Chapter 40: My Head Really Is Bulletproof
Inside the convenience store, the shelves were filled with a dazzling array of goods.
Lorna pulled a shopping cart, with a lazy Laura lying inside.
The back of her neck rested against the edge of the cart, her whole body facing up, small feet swinging as she reached for the colorful snacks on the shelves.
Seeing a small mountain of snacks piling up in Laura's arms, Gwen had to follow behind, putting back the items that fell out one by one into the basket.
Gwen stood on her tiptoes, trying to reach a jar of jam on the top shelf, but she was always just a bit short.
Just as she was about to ask a clerk for help, a hand reached over her head, easily took down the jar of jam, and handed it to her.
"Thank you," Gwen said softly.
"You're welcome." Fox curled her lips into a smile.
Gwen took the jar and looked up at the tall woman, her brow furrowing slightly and a hint of wariness appearing in her eyes.
"Is there something I can help you with?"
"I like him. Speaking of which, we're in the same trade," Foxglanced toward the smoking area, her smile deepening.
"Could you introduce me?"
"Huh?" Gwen's eyes widened, unsure how to respond for a moment.
The other party's request wasn't unreasonable, but she felt a strange tightness in her chest.
"...Alright." She eventually nodded and turned to lead Foxtoward Green.
"What's wrong?"
Green withdrew his gaze from the shelves.
He had already noticed the minor characters hiding in the crowd who couldn't mask their hostility.
Their target was him, which was normal.
Given the conflicts of interest, he never lacked enemies, both open and hidden.
He'd skin them in a moment and find out who sent them.
"Just getting acquainted, big boy." Fox smiled as she stepped forward and extended her hand.
Green only spared her a glance, his eyes suddenly darkening with a trace of cold light.
This woman had appeared in his intelligence network; she was from the "Loom of Fate" faction.
And Gwen... this little girl was being used as a middleman to lead the way.
"Go see if those two have enough," Green ignored Fox's hand hanging in mid-air and turned to Gwen.
"Don't let Laura buy too many chocolate bars."
"Okay." Gwen also sensed the wrong atmosphere, glanced at Fox, and turned to walk away.
Fox watched Gwen's retreating back and let out a nearly imperceptible sigh of relief, a hint of guilt hidden in her eyes.
"What do you want with me?" Green finally turned his gaze back, his tone cold.
"To think the Owl actually knows me; it's quite frightening," Fox turned around, the smile still on her face.
"Am I on your 'menu'?"
"Tch, you are now." Green glanced to the side.
A man in a suit with slicked-back hair was approaching steadily, hands at his sides.
Simultaneously, the "passersby" he had marked around the shelves also turned and silently closed in on him.
X, Fox, and several core members...
The League of Assassins had sent out their top talent.
"Just these few people?" Green snuffed out his cigarette with his bare hand, the sparks hissing as they died between his fingers.
"Guess how many seconds it'll take me to cut off your heads."
"It's not us," the man with the slicked-back hair, X, said calmly.
"Hmm?" Green's brow furrowed.
His heart skipped a beat, and instinct drove him to turn toward the glass window directly facing the smoking area.
"Oh?"
Whoosh—
A curved bullet pierced the glass and accurately struck his forehead.
Pfft!
Blood blossomed.
Green's head snapped back and then slumped forward.
Black hair covered the upper half of his face, and blood dripped from the ends of his hair and the bridge of his nose, splashing into dark red dots at his feet.
His hands hung loose, and his body remained frozen in place.
"Target eliminated. Have the Cleaners come to collect him."
X dropped these words coldly and turned to leave, but a hint of disappointment flickered in his eyes.
"This is the Owl? Ha! I felt nothing at all," someone in the team sneered.
"Was it worth all of us coming out?"
"Idiot." Fox glanced sideways at the person but said no more.
If they had truly faced him head-on, the few of them wouldn't even have been enough to fill the gaps between his teeth.
Without Cross's sniper shot, they wouldn't have dared to take this job.
They could only gamble—gamble that his arrogance would let their words and pressure work, gamble that he would stand still so the bullet would reach its destination.
Moreover, if the shot missed, a fight to the death awaited them.
Clap.
A hand suddenly rested on her shoulder.
Fox's pupils constricted, and the blood in her body seemed to freeze instantly.
"That really hurts~"
Behind her, Green raised his face, blood winding down his cheeks.
At the spot on his forehead where the bullet hit, fine dark-brown scales were emerging from under the skin, and the bullet head embedded in the gaps between the scales was slowly being pushed out.
Ding—
The dented bullet head fell into the palm of his hideous, mutated dragon claw.
[Liberation Degree: 20%]
Fox turned around stiffly.
"You..."
Bang!
Before she could finish, Green swung his hand casually. A muffled crack of breaking bones came from within her, and she flew through the air.
Under the terrified gazes of the assassins, she crashed through two rows of shelves and finally buried herself in a pile of burst streamers, silent.
"Who... was the one bragging just now?" Green raised his chin at them.
"Kill him!"
Someone roared first, and gunfire suddenly erupted.
Bullets poured out but stopped abruptly in mid-air.
A dark green halo spread out of thin air, like an invisible wall.
All the bullets hung spinning in the air, unable to advance an inch, their kinetic energy gradually being worn away.
Green turned his head.
Lorna reached one hand forward, her palm facing the rain of bullets, her small face strained with effort.
Beside her, Laura flipped off the cart, landing on all fours with her back arched, steel claws sliding grimly from between her fingers.
The next second, she pounced into the crowd, her small frame jumping, flipping, and weaving among the assassins.
She sliced through ankles and pierced ribs. Even as bullets bit into her shoulders, arms, and back, she only let out a muffled groan, her claws sinking an inch deeper into the opponent's chest.
Screams erupted around them as bystanders fled with their heads covered.
In the chaos, a bullet was quietly fired from a blind spot behind a corner, carving a strange nearly ninety-degree arc, bypassing all obstacles to aim for Green's eye.
Green tilted his head as if anticipating it. The bullet grazed the scales on his cheek, creating a trail of sparks, and hissed past to hit a popcorn machine by the window behind him.
Bang!
The aroma of butter exploded, and popcorn scattered like snowflakes throughout the air.
"Hide well, Gwen. I'll take you to eat Mexican barbecue in a bit."
Green walked toward the door, casually ruffling her hair with that dragon claw.
The large, hideous claw rested on the girl's head like it was cupping a golden apple.
