This wasn't about being cowardly; it was a strategic compromise—Mr. Assath slowly raised both hands.
"Knowing when to back down is a good thing." The man in sunglasses sneered, then tossed a box toward Mr. Assath and gestured for him to open it.
Mr. Assath had no choice but to comply. When he opened the box, he found a syringe inside.
The strangeness of the situation made cold sweat break out across Mr. Assath's forehead.
So following the matchbox clue here really had been rash.
"What is this?" Assath asked in surprise, looking at the man handcuffed to the chair and wrapped from head to toe in gauze. "Painkillers for this poor fellow?"
"You seem to have a talent for stand-up comedy," the man in sunglasses said calmly. "Unfortunately, I don't have time to watch your performance right now... Now, pick it up and inject it into your own body."
From beginning to end, the man in sunglasses kept his pistol trained on Mr. Assath. The threat never went away.
"This... what the hell is this?" Mr. Assath asked hesitantly.
The man in sunglasses instead said abruptly, "The manager of this hotel said that its rooms have the best soundproofing in the entire City of Freedom. They can even rival professional recording studios."
"...What?" Mr. Assath froze instinctively.
Then a deafening bang suddenly exploded beside his ear.
Mr. Assath instinctively recoiled... The floor—the floor now had a bullet hole in it.
His face paled as he watched the black muzzle point at him again... He didn't dare gamble that the other man's gun was empty, so he fearfully and slowly took the syringe out of the box.
"Where... where am I supposed to inject it?"
The man in sunglasses frowned.
Mr. Assath had no choice but to press the needle