Russell clapped his hands, rested his weapon on his shoulder, and looked at the last person still capable of movement.
"Do you want to exit with dignity, or should I help you with that? Choose one," he said.
"I..."
The last survivor stood there, dazed. He looked at Russell, then at his companions lying at his feet, their life or death uncertain. The weapon in his hand fell to the ground with a clang, and he abandoned all intention of resisting.
"Don't... don't kill me..." he begged incoherently. "I didn't see anything... I don't know anything..."
"Relax, I definitely won't kill you. I have no interest in that sort of thing." Russell squatted halfway down, wearing Frederick's face, and looked straight into the other man's eyes.
"Of course, I won't make it too easy for you either. After all, you did something wrong. Just like Richard said earlier, I don't like unnecessary casualties. So, before my patience runs out, you'd better give me a few names."
He pressed the shotgun against the man's chin. The pungent smell of blood on the gun barrel nearly caused the man to break down.
"I don't mind if a few of those names belong to guys you don't get along with. But I hope they are also incompetent scum, just like you. So, now, sir, please answer me. Who do you work for?"
Having said this, Russell remained silent, handing the floor over to the other party.
Hearing this, the last bandit's lips trembled. Under the gaze of those eyes, he spoke with a quivering voice:
"Billson... Mr. Billson."
"Mmh, Billson. And then? Is there anything else, like an address?"
"Please... that's all I can say... I don't know the rest..." The bandit closed his eyes in pain. "And... and the Professor."
"The Professor? Who uses a name like that?" Russell raised his eyebrows slightly. "Which university?"
"No... no, the Professor is a... a mysterious person. None of us know who he is. This operation was his idea..."
Hearing this, Russell frowned. So there really is a Professor of Crime, Moriarty, in this London? That doesn't seem like good news.
"He has been in contact with you all this time?"
"No... no... the Professor has been gone for a long time."
"How long?"
"I don't know... at least... at least a year. It wasn't until a few days ago that he found us and gave us this idea." The bandit spoke painfully. "That's really all I know, sir... please, let me go..."
[Malice Points from Beyer +50]
"Let you go? Sure. Go tell it to Scotland Yard. If they are willing to let you go, then I have no objections."
As he spoke, he withdrew the weapon, twirled it smoothly in his hand, and then struck the man hard on the head. The force was just right—enough to stun without causing brain damage.
Russell stood up and walked out of the storage room, then dragged over the guy on the ground who was still conscious. This was the one whose arm and leg he had broken with a pistol at the very beginning; at this point, the man had lost any capacity to resist.
"So, this gentleman," he helped the man up, leaned him against the wall, and smiled at him. "Do you have anything to add regarding what your companion just said?"
The bandit leaning against the wall trembled all over. Looking at that plain, ordinary face belonging to Frederick, his eyes were filled with extreme fear and despair. However, just as he opened his mouth, prepared to use his last ounce of strength to beg or curse, his pupils suddenly contracted.
He saw... something wrong. Something extremely bizarre, something that could even be called horrifying.
He watched as that sallow, mediocre face belonging to Frederick seemed to turn into a wax figure thrown into boiling oil—melting, flowing. The texture of the skin squirmed, the high nose bridge collapsed, the puffy eye bags receded...
The entire face was melting and restructuring!
Sizzle... sizzle...
The duration of the [Mimicry Soft Gel] was up.
The layer of translucent gelatinous substance was failing and decomposing, slowly peeling away from Russell's face like a snake shedding its skin. This scene appeared incredibly grotesque and terrifying in the bandit's pupils, which were dilated to the extreme from fear.
He didn't see a person tearing off a human skin mask. He saw a monster, a demon draped in human skin, revealing its true form right in front of him.
Finally, under that extreme shock of horror that surpassed the fear of death, his eyes rolled back, and he fainted completely dead away.
[Fear and mental breakdown from Charles, Malice Points +80]
"Tsk... noisy."
Listening to the notification sound in his head, Russell reached out and touched his face. The sensation from his fingertips was no longer the cold, slippery touch of the Mimicry Soft Gel, but his own warm skin.
Damn it, time's up. He glanced at the bandit foaming at the mouth and passed out before him, then looked at his own face which had returned to normal, and instantly understood why the man had reacted that way.
"Why be a robber with such poor psychological resilience?" Russell curled his lips and said with some disdain. But it was just as well; at least this guy didn't see his real face.
He stood up and tossed the heavy shotgun onto the ground, creating a crisp sound of metal colliding. Then, he bought a mask from the System Shop and put it on. Russell looked around at the mess on the floor and sighed somewhat helplessly.
"Professor..." His sorrowful voice echoed underground. "I hope you don't come asking me for copyright fees."
He muttered to himself, but then suddenly heard movement coming from the entrance of the storage room. It was the sound of the main gate being opened.
Russell subconsciously frowned. The soundproofing here was very good; he could be certain that the gunshots just now definitely wouldn't have reached the surface. Plus, since the mechanisms were under maintenance, the automatic alarm system was also on strike. Scotland Yard wouldn't receive a notification; he had even planned to go there personally later.
So why would someone suddenly come back? Russell couldn't figure it out. It couldn't possibly be a second wave of enemies.
He didn't flee immediately but hid inside the storage room, listening to the commotion. And then, he heard Tommy's wail, sounding as if the world had ended.
"Oh God! What on earth happened here!"
"Damn it... such a strong smell... damn it, everyone, put on your masks! Stay alert!"
This was Lestrade's voice.
Hearing this, Russell breathed a sigh of relief. As long as it wasn't a peer in the industry. Then there was no need for him to stay here.
Failing to evacuate during the operation would lead to a mission reset. Whoever came up with these mission conditions really deserves a special place in hell.
Thinking this, his gaze fell upon one of the safes. There was definitely no time to leisurely pick the lock now. Save where you can, spend where you must.
Russell hardened his heart and could only spend another 200 Malice Points to buy a disposable master key from the System Shop. Insert into the keyhole, turn the key, unlock—all in one go.
Click—
The sound of the lock opening echoed in the quiet underground storage room. To ensure security, the designers of this safe had specifically engineered a structure to make the unlocking sound resonate more clearly.
A truly gutter-tier stroke of genius.
"Who's there!" Lestrade's voice rang out immediately.
There were no gold or silver jewels in the safe, only a pile of stamped paper documents. But Russell had absolutely no time to care about the content of the documents right now.
He grabbed a handful at random, then, before Lestrade could bring people over, he threw down the final smoke grenade onto the ground.
By the time Lestrade and the others charged through the smoke with guns drawn and entered the storage room, all that was left was an open safe, a comatose fellow, and that signature message on the wall.
[This is a parting gift — Moriarty]
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