"O-okay, Mr. Green."
Gwen's head was pressed down gently by the claw; she shrunk her neck but didn't dodge.
Is Mr. Green a monster? But the pads on Mr. Green's palm are so soft~
She gripped her pepper spray and turned to run to the side. It was she who had noticed something was wrong and immediately called Laura and Lorna over.
Lorna lowered her arm, panting, as the bullets nearby clattered to the floor.
She quietly glanced sideways, her gaze lingering on Green's action toward Gwen, a hint of envy hidden in her eyes.
She pursed her lips and said nothing, turning back to continue releasing her power to disarm the remaining assassins for Laura.
Green walked to the door, and another bullet hissed from behind the wall.
He raised his arm to block; the stray bullet ricocheted and embedded itself in the ceiling.
On the other side of the wall, X leaned against it expressionlessly, both guns held level.
His dominant wrist trembled slightly from firing two consecutive curved shots.
His heart rate exceeded 180, blood surged like drumsticks hitting his eardrums, and muscles tensed under his suit.
However, he didn't wait for the opponent to rush over.
Because the wall was kicked apart directly.
The residual force penetrated the wall, vibrating against his chest with a muffled grunt, making him stumble uncontrollably.
Rubble flew, and dust rose.
A figure burst from the center of the smoke, an airwave exploding behind him, rippling out a visible hollow ring like a giant stone hitting the water's surface.
X fell backward while pulling the triggers of both guns.
But it was too fast!
Dragon claws clamped onto his wrists, forcing his arms up. The tongues of fire from the muzzles grazed past Green's shoulder.
The next moment, he was grabbed and swung into the checkout counter, the metal casing denting inward.
X coughed up blood, his vision blurring for a moment. He struggled, still trying to raise his guns.
Green threw another punch.
Bang!
His whole body sank into the deformed metal shell.
"Urgh... cough, cough..."
The blood he vomited was mixed with small, dark fragments, yet his eyes still stared straight at Green.
"Cross's... shot... you could have dodged it... right?" Broken, airy sounds escaped his throat.
He had no line of sight, yet at close range, the two shots that should have been guaranteed hits missed—that explained the problem.
This Owl's neural reflexes were definitely fast enough to dodge that ultra-long-range sniper shot.
"Ah, this."
Green wiped his forehead; the wound had already healed, leaving only a faint pink line. His mouth curled into a grin, his long, sharp teeth gleaming coldly.
"My body told me I didn't need to dodge that shot."
"Heh... hehe..."
X also laughed, blood seeping from the gaps in his teeth into thin threads.
"It seems... I didn't lose to Cross..."
His voice weakened, his eyelids drooped, and he fell unconscious.
The scales on Green's hand receded, the joints shrank, and the claw reverted to five fingers.
He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed.
Ring—
"Something the matter?" a cold, hard female voice came from the other side.
"Hey babe, do you want an Agent?"
"...What?" There was two seconds of silence on the other end; this sentence was clearly not what she had anticipated.
She thought this bastard was calling for equipment, manpower, or simply for her.
Sending a living person? This was a first. After all, the targets he sent before were all dead, as if he were treating her like a pet and giving her things she liked.
"Did you... get into some trouble?" she asked tentatively in a low voice.
"Am I that kind of person?"
"You are."
"Then let me get to know you more deeply."
Beep— The call hung up.
S.H.I.E.L.D. Triskelion Headquarters (Under Construction)
Fourth-floor command room.
Melinda turned her head to look at Hill, who had suddenly raised her hand to pinch the lower end of her throat.
"What's wrong? Is it inflamed?" She glanced over.
"...It's nothing." Hill put down the communication headset, her voice a bit tight.
"I just feel a bit short of breath."
"Too much pressure, perhaps." Melinda raised her hand and patted her back.
"No, it's not that." Hill lowered her eyes, her expression complex.
"You haven't experienced it; you wouldn't understand."
She didn't intend to explain and turned to walk out.
"I'm going to bring back a newcomer."
According to that bastard's eye for talent, the person he picked wouldn't be bad.
"A newcomer?" A look of confusion appeared on Melinda's Eastern face.
"So urgent? You've been following this project for two months, and you're leaving now?"
"I have to hurry." Hill pressed the elevator button.
The doors opened, she stepped in and turned around, her thumb hooked on her belt. The angle at which she raised her eyes carried a hint of a smile she might not even have noticed herself.
"Knowing that guy, he'll definitely try to sell them to multiple parties. I have to go and snatch the goods."
The elevator doors closed and rose rapidly, taking her to the rooftop helipad.
"What?"
Melinda frowned at the elevator doors. That "guy" Hillmentioned... was it her asset again?
At the same time,
"Hey, Drake, do you want a bodyguard?"
Green casually picked up a box of chewing gum from the checkout counter, bit open the wrapper with his teeth, rolled out a strip with his tongue, and chewed it.
"...Huh?"
Drake on the other end of the phone was stunned for two seconds. He waved his hand, and several fashion models understood, swaying their hips as they left one by one.
"You... are trying to sell me goods?"
"Do you want them or not?"
Green raised his gun and fired finishing shots at the assassins near Laura who were still breathing on the floor.
The gunshots were muffled inside the convenience store, and blood blossomed from the backs of their heads, spreading on the floor.
He threw away the empty gun with its hot barrel, walked over to Fox, and squatted down to check her pulse.
Still alive.
"Yes, anything you give won't be bad. I definitely want them. Tell me, what are the conditions?"
"I need a Special Ops Team on standby for the next two days." Green didn't like it when an assassin organization attacked him without retaliating.
"Sounds like a personal grudge, but of course, I'll meet your request. I'll send you the Commander's contact code in a bit."
"Fine."
Green hung up the phone and stood up.
The three little ones followed behind him, pulling the shopping cart; they hadn't forgotten their main task from start to finish.
Green dragged the limp X out of the wreckage of the checkout counter; this was the goods for Drake.
In passing, he took out several bundles of cash and handed them to the shop owner, who was huddled under the counter holding a shotgun with a bitter face.
"I surrender."
He submissively put down the gun. He had just caught a glimpse of the abnormalities on this man—scales, vertical pupils, beast claws. A demon, he was a demon, he must be. Why even bother fighting!
"This storefront is rented; I only have the right to use it. I only have 452,327 dollars and 2 cents in my three bank cards. My PIN is 21673..."
"Pay the bill, and compensation for the losses," Green interrupted him, speechless.
