Chen Fu sat in the captain's exclusive cushioned chair, and it truly felt different—the others were all stuck on hard wooden chairs until their hemorrhoids were nearly flaring up.
Of course, this was still the better option. If they were assigned to a covert watch post, they would have nowhere to sit and nowhere to stand. They could only crouch bent over while enduring mosquito bites and insect stings. That would be enough to write the word "miserable."
A job like covert surveillance naturally would never fall to Chen Fu. The veteran operatives would not do it either. It was always rotated among those few new operatives. Newcomers were like fresh pork. That was how the world worked.
As a low-level operative, he could not escape the fate of being ordered around.
After spending so much time and doing so much dirty work, I've finally... stopped being low-level.
Chen Fu pulled out a copper flask and took a swig. The copper flask was square and elegant, though it could not hold much liquor. Chen Fu did not actually like drinking, but he had seen the upper-class people in Mirror Lake District drinking from flasks like this, and he had taken a liking to the pastime.
The slightly bitter liquid slid down his throat and burned his stomach, as if it could briefly free him from the troubles of reality.
However, the others did not let Chen Fu enjoy such leisure. "Deputy Captain, what... exactly happened?"
Zhou Guangshi nervously gripped his light pistol and swept his gaze across both ends of the street. The other operatives also loaded their weapons and armed themselves to the teeth.
Although the Statistics Department had equipped them with gun racks, what need did they have for guns while guarding a slaughterhouse? This was the first