Night fell. Out in the wilds without any lights, it was nearly impossible to see one's hand in front of one's face. Only a few strands of faint moonlight struggled through the clouds, casting a dim, cold radiance.
On the first night after leaving the checkpoint, everyone slept lightly except for the three unlucky members of the Nether Moon Squad. After running nonstop for four days and four nights until they were utterly exhausted, they were now sleeping soundly.
Even Su Mo was half-asleep, half-awake, and he was roused from time to time by the commotion Torres made.
It was four in the morning, when the night was at its darkest and the cold was at its most biting.
Just as everyone had finally managed to work up a trace of drowsiness, Torres's booming voice exploded through the camp again, right on cue:
"Shit! What the hell is that?"
Crash!
This time, even the three wounded men were startled awake and sat up. The entire camp instantly erupted into chaos.
The team members scrambled to grab their weapons and rushed out of their tents, their eyes filled with fear and confusion.
Yet after more than ten seconds, everyone saw Zhao Lei emerge from the darkness, waving his hands repeatedly with an apologetic and embarrassed look on his face.
It turned out that a trash bag blown in from who knew where had landed over Torres's head. It had nearly scared the soul out of him. He had thought an alien race had unleashed some divine art.
Even now, Torres was still shaken. His hands trembled as he pulled the trash bag off his head, while he continued muttering curses.
"Captain, why don't you get some rest? I'll take them on patrol instead?"
Merrick sighed helplessly. If this continued, the people