"It's fine, it's fine. You can just take it. Take whatever you want!"
"Pay the bill, compensation for the losses," Green repeated.
"Th-thank you."
The shop owner took the money with a sob.
In twenty years of running the shop, this was the first time he had met such a well-mannered bad guy who didn't even use the money from his cash register.
But Green didn't leave.
"Is something wrong?" The shop owner's heart leaped to his throat.
"Give me a plastic bag."
"Oh, oh, okay, sure."
He hurriedly pulled out the largest bag, helped Green pack the items one by one, tied the handles, and handed it over respectfully.
Green took it, turned, and pushed the door open.
The shop owner trotted out after him, standing under the porch and waving, his smile frozen on his face, his voice trembling.
"Goodbye~ Come back often~"
The pickup truck started and drove out of the street corner.
Only then did he slump his shoulders and let out a long breath.
"Please don't ever come back again," he muttered, turning to walk back.
As he reached the door, he suddenly stopped.
"But then again—"
He scratched the back of his head, looking in the direction the pickup truck had disappeared, his expression somewhat dazed.
"These days, demons are more reasonable than people."
Chapter 41: Cold Love
In the attic of an old building, a high-precision modified sniper rifle sat unmanned. Beside it, an alarm clock ticked away.
The minute hand was half a notch from twelve, and the second hand was unhurriedly catching up. An instant before the hands were about to meet—
Ring! Ring!—
Boom!
A ball of fire exploded, swallowing all traces into its brilliant white core.
Downstairs, in the busy downtown area.
The crowd was startled by the sudden explosion. Footsteps became frantic, and a clamor of discussion broke out.
A mature man, looking somewhat weathered, sat in the lounge area next to a flower shop. He looked like just another truck driver or a porter from a wholesale market.
He rolled up a few banknotes and tucked them under the bottom of his coffee cup, then picked up the bouquet of roses on the table and rose to blend into the dispersing crowd.
Reaching the subway station, he boarded a train. Holding onto the handrail, his body swayed slightly with the motion of the carriage.
His hand gripped the wrapping paper of the bouquet, his eyes vacant, lost in thought.
Outside the window, the scenery receded rapidly.
Bridges, the sea, and elevated tracks brushed past the middle floors of buildings.
The peaceful afternoon sunlight glided across his half-squinted irises, flashing intermittently.
He transferred to a bus and got off in an old neighborhood.
Passing by a junk-filled basketball court, he sat down, his gaze falling on a boy with very blue eyes.
The boy was surrounded by a group of peers, being shoved and mocked, until finally he was pushed to the ground.
The boys, stronger than him, formed a circle and made fun of him.
The man's gaze remained flat throughout—no anger, no pity, not even focus.
Until, a rose petal fell.
It was unclear if it was blown off by the wind or if his fingers had finally loosened their grip on the wrapping paper.
He stood up, finished the half-can of beer by his side, drew his gun, and walked over.
Bang! Bang!
Two gunshots rang out.
A flock of crows startled from the chain-link fence, passing overhead like a dark cloud.
The bullying boys scattered and fled, leaving only the blue-eyed child slumped on the ground, staring blankly at this strange man.
Sweat rolled down from his temples. In his eyes, besides fear, something else was shining.
The man tossed the gun at his feet.
The boy was startled, looked down at the gun, then looked up at him.
"Pick it up," the man said.
"Who are you?"
The boy didn't move. He stared at the man's face, his own expression gaining a hint of stubbornness that mirrored the man's.
"From the time I was born until now, no one has ever cared about me or helped me, except for my mother."
The man remained silent.
After a moment, he turned to leave.
He took a dozen steps.
Bang!
A shot rang out, and a bullet kicked up gravel by his feet.
He didn't look back, but he smiled slightly.
Then he continued walking, his silhouette disappearing at the end of the light-dappled old street.
At the cemetery.
He placed the somewhat wilted bouquet of roses before a tombstone and stood there with his head bowed.
At some point, another man stood behind him.
He wore a bespoke suit, was very tall, had a full beard, and his hair was grown out in a deliberately artistic style.
"Is it your turn to carry out the mission this time, John?" Cross asked without looking back.
"Yeah," John Wick said.
"How much is Green offering?"
"An impossible mission bounty."
Cross chuckled softly.
"Then I must be worth a lot."
"All of his missions are impossible."
"...I understand. To me, he is also an impossible mission."
Cross lowered his eyes, looking at the name on the tombstone warmed by the sunlight.
"But I did it anyway, and I failed. This is the guidance of fate. He is a sinner, and I don't regret doing it."
"We are all sinners, but I don't believe in fate," John said.
Cross finally turned around.
He looked calmly at the muzzle of the gun inches away. He also held a gun in his lowered hand, but the safety was not off.
"No, you should believe in it."
The wind whistled between the tombstones.
"Goodbye, Carlos."
Cross didn't answer. He just smiled, slowly raising his gun and aiming it at John Wick's head.
His lips moved, softly uttering a single syllable.
"Bang."
Bang—
The gun fired.
Between the two men, one fell.
Splattered blood stained the tombstone behind him, flowing slowly down the cold granite and seeping into the names carved into the stone.
It was the grave of Cross's wife.
...
"Let that kid live."
Green held a knife, cutting the roast meat on his plate. The fat glistened on the charred, crispy skin.
Lorna sat leaning beside him, quietly holding a phone with the screen pressed against his ear.
"I'm curious what he'll become in the future. A loser, or another Cross."
"I thank you for your mercy on his behalf, Green."
Winston's voice came from the receiver. Even across the line, he still maintained that old-school gentlemanly tone, his voice very low.
"What, taken a liking to the kid? Want to train him?" Green put a cut piece of meat into his mouth and chewed slowly.
"John would be very sad to know his 'favor' is gone."
"Heh... John... he's retiring."
"I see. I wish him happiness."
"Service concluded. Goodbye, Green."
"Mm."
The other side hung up the phone.
Lorna put the phone back on the table. She didn't ask who the kid was, nor did she ask what Cross was.
Green pushed the plate of neatly cut roast meat toward her, then casually swatted away a wolf claw sneaking over from the edge of the table. Laura pouted and retracted her hand.
Then he looked up across the table. Gwen's expression was somewhat strange.
"Do you need to have a heart-to-heart with me?" Green picked up the black pepper grinder. "Or an explanation?"
"Mr. Green doesn't need to explain anything to me," Gwenshook her head.
"I understand."
