Evan looked at the man being held down by two agents, tore off his thick mask, and a cold gleam flashed from his narrowed eyes.
During this period, Reedman Virus cases in the United States had continued to rise. Every time an infected patient was discovered, they were swiftly isolated and sent to quarantine zones to cut off the source of infection.
Yet after every round of isolation, new cases would emerge, with no connection whatsoever between them.
They therefore concluded that RS Organization members were still operating within their borders, spreading the virus everywhere. The CIA had mobilized nearly all its domestic informants to investigate suspicious individuals.
After more than two months of investigation, they had finally set their sights on the man before them.
Lirik was Reedman's capable right-hand man, a central figure in the Angola unrest, the executor of the Death God Plan, and one of RS's most vital surviving figures.
They had never expected him not to hide, but instead to dare remain in their country for so long—and for them to discover him only now.
"Where's the antidote?" Evan coldly asked, driving a fist into Lirik's stomach.
Lirik looked at Evan with mocking eyes and laughed. His shrill, eerie voice sent chills down their spines. "It's my honor to tell you that there is no antidote. Hehehe..."
"No antidote?" Evan's pupils constricted, and his face darkened. He grabbed Lirik by the collar. "You don't have to talk. We have ways to make you open your mouth."
"From the very beginning, the Death God Plan was never meant to give you an antidote. Sir merely wanted you to experience the fear of death." Lirik sneered. "Even if you make me talk, there's no antidote. Besides, you have no way to make a dead man talk."
"What