Twists and Turns, Blood

The driver was a short-tempered Frenchman with tanned skin, a buzz cut, and a Hawaiian-style short-sleeved shirt and shorts.

The passenger, with his blonde hair parted to the side and a slightly youthful face, was Leon, a trainee investigator.

As for his attire and equipment, Leon wore a lightweight black windbreaker produced by his company's own military division over a matching short-sleeved shirt. His waist belt was laden with tool pouches and magazine holsters, while his lower half consisted of dark green multi-pocket cargo pants, leg holsters, and military boots. A black backpack sat on the backseat.

The reason he didn't bother to conceal his identity was that the African nation they had infiltrated—the Congo—was in a state of utter chaos.

Territorial disputes between tribes, massive numbers of refugees and deserters sheltered by anti-government forces, riots, mutinies, and slaughter were the norm within the Congo; they were common occurrences.

Despite possessing vast reserves of gold, copper, iron ore, and natural gas that ranked among the highest in the world, it was a country "begging with a golden bowl," remaining one of the poorest nations with a 1993 GDP of only 4.2 billion dollars.

Its air defense capabilities were virtually non-existent; the Congo hadn't even established an air force yet. Compared to Atlas, which spent nearly 2 billion dollars annually just to maintain its military operations, the difference was like heaven and earth.

Given Leon's skin and hair color, he was clearly an outsider at a glance, so there was no need to deliberately hide anything. In any case, the number of mercenaries and criminal organizations operating within the Congo was countless.

One day ago.

Chief Instructor Krauser had announced the content of their "graduation exam": travel to the Congo to conduct an investigation, attempt to locate anomalous phenomena, and successfully survive.

The duration was fourteen days.

During this time, the company would not proactively provide them with any support; everything would depend on themselves.

Of course, if they were unfortunate enough to fall into a life-or-death situation and were unable to escape by their own means, the company would still dispatch an ARS unit to launch an all-out rescue operation.

However, as an investigator, luck was also an invisible and intangible form of strength. If one could not extricate themselves, it would severely impact the final score of this "graduation exam."

Nevertheless, before Leon and the others selected their gear and gathered enough supplies to board the plane, Krauser gave one final piece of advice: "Keep your life intact; do not push yourself to the point of death for the sake of an exam."

Because even if their overall grades were failing, trainees who had been through half a year of training would still be assigned to the most suitable positions based on their resumes. If they were surrounded by thugs and died because they chose to fight head-on for the sake of a grade...

The spirit of never yielding was worth praising, but behavior that was overly stubborn and lacked adaptability was not.

July 16, 00:34.

The ARS aviation unit provided "service" from the Kenya base to the airspace over the Congo. Afterward, Leon and his classmates left the cabin one by one, parachuting into the night to land in their respective assigned investigation zones.

02:20.

Leon touched down successfully.

After folding and stowing his parachute, he used his personal computer's positioning system to determine that he was in the central part of the Congo, still thirty kilometers in a straight line from his target, the town of Luojia.

It might have been due to wind speed, or perhaps the transport plane had hit turbulence and become extremely shaky while he was jumping, but regardless, the distance deviation was indeed quite large.

The plan to hike to the target was unrealistic, as a vast expanse of primeval rainforest lay in between. Therefore, after a brief rest and analysis, Leon chose to first head to the nearest town, called Longa.

Perhaps his good luck had returned, or perhaps it was something else, but after walking for three hours, Leon discovered that this town of fewer than forty thousand people actually had an outpost for a French logging company.

This meant many French people were active in Longa, and there was even a bar that served authentic French cuisine and stayed open 24 hours a day.

People who would travel thousands of miles to come here regardless of the volatile environment were certainly looking to make a fortune through "big business." Intelligence trading and mercenary brokerage required a fixed location to "consolidate" information.

Where there is demand, there is a market, and the bar named "Romanee-Conti" was just such a place.

Out of caution, Leon entered the bar without ordering any food or drink. He simply rested at Romanee-Conti for a while and asked the bartender if there was anything unusual in the vicinity.

At first, he only received the reply, "Seems like there might be, but I don't know. I'm just a bartender."

Although this was Leon's first mission, it didn't mean he couldn't understand the subtext. After paying a 200-dollar "tip," he received the intelligence: "Luojia will be occupied by anti-government rebels soon—in a few days, I'd say. Kid, if I were you, I wouldn't go there. Your life is what matters."

An unexpected harvest?

Leon wasn't sure if 200 dollars was the market rate for intelligence, but he felt it was worth it... probably.

If he hadn't learned about the rebels' movements in advance, he would certainly have been caught off guard, leading to a serious threat to his own safety.

One had to realize that African rebels and thugs frequently committed horrific acts; to describe them as beasts would be an insult to beasts.

Then, after resting briefly in the bar, Leon negotiated a price with a man who had just woken up from a hangover and claimed to be a "Frenchie," and had him drive him toward Luojia, which was still over twenty kilometers away.

And then, time arrived at the present.

Looking at the terrified passersby outside the window, combined with the pungent smell of alcohol inside the car, Leon regretted taking the Frenchman's ride.

Furthermore, a point even he hadn't noticed was that Krauser had once written in his file: "Seems to have an affinity for car accidents."

After all, in past training, whenever a project involved vehicles, as long as Leon was on the team, the probability of vehicle engine failure, tire blowouts, or loss of control was much higher than for other teams.

Krauser wasn't worried that Leon would overthink it; unless necessary, Leon had neither the ability nor the right to view his own file.

"Beep! Beep!"

"Merde!"

"Fiche le camp!"

After hearing God knows how many honks and shouts, Leon finally saw a large number of thatched huts gathering at the edge of the town. This meant he would arrive at his destination soon and wouldn't have to endure the driver's madness any longer.

Screech—!!

The vehicle braked hard.

Clang! Clang!

The sound of the car door being forced open followed.

Vroom—!!!

Something was wrong with the exhaust pipe or the engine, causing it to emit a deafening roar.

Leon, having shouldered his backpack once more, stood by the roadside watching the direction where a massive cloud of dust was rising, when he heard the Frenchman's voice bellow out again:

"Adieu, l'Américain! Merci pour tes trois billets de Benjamin Franklin~!"

Leon merely frowned, then ceased paying attention to the Frenchman's side and instead scanned his surroundings to make a quick assessment.

It was no different from the vast majority of regions in Africa: corrugated iron shacks were visible everywhere, buildings made of concrete and steel were pitifully scarce, there wasn't a single proper road, and the environment was filthy and chaotic.

If there was anything unusual, it was that his skin tone and attire made him the most conspicuous person here.

Noticing that a few local residents seemed to be gathering around him out of "curiosity," Leon immediately moved away.

But as he walked and observed, he discovered that those residents were stumbling with sluggish, vacant expressions, and most importantly, blood was continuously streaming from their noses and mouths...

Blood?