She lowered her eyes, her finger unconsciously rubbing the edge of the table.
"Some choices are unavoidable, and right or wrong have no meaning anyway. But Mr. Green—"
She looked up, curiously poking her small head forward like a fawn finally gathering the courage to approach a campfire.
"Mm-hmm?"
Green turned his head and ground some black pepper onto the plate of cut roast meat in front of Lorna.
The fine powder fell onto the fragrant meat, touching the wet sauce at the edges and slowly blooming into small dark circles.
Lorna kept her head down, her cheeks moving slowly as she chewed, her eyes fixed on the plate of meat.
But her ears twitched. Her dark green curly hair covered most of her face, but it couldn't hide those upright ears.
"Are you a Mutant?"
With this question, even Laura, who was buried in her cookies, stopped eating and looked over.
"No, actually I am the 'the liar princess'."
[Note: 'the liar princess' refers to the Steam game 'The the liar princess and the Blind Prince,' where the princess can transform into a werewolf.]
Gwen froze for a moment.
"The Liar... Princess?" She blinked, slowly processing it.
"That doesn't seem to fit Mr. Green at all. Where would you find such a large princess?"
She couldn't help but crinkle her eyes and laugh softly.
"It's similar. Both have the cool skill of transforming into a second form." Green leaned back in his chair. "She's a wolf, I'm a dragon."
"Do dragons really exist?" Gwen was a bit skeptical.
"Take a guess."
"Then..." Gwen thought for a moment with her eyes down. "She protects the prince?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Then what about Mr. Green?" She looked up.
"I protect the treasures that belong solely to me."
Gwen was stunned, a flush of red quietly climbing up her ears. She quickly ducked her head, burying her face in the barely touched steak on her plate, leaving only her burning ears visible.
Lorna used her fork to draw shapeless arcs in the sauce. She thought she was hiding it well, but the corners of her pale pink lips were clearly curling up.
Laura was still buried in her food, eating ravenously.
"But don't get ahead of yourself."
Green lit a cigarette, the flame licking the tobacco with a soft hiss.
"Aside from a modicum of courage, you don't have any other shining qualities."
He exhaled a cloud of grey-white smoke, his tone cruel and calm, as if stating a fact.
"My protection of you is based on the utility George, your father, has for me."
Gwen's eyelashes fluttered, and the light in her eyes dimmed.
She lowered her gaze, but her jawline was clenched tight.
The next second, she tilted her chin up again, forcing a stubborn posture.
"Fine, I understand."
Green didn't respond.
Smoke rose slowly from his fingers, lingering in the narrow space of air between them.
After being exposed to it for a while, the corners of Gwen's eyes turned a slight shade of red.
Chapter 42: Destiny
The next day, the pickup truck stopped at the school gate.
"Glock 42, the magazine is 6+1 rounds. Don't pull the trigger too tight when firing, and remember to keep the safety on normally." Green placed the anti-bullying stationery into the side pockets of the three girls' backpacks one by one.
Gwen stared blankly as he casually stuffed three or four spare magazines into her bag.
"Mr. Green, do we really have to carry such dangerous things?" Her voice was a bit shaky.
"Why not? This is just a last resort. Take it, good student. Don't let your dad worry. I'm not a babysitter; you have to protect yourself."
Green helped her zip up. The sound of the metal teeth meshing was light, dispersing in the morning breeze.
Then he turned to look at Lorna.
"If anything happens, call the emergency number directly. Connections are meant to be used."
Emergency Contact No. 1: Homelander.
The other numbers didn't have full names, only nicknames or place names.
"Mhm." Lorna nodded seriously.
She lowered her eyes, her fingers tightening and loosening on the backpack straps before suddenly looking up.
"You'll come back to pick us up, right?"
"Of course."
He opened the car door.
The three little ones, carrying bulging backpacks, filed out of the cabin.
"Remember to get along with your classmates. Study if you can, and if you can't, just play."
"Okay!" Gwen nodded, remembering the first part.
"Understood!" Lorna remembered the middle part.
"No problem!!!" Laura remembered the last part.
The three walked toward the school gate.
Green sat back in the driver's seat but suddenly leaned his head out.
"Remember to attach the silencer before firing. It'll make it easier for me to find someone to handle the bodies."
Gwen tripped over her own feet and hurriedly turned back to give him a "shush" gesture.
Lorna didn't want to turn back to talk to this thick-headed guy and pretended not to hear.
Laura turned back and gave an OK sign.
Not far away, a gorgeously dressed woman froze in place. Beside her stood a boy who looked very "athletic," his mouth agape and his gaze vacant.
Green glanced over, following their gaze.
"What are you looking at?"
The woman jolted violently.
"No... nothing, it's nothing!" She forced a smile, her waist instinctively bending a few degrees.
Green looked away and stepped on the gas.
The mother and son watched the pickup truck speed away, leaving a trail of exhaust behind.
After a long while, the boy spoke with difficulty.
"Mom, that guy was joking, right?"
"Think about what you usually do, then consider the truth of his words."
"I want to transfer schools."
"Agreed. I'm afraid he might kill me while he's at it."
Green drove through several blocks and turned off the engine in front of a coffee shop.
With the window halfway down, he lit a cigarette, resting his arm on the door frame, watching the sparse pedestrians on the street. Smoke rose from between his fingers, swirling inside the cabin.
"Open system panel."
[Green (Unique)]
[Essence: Human]
[destiny value]: 89%
[Core Module]
[tyrant of heaven MAX] —— Evolution Degree: 0.21%
Evolution Condition: Continuous ingestion of high-purity Cursed Energy
Trait: Passively absorbs "Cursed Energy" generated by intelligent beings within a five-meter radius. The higher the target's life level, the stronger the Cursed Energyconversion efficiency. The acquired Cursed Energy will be automatically used to strengthen the host's basic combat attributes such as physique, strength, and speed.
[slaughter value]: 100.1%, threshold exceeded.
[Valyrian Dragon Remnant - Drogon] —— Larva Growth: 1%
Growth Condition: Hunt marked high-value targets
Trait: A Dragonborn body forged by blood magic. All attributes grow automatically with feeding and time, and body size will evolve synchronously. Thinking tends toward rationality. The growth cycle is long.
[Blood Hunt Value]: 1%
[Pending Unlock Main Module]: 1
"destiny value..."
Green half-closed his eyes, the cigarette between his fingers burning silently.
This was something he unlocked after Lorna and Gwen—or rather, this module was always there, but he had only just stumbled upon the conditions to observe it.
