leg.
Once Sunday confirmed Colin was in no mortal danger and White Ghost had left, William began subtly "adjusting" the scene.
The goal? Make Colin look as miserable as possible.
______
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