Jack hid at the entrance to the passage and peered inside. Below was a circular corridor, a familiar place. In the original play, the wealthy men bid on the girls in the private rooms on the left.
Seven or eight private rooms surrounded a small stage. The abducted girls, like livestock at a market, were paraded on stage in their scantily clad underwear.
Of course, Jack couldn't see anything now, and he had no intention of following the original play's lead by driving after the girls were abducted.
In the original play, Brian was alone, his actions limited. Now with the addition of bald Frank and Jack, the situation had completely reversed. What could he do if he felt aggrieved? The only answer was: kill!
Back up the corridor, the small iron door on the left had been pried open, and Brian was nowhere to be seen. Jack, Viper in hand, patiently guarded the entrance.
Soon, hurried footsteps were heard, and Brian reappeared, followed by Frank and Cassel.
Without further ado, Cassel opened his backpack, revealing bulletproof vests and submachine guns, which he distributed to the three men.
Frank's ruthless methods were evident in the guns he acquired: the SR-2M "Heather" submachine gun, chambered for the same pistol rounds as Jack's "Viper."
While similar in appearance to the Uzi, it employed a gas-operated mechanism and rotating bolt mechanism similar to assault rifles and light machine guns.
A retired CIA agent, using his connections to easily acquire Mao-made weapons in Paris, was truly unthinkable.
Jack donned his bulletproof vest, inserted the magazine, and attached the silencer to his "Heather" submachine gun. He then handed Cassel two stun grenades and pointed to the corner of the left passage.
"Hold this position. Our retreat is up to you,"
the great writer nodded with a murderous look on his face. His submachine gun was the only one without a silencer.
Just as the three were about to descend the stairs again, the elevator suddenly began to creak. Brian and Frank, walking behind, exchanged glances and stood on either side of the elevator entrance.
With a ding-dong, the elevator doors opened, and a waiter dressed as a waiter emerged, carrying a tray with an ice bucket and wine glasses on it.
He ducked his head as he stepped out, sensing something was amiss. He looked up and was met with the dark muzzle of Jack's gun.
"Mmmmm."
Frank delivered a rear-naked choke from behind, and Brian took the tray from him and handed it to Jack, their coordinated response perfect.
"Thank you,"
Jack thrust his Heather submachine gun into his waistband. He watched as Cassel dragged the waiter's body down the left aisle, then descended the stairs, holding the tray.
Just then, the door to the first private room opened, and a braided bodyguard emerged, turning back and carefully closing the door.
"Want your vodka?" Jack rounded the corner, his hand holding the tray deliberately lowered.
"Yes, just leave it there." The bodyguard gestured casually towards the coffee table at the door, then his pupils shrank as he realized something was wrong. He reached for his waist, but there was no waiter wearing a bulletproof vest under his coat.
"Puff puff." Two soft sounds were heard, and Jack pulled the trigger with his right hand under the tray. One shot hit him in the middle of the chest, and the second shot hit him in the neck, breaking the spine.
Before the body fell to the ground, Brian had already flashed out from behind Jack, supported the body and slowly let it fall, then grabbed his belt and dragged him into the corner, leaving only a trail of blood.
Then Frank and Jack brushed past each other, pushed open the box door and walked in sideways. Not long after, the box door was opened again, and the big bald man blew the gun smoke from the muzzle and smiled.
"One-way glass."
Jack shrugged and continued walking. He knocked on the second private room door and, without waiting for a response, pushed it open. A woman's voice reached his ears.
"Fifteen thousand!"
"Two hundred thousand!"
The private room was small, only a few square meters, its walls covered in red velvet for soundproofing. Inside was a single sofa and a coffee table with a red button on it.
As Jack entered, an elderly Asian man with gray hair, with his back to him, reached out and pressed the button.
The woman's voice rang out again, "Two hundred and fifty thousand."
"Hello!" Jack greeted.
As expected, a bodyguard standing behind the elderly Asian man shouted at Jack, "Baka! Who let you in?"
"Puff!" He was answered by two soft clicks from the Viper hidden under the tray.
The elderly Asian man, sitting on the single sofa with his back to the door, sensed something was wrong and turned to look behind him. "Puff!" A bloody hole appeared on his forehead.
Jack placed the tray on the coffee table and looked up through the large glass window in front of him at the center stage. A girl, clad only in high heels, was staring blankly around in the spotlight, clearly disoriented.
The movie was indeed a bit conservative; in the original, the girls being auctioned off at least had underwear to wear.
From the box's perspective, only the girl in the center stage, under the spotlight, could be seen. The other boxes were dark, and the people participating in the auction behind them couldn't be seen. As Frank had said, it was all one-way glass.
Still smiling, Jack reached for the vodka from the ice bucket, uncorked it, and took a swig. The spiciness flowed down his throat, but an uncontrollable rage erupted from his chest.
He took another swig, then, with a look of regret, shook the bottle in his hand and threw it.
The heavy bottle slammed against the glass wall with a whistling sound, accompanied by the sound of glass shattering. Jack drew his "Heather" submachine gun from his waist and strode towards the stage, stepping over the shards of glass.
A bald bodyguard at the stage entrance was about to draw his gun and point it at Jack when he was shot three times. Shouts erupted from the surroundings, and the wealthy in the other boxes sensed something was amiss.
Jack stepped onto the stage in two steps, wrapped his arms around the girl's slender waist, and knelt on one knee to hold her in his arms. Under the spotlight, as the horrified gazes of the wealthy watched, a faint glow emanated from his Heather, like the Grim Reaper's scythe slicing a graceful arc.
A series of short, deadly "piu piu piu" sounds echoed. Held with one hand, even without the folding stock, the SR-2M Heather felt recoilless in Jack's hands, steadily and recklessly unleashing the deadly armor-piercing rounds.
With a soft click, the chamber emptied, 30 rounds instantly emptied. The magazine release clicked, and the empty magazine fell to the ground. Jack, holding a new magazine in his left hand, inserted it into the gun, and the gunfire rang out again.
After the two magazines were emptied, the auction site fell into an eerie silence, save for the shattered glass curtain wall and the several bodies twitching on the sofa in the back.
(End of this chapter)