"It seems showing a little kindness occasionally is useful."
In this World, the only thing he could think of related to "Destiny" was the plot. Breaking it down further, it was the overall narrative weight a character held in this World.
Speaking of which, he seemed to have gained a bit more enthusiasm for causing trouble.
And that slaughter value that broke the threshold...
What's the situation? Did he kill too much?
"Is the template bugged?" Green flicked the ash into the cactus pot on the passenger side center console, but Laurahad taken it away.
He remembered the last time he did that; she bit his hand and wouldn't let go.
"Maybe I'll know once that main module is unlocked."
He opened the car window, flicked the ash outside, and took another puff.
When adults are alone, especially with a cigarette, their brains are most relaxed and it's easiest to think things through. The key is being alone.
He had to admit, he was still a bit unaccustomed to the presence of those three little ones.
Green adjusted the seat back and slowly exhaled a puff of smoke.
He sorted out the things he needed to do now.
Fighting (cleaning up the League of Assassins), a trip to the countryside (containing evil spirits), and visiting landmarks (going to the canyon to collect data).
Before unlocking the [Valyrian Dragon Remnant - Drogon] template, he was essentially a super soldier who had surpassed human limits, sitting at the same table as those like Captain America who had taken the serum.
It was just that his offensive performance was far stronger than theirs. Fundamentally, the gap wasn't that large. The biggest difference was probably the art style difference between Japanese manga and American comics.
So, over the years, he had conveniently built such a network of connections to prevent certain irresistible forces from carrying out a targeted elimination of him.
He liked to play, but he wouldn't lose sight of his own position.
Currently, his combat power should have reached the lower-middle level of Earth-tier. If he went all out, he could likely reach the city-block-busting level.
However, he hadn't tried actually destroying a block; it was just a hypothesis. And that was for inanimate objects. For living beings... that was hard to say.
"Still need to be cautious." He flicked the cigarette butt away and stretched.
After a while, the door of the coffee shop was pushed open.
George walked out carrying two drinks, opened the passenger door, and sat in.
"Double sugar, with ice."
He handed one cup to Green, and with his other hand, he pulled a piece of beef jerky from his pocket, tore a piece off with his teeth, and chewed with bulging cheeks.
Then he took a sip of the strong coffee in his other hand to refresh himself, the bitterness making him frown as he smacked his lips.
"Is Gwen okay?"
"Her mental resilience is good, no unnecessary internal friction."
Green took a sip of coffee, a ring of cream foam sticking to his upper lip, which he licked off with the tip of his tongue.
"She just cautiously asked me yesterday if she could go to the hospital to see Helen."
Last night, a phone appeared in his mailbox, left by George. A sticky note was attached to the screen with the coffee shop's address and the meeting time.
"...Sorry for the trouble." George sighed, tore off half a piece of beef jerky, and handed it over.
"Will you be busy later?"
"I need to go on a business trip for a while." Green took the beef jerky but didn't rush to eat it.
"Understood." George swallowed the meat in his mouth.
"Your profession is even more dangerous than us frontline police officers. You're living quite an exciting life."
Green didn't respond.
"I've already handled the aftermath of the Mike incident." George paused.
"Though, without me, you probably would have had other ways to handle it."
"Yes."
Green lit a cigarette and handed the pack over. Georgewasn't polite and pulled one out.
"Your style of doing things isn't like someone your age at all; it's too sophisticated." George exhaled a puff of smoke, which slowly dissipated in the cabin.
"I investigated your route yesterday. You were in the convenience store during the shooting, but after you left, a special department actually intervened immediately and suppressed the news."
He turned his head to look at Green. "It seems I'll have to rely on you."
"You already are."
George was stunned for a moment, then laughed out loud.
"Heh, you're right."
He ran a hand through his hair and didn't say anything more.
The two men sat in silence, finishing the cigarettes between their fingers.
From beginning to end, George didn't ask about the "high-tech" or "superhuman strength" mentioned by the witnesses, and Green didn't ask about the progress of the vampire case George was handling.
Not prying, only mutual assistance—it was a tacit understanding between the two. For Green, this was exactly the effect he needed.
George stubbed out the cigarette, pushed the door open, and got out. The sound of his footsteps gradually faded outside the window.
Green finished the last sip of coffee, stuffed the cup holder into the storage compartment, tossed the beef jerky into his mouth, chewed it a few times, and swallowed.
Time to complete the first goal.
Chapter 43: Cleaning the Weaving Factory
Chicago, Illinois,
17th Textile Mill, second floor, circular library,
On a leather sofa, a well-dressed black man sat with his legs crossed, slowly swirling a glass of whiskey.
"Good morning, Mr. Stan."
"Didn't you send everyone out? Where's the news of Green's death? It's been twelve hours!" Stan's tone was somewhat irritable.
Sloan took a sip of his drink, unhurriedly.
"It's common for assassins to lose contact, especially when facing a top-tier hunter. Cutting communication is done to prevent reverse tracking."
He put down his glass.
"Furthermore, I have re-evaluated Green's danger level. I believe the reward needs to be appropriately increased."
"You want to take advantage of the situation?!" Stan roared on the other end.
"A few days ago, he faced the largest underworld force in Hells Kitchen head-on, and the result was that he was unscathed."
There was a sudden silence on the other end of the line.
"...How much." Stan's voice sank.
"1.5 times the hazard pay. That's not too much, is it?"
"Deal, but this time I want to see his physical corpse before paying the final installment."
The incident where Green made Tony Stark appear to come back from the dead in public had clearly messed with his state of mind.
"You'll get your money's worth."
Sloan hung up the communication. He stood up, walked around the circular bookshelf, and pushed open an inconspicuous secret door in the corner.
Inside the secret room was a vast, independent weaving room.
Fine threads covered every inch of the space, hanging from the ceiling to the floor, floating slightly in the beams of light slanting in from the windows.
In the center, a Loom of Fate sat quietly, looking like an altar.
A thousand years ago, a weaver deciphered a ternary code from the abnormal patterns of this Loom of Fate.
He translated names and determined it was destiny; an oracle commanded him to slay these "evil people" to maintain the order of the World. Thus, the League of Assassins was born.
Since then, only the leader of each generation has been qualified to step in here to receive the instructions of "Fate" and decipher the next name to be erased.
In this generation, as the leader, Sloan turned Fate's instructions into his own altered ones.
Why?
For money, of course.
"They're all idiots, insisting on pretending to be saints." Sloan walked to the Loom of Fate and pulled a yellowed list from under the interlaced web of threads.
He looked down at the names crossed out on the paper, the traces erased by ink, and the handwriting he had added himself.
What bullshit translation equation.
In the end, whatever he wanted to fill in was what it became. Those brainwashed guys just needed to execute it and never asked why.
"However..."
He lowered his head, his gaze stopping on the last name on the list.
Green Morgan.
This entry, he had actually deciphered from the patterns of Fate.
"Heh heh heh..."
He shook his head and laughed, his fingertip rubbing the name.
"Destiny is truly on my side. Even Fate has judged you guilty. How can you not die, Green Morgan?"
He tucked the list back under the threads.
With Fox's crowd control assistance, X's frontal assault, and Cross's ultra-long-range precision strike,
He couldn't imagine how this lineup could lose...
Boom—
The entire building shook violently.
Stone chips fell from the cracks in the ceiling. The fine threads shook violently in the vibration. Sloansubconsciously held onto the Loom of Fate beside him to steady himself.
The vibration did not stop.
Continuous explosions came from downstairs, one after another. A thread snapped and fell onto his shoulder.
"What the f*ck?!"
"Leader, someone is attacking!"
An assassin burst through the door.
"This is not a place you should enter!" Sloan turned his head sharply.
"It's..." The man's Adam's apple bobbed.
"Did you see which force it is?"
"I don't know. It's suspected to be a group of well-armed elite mercenaries."
"Mercenaries? No way..."
Sloan's brow furrowed, having a faint ominous premonition.
Meanwhile, at the factory gate,
The iron gate was knocked completely off by an armored vehicle and crashed to the ground.
Several armored vehicles smashed through the doors and windows in a line, driving into the main hall of the weaving factory.
Fully armed soldiers followed closely behind, holding their guns against mobile covers and advancing steadily.
The riot shields at the very front were tightly fitted, with rifle barrels protruding from behind them.
The assassins who rushed to meet the enemy hadn't even put on basic body armor. As soon as they showed their heads, they were riddled with bullets by the dense fire.
"Watch out—"
Someone whispered.
A grenade launcher made a muffled thud, and a grenade trailing white smoke shot into the building's cover.
Boom—!
Brick and stone shattered, and a wave of yellowish dust surged out, carrying wood chips and pieces of corpses. Behind the dust curtain, rows of rifle infrared beams pierced the floating dust like the fingers of the Grim Reaper, lighting up one by one.
Figures in black armor advanced steadily through the dust.
In the front yard of the weaving factory,
Green slid down from the shell of an armored vehicle, the soles of his shoes grinding over the gravel on the ground.
"Phew—damn, this base was really hard to find."
He looked up. The building in front of him was less of a weaving factory and more of a small fortress, with thick concrete outer walls, narrow firing slits, and abandoned watchtowers at the four corners with their skeletons still standing.
This place had once been a transit hub for guarding the riverbank during World War II. After the war, it was converted into a weaving factory, but its military fortification roots hadn't been fully stripped away.
"Boss, the first floor has been occupied. We are advancing to the second floor."
A middle-aged man with graying temples walked over, his gait steady and his eyes carrying a hint of Fox-like cunning.
Ray Brady, the Commander of this special ops team, the oldest dog under Drake who could bite the hardest.
"Yeah," Green replied.
He didn't know tactical command, but the fight was almost over anyway. He would go up and finish things off.
Green tucked his thumbs into the edges of his bulletproof vest and stepped toward the factory building.
"Hey, Boss," Ray said behind him, wanting to advise him not to step into the crossfire.
"Relax, Ray," a subordinate nearby chimed in with a grin, his tone carrying a hint of defiance.
"Didn't the CEO say? He can fight better than all of us combined. Let him go."
Ray frowned.
The next moment,
The outer wall of the second floor exploded, and a dozen bodies smashed through the bricks and stones from the inside, falling onto the ground of the front yard.
Blood poured down.
The subordinate's smile froze on his face.
"Uh... is it... still too late to go apologize now?" His Adam's apple bobbed, his voice trembling.
His gaze was fixed on the corpses slumped in the pool of blood like mud—limp, unrecognizable, with every bone shattered.
"Shut up, Dosca."
Ray didn't look at him.
He looked at the cloud of dust on the second-floor wall that hadn't yet dissipated.
The dust billowed, and a figure faintly elongated and deformed, its outline gradually sketching a burly dragon Shadow in the dust.
The dust cleared a bit.
Green just stood there calmly, backlit, with his hands down, as if nothing had happened.
However, those amber dragon pupils glanced down sideways from the remaining mist.
At that moment, Ray's pupils met those eyes.
"...!"
His heart felt as if it were suddenly squeezed by a giant hand, and even breathing became difficult.
He clutched his chest and lowered his head. A nosebleed gushed from his left nostril, one drop, two drops, hitting the gray-white concrete floor beneath his feet.
"To think I can't even maintain eye contact... this gap..."
Green looked away from the second floor.
"Sir, do you need us to clear the way?" a soldier nearby asked tentatively.
"Clean up the rest and block the river. Don't let them escape by Water."
Green walked toward the library entrance.
"Yes, sir."
The soldier turned, his combat boots quickly grinding over the debris on the ground. The sound of his footsteps soon disappeared at the end of the corridor.
Creak.
Green stepped onto the spiral staircase. The cast-iron steps groaned under his weight. One turn, two turns.
He reached the library.
Sloan sat upright on that leather sofa, facing the entrance, with a polite and calm smile on his face.
He hadn't even uncrossed his legs. A wine glass was placed aside, as if he were waiting for a guest who had an appointment.
He spoke in a kind, elder-like tone.
"I didn't expect you to—"
Bang!
A bullet pierced his forehead.
His head tilted back with the impact, the backrest catching his limp head.
That smile was still on his face; the curve of his mouth hadn't even had time to retract, but his eyes went empty for a moment, as if he were still waiting to finish the second half of his sentence.
He really didn't seem to have expected it.
Green lowered his gun, a wisp of blue smoke curling from the edge of the silencer.
"Dumbass."
He put the gun back into the quick-draw holster on his thigh.
Green walked around the library.
He found a codebook, a contact phone, and a leather-bound notebook from a hidden compartment in the bookshelf. He flipped through them casually.
Inside were dense records of the client lists, transaction amounts, and payment methods Sloan had left behind from his private jobs over the years.
Presumably, this was a backup the old man had left for himself, in case things ever came to light, to use for negotiation or blackmail.
But he probably didn't expect Green to arrive so quickly.
And he even brought a professional squad; he couldn't even run away.
For safety, he placed the scavenged items on the library table before walking inside.
The Loom of Fate sat quietly in the beam of light cast by the windows. The shuttle stopped in the middle of the warp threads. The fine threads hung from the ceiling to the floor, motionless in the air where dust floated.
[Detected residual divine power from a Fate-type deitynearby, can be converted into destiny value]
"Oh?" Green's eyes lit up instantly. Wild Fate divine power?
"This item is destined for me."
He immediately stepped toward the Loom of Fate.
Whoosh—
A stray bullet shot in from outside the window, hit the left wall, ricocheted, changed direction, and happened to head straight for his temple.
"Holy crap?"
Green leaned his head forward, and the bullet grazed the roots of the hair on the back of his head.
He paused for a moment, then continued forward.
Whoosh whoosh whoosh—
Another dozen stray bullets from nowhere outside the window happened to shoot into the room from different angles, and happened to ricochet several times off the walls and pillars.
They happened to block all his evasion routes and even happened to drill into the gaps of his bulletproof vest.
Green's advancing right leg happened to step on a brittle floorboard.
Crack.
The floor collapsed, his right leg fell into the hole, his body sank, and his ankle happened to be caught by the cracked stone slab.
"Holy crap?!"
Dragon scales emerged from under his skin, spreading rapidly along the side of his neck, shoulder blades, and waist.
Sparks of Fire burst on the surface of the scales. The bullets hit them, leaving shallow white marks, but a few still bit into the gaps between the scales, oozing traces of blood.
Green looked down at the wound, then looked up at the Loom of Fate.
The shuttle moved at some point.
It passed through the warp threads on its own, once, twice.
"How come these supernatural phenomena didn't appear when the protagonist dismantled you in the story? You're targeting me, aren't you?"
Green's nictitating membranes flickered as he switched to amber dragon pupils, his mouth curling into a sinister grin.
He exerted force with his ankle, forcefully crushing the stone that had caught his right leg.
Then he rushed toward the Loom of Fate.
A grenade flew in from the window, happened to block his path, and happened to hit him.
Boom—
Fire erupted and bloomed.
Eerily, not a single one of the fine threads filling the space was ignited.
The light of the Fire licked over the threads as if passing through non-existent objects, without leaving even a trace of charring.
Green's burning figure lunged out of the Fire and pressed a palm onto the Loom of Fate.
[Host has come into direct contact with a divine power container]
[Absorb? Yes/No]
"Absorb."
[Confirmed]
[12%... 19%... 26%...]
"Buzz..."
The light outside the window suddenly became blindingly white.
It wasn't that the light got stronger; it was that the temperature was concentrating into the color of light.
That beam of light, as if being pulled, poured in from the window and fell diagonally onto Green's back.
His combat uniform, bulletproof vest, and undershirt burned to ashes within seconds, peeling away from his shoulders.
The dragon scales under his clothes turned from black to brown, and from brown to red, like wrought iron thrown into a forge.
The air around his body burned with ripples visible to the naked eye.
"It doesn't hurt!!"
A low roar squeezed out of Green's throat, and fine sparks of Fire sprayed from between his teeth.
He didn't let go.
In the courtyard,
"Ray, did you hear that?" Dosca suddenly looked up at the row of windows on the second floor that were glowing with an eerie, blazing light. A dragon's roar came from there.
Ray didn't look up, preoccupied with checking his firearm.
"I didn't hear anything."
Dosca was startled.
"Right, I must be hallucinating."
[89%... 91%... 95%... 100%]
[Capture complete]
[destiny value]: 96%
The blinding white light suddenly went out.
The Loom of Fate hissed, and acrid white smoke rose from where Green's palm had touched it. The wood grain carbonized, cracked, and peeled away at a visible rate.
Green let go.
The dragon scales receded from his body, revealing large patches of charred burns underneath.
He glanced down at them with no expression, then turned to walk out.
The tongues of Fire behind him finally licked the threads.
The Fire spread rapidly, swallowing the Loom of Fate and the dense threads throughout the space into the swirling heart of the Fire.
Chapter 44: Stan: Under Maximum Pressure
Green walked out of the textile factory gates and into the courtyard.
The gunfire behind him receded like a tide, from scattered shots to eventual silence.
Only the echoes of crumbling masonry and the whistle of the wind through bullet holes remained.
"Boss, are you alright?"
Ray came forward to meet him.
"Do I look like I was attending a strip club?"
Green walked past him, heading straight for the pickup truck parked by the roadside.
"You look exactly like that—the kind who lost everything down to his underwear."
Ray grumbled inwardly but kept a straight face.
"Blow this place up. Leave nothing behind."
"Yes, sir."
He replied from behind.
Green pulled back the tarp of the truck bed and rummaged through a tactical bag for spare clothes.
This area was very remote.
Within three miles, there was only a rundown factory selling used cars.
The wind blew in from the river, carrying the smell of fishy water and rust.
He pulled on his pants and opened the driver's side door.
"I—I didn't see anything."
In the passenger seat, Lucia waved her hands frantically. Her head was bowed, but her eyes peeked up from under her lashes, looking quite vulnerable.
Compared to their first meeting, she now wore black-rimmed glasses. Behind the lenses, her grey-green eyes looked a bit dull.
"Move over."
He had picked her up at The Foundation on the way. At the time, the Old Priest had stood beside her, eyeing him with a sour expression, especially after giving Green a blessing.
Latin was recited, holy water was sprinkled, but nothing happened. The Old Priest didn't explain, and Green didn't ask.
Access to that town was restricted. The Old Priest wasn't qualified; he was just Lucia's guide. Between the two of them, only Lucia, the vessel, could enter.
As for Green, The Foundation had tested him; his sanity level was extremely high, enough to withstand the corruption of evil spirits.
"Oh, okay."
Lucia finally reacted. She lifted her skirt and scrambled over to the passenger seat, first her left leg, then half her body, sticking her bottom out as she squeezed herself into the seat.
She was nearly solo-killed by the seatbelt buckle.
Green watched her clumsy display, somewhat speechless.
"I really wonder how someone as weak as you is supposed to fight those evil spirits."
"I'll be able to when the time comes," Lucia replied softly, smoothing out her skirt.
"Whatever."
Lucia couldn't help but speak up.
"Is it over inside?"
"What else? A group of assassins got their nest raided; what did you expect them to fight back with? The power of the law?"
Green sat in the driver's seat; the leather beneath him still held the lingering warmth of her body.
He casually handed Sloan's evidence to Lucia.
He kept the codebook, which had been passed down for who knows how many generations, as a collectible.
Lucia quickly took it and looked down.
"This is..."
"A gift from a temporary ally."
Green pulled a new pack of cigarettes from the glove box, tore it open, and lit one.
Lucia looked at him suspiciously.
"Really?"
In her first impression, this man was not an easy person to get along with. He was very fierce!
"You don't want it?" Green turned his head and blew a puff of smoke in her face.
"Cough, cough-cough..."
She quickly waved her hand and turned to open the window. The cool wind rushed in, sweeping away most of the smoke in the cabin.
She opened Sloan's notebook.
Her expression darkened bit by bit.
It contained many names: Doctors, lawyers, community volunteers—faces she had personally seen at charity galas.
From all walks of life and all social classes.
For many, the worst thing they had ever done in their lives was probably over-reporting on a tax return once.
They were good people.
How could they appear on a hit list?
Lucia remained silent for a long time.
Green finished his cigarette, crushed the butt in the car's ashtray, and started the engine to drive away.
A muffled explosion came from behind. The textile factory had been detonated. A flash of fire in the rearview mirror momentarily illuminated her profile.
Lucia didn't look back.
She finished the entire diary and gently closed it.
"Thank you."
She turned her head to look at Green.
"You did a good thing."
"It just happened to align with my goals."
Green took out Sloan's phone, planning to flip through it for any little secrets—like global flight access or something.
"Oh?" He opened the contacts, his eyes stopping on a certain entry. A smirk slowly spread across his face.
He dialed the number.
Green held the phone to his ear and waited patiently. A hint of mischievous joy crept into his smile.
"Beep—Make it quick, I'm in a meeting." The voice on the other end was hushed, urgent, and impatient.
A second later, he heard the voice he least wanted to hear this week.
"Hello there, Stan. Did you miss me? That's right, you heard correctly, it's me again."
Stan was stunned, Stan was dazed, and for a moment, Stan's brain crashed. He wished he could turn back time to before he picked up the phone.
His chest tightened suddenly, as if someone had gripped his heart.
"Fuck!!!" Stan let out a short shriek and flung the phone away as if it had given him an electric shock!
The Directors nearby all performed a synchronized tactical lean-back to dodge.
The phone traced an arc through the air, hit the floor with a thwack, bounced, and slammed into the conference room door with a thud.
Just then, the door was pushed open.
Tony strolled in with messy hair, wearing a black tank top, looking like a maintenance worker who had just crawled out of a construction site.
He was holding a half-eaten cheeseburger in one hand, using a finger of the other to wipe a bit of cheese sauce from the corner of his mouth.
He looked down at the phone by his feet, then up at Stan, whose face was pale and chest was heaving. He raised an eyebrow.
"You okay, old man?" His tone carried a hint of genuine concern, but by the time it reached his lips, the inflection had changed.
To Stan's ears, it sounded like pure mockery.
"Hiss—" Stan clutched his chest with one hand and fell straight back!
"Stan!"
"Holy shit!"
Several Directors scrambled forward to catch him, a display of speed that could be called the year's best teamwork.
Nothing could happen to Stan—at least not at this critical juncture. The stock prices were depending on him.
"Give... give me my blood pressure medicine..." Stanwheezed, his fingers trembling as he pointed to his pocket, his voice faint and broken.
"Two... five pills!!"
"Hello? Hello!"
On the other end, Green listened to the chaos and the final muffled thud, his smile widening.
"How rude." He casually tossed the phone out the car window.
A car roared past and crushed it, the fragments scattering across the asphalt like a small burst of fireworks.
"Your tone just now was so disgusting," Lucia said with a grimace, looking pained.
"Is that so?"
"Yes."
"Thanks for the compliment." Green rested his elbow on the window ledge, propping his face in his hand as he enjoyed the breeze, looking quite smug.
"...I wasn't complimenting you." Lucia didn't know whether to laugh or cry at his reaction.
"Was that a friend on the phone just now?"
"A good friend."
"I can tell you have a very close relationship."
"Of course. He still owes me a suit of armor."
"Armor?" Lucia blinked. Her mental database clearly didn't have a match for that term in this context.
She tilted her head and thought for a moment, her eyes suddenly lighting up. "Sounds like... the kind of armor a knight wears?"
"Pretty much."
"Then he really is a good person," Lucia remarked sincerely. "That kind of thing is very precious."
Heh. Green chuckled but didn't elaborate. He'd wait until Stan built it. Tony Stark's portable suit was convenient, but it was nowhere near as fun as the big toy Stan was planning to make.
He turned to Lucia, suddenly remembering something.
"By the way, what can you actually do?"
"I don't know..." Lucia scratched the back of her head sheepishly, her voice getting smaller.
"I can't memorize the scriptures well, I can't remember many holy words, I don't get along with my peers, and I'm at the bottom of every evaluation..."
She sighed, a hint of confusion flashing in her eyes.
"To be honest, I don't know why I was chosen as the fourth-generation Irene... 'Walker of the Saints' or whatever, it sounds so fake."
"It's fine."
Lucia looked up, a spark of hope in her eyes.
"Green..."
"It's good to know you're useless. Just go in there and wait to die."
Crack.
Lucia was petrified.
"Heh... hehe..." She forced a smile, but the corners of her mouth drooped uncontrollably.
"You're so mean; you must be terrible with women," she muttered, attempting a weak comeback.
"Well, you guessed wrong." Green raised an eyebrow.
"I'm actually quite popular."
Lucia stared at him, then turned her head away sharply, burying her face in her collar, refusing to say another word to this bastard.
"Angry?"
"..."
"Jealous?"
"That's one of the Seven Deadly Sins!" Lucia finally couldn't hold it in. She turned back and glared at him, puffing out her cheeks.
"I am not! You've committed such a heavy sin of Lust; God won't like you!"
"Yo, yo, yo~ Is the little lamb angry?"
"Don't talk like that!" Lucia covered her ears and curled up into the seat.
Heh. Green laughed, looking at the winding road ahead. Taking a soft girl like this on a mission was much more comfortable than taking a guy like Tony Stark, who ate fries without ketchup.