Debt Collection I

"Speaking of the kind of agent you imagine, I do know one like that." Beta recalled, "The guy had the face of a comedy star and a conspicuously large nose. He was always screwing things up, yet his luck was freakishly good. Every time, he somehow blundered into completing the mission. We all called him 'English.'"

Beta had been planning this debt collection for a long time, but he had never found an opportunity to force Eliot out into the open.

After thinking it over, an idea suddenly came to him. What could draw Eliot out more effectively than having the server data of his finance company stolen?

Beta sat before a mirror and carefully transformed his appearance.

He applied a fake beard, attached wrinkle prosthetics, wrapped simulated fat around his limbs, and finally put on a bulging fake belly. To make sure nothing went wrong, he stepped onto an electronic scale and slipped lead blocks into the weighted harness across his chest one by one until he weighed as much as a genuinely obese man.

Then he paced back and forth before the mirror, adjusting his posture until every step carried the clumsiness and sluggishness unique to a fat man. Now, he looked exactly like a bloated middle-aged man.

Matilda stared at Beta's disguise, her eyes gleaming with eagerness. "That's amazing! Let me try too, just once!"

Beta handed her the remaining materials. They were merely simple disguise supplies. This time, they were only stealing data, not engaging in a direct confrontation. The disguises only needed to hold up for a while.

Imitating Beta, Matilda clumsily molded a fake nose for herself.

But she forgot to leave nostrils and pasted the whole thing onto her face. Her voice came out muffled when she spoke. "Are you going out? Will you take me? I know how to use a gun. Leon taught me, and I've killed people too."

Beta froze, thinking he had misheard. "...What did you say?"

Matilda pressed the fake nose on her face and repeated in a muffled voice, "It's true."

Beta cleared his throat, and his voice abruptly became the deep voice of an unfamiliar man. "That Leon really is unreliable. He actually took you to do that kind of thing?"

"He was a drug dealer." Matilda shrugged, her tone calm. "If we didn't take care of him, more people would suffer."

Beta slid the Suppressed 1911 into its holster and carefully concealed it beneath his coat. "You're too noticeable. People would remember you. No."

Matilda grabbed his sleeve. "But I can help! If we're going somewhere, wouldn't bringing a child make people lower their guard more easily?"

Beta fell silent for a moment before shaking his head. "No. Your physical features are too distinctive."

Matilda reluctantly let go, her voice full of unwillingness. "Just take me with you!"

Beta raised a brow. "Every arms route in the United Kingdom is under MI6's watch now. I only have this one pistol. Can you even handle a rifle with that tiny body of yours?"

"I can!" Matilda straightened her back.

Beta smiled. "If you could control those little expressions when you lie, I might actually believe you."

Matilda continued trying to persuade him. "I can help you trick guards or get doors opened too. There can't be many people in this world who would be wary of a child, right?"

Beta suddenly stopped walking and turned to examine the eleven-year-old girl. "Come sit down. First, let's give you a new face."

Kangsaisi Financial Building.

This modern fortress of glass curtain walls was the "masterpiece" of Eliot, the Chief Superintendent's son.

He had cleverly leveraged his father's power and connections to gather the children of officials and wealthy young men, turning the building into a financial playground for the privileged.

Every day, tens of millions of pounds flowed through this financial building in hidden currents. Funds that could not bear the light of day were laundered through obscure, unpopular stocks amid artificially manipulated price fluctuations, then silently flowed into the pockets of the powerful.

Although the United Kingdom's anti-corruption agencies were useless in practice, these interest groups formed through collusion between officials and businessmen still had to maintain an appearance of respectability. They carefully designed every transaction. Meanwhile, vast amounts of transaction data were stored on the building's servers. That data was Beta's target.

London was shrouded in thick fog that night, and the clock pointed exactly to ten.

Inside the lobby of Kangsaisi Financial Building, four security guards stared intently at the surveillance screens behind the circular reception desk. This was their only means of controlling the entire building.

Because of the business's unspeakable nature, Eliot had established strict security regulations: no patrol personnel were allowed inside the building. This glass palace concealed too many secrets that could not see the light of day. Even the most loyal security guards might inadvertently become sources of leaks.

Thus, all security work had been compressed into this brightly lit reception area. Dozens of surveillance feeds replaced the figures that should have been moving through every floor. If these guards triggered the security alarm, police could arrive within minutes, given Eliot's special status and that of his father.

The four guards lounged against the monitoring station, lazily glancing at the screens while constantly making crude jokes. They brazenly commented on female employees' figures, arguing over whose skirt was shorter and whose neckline was lower, having completely forgotten their surveillance duties.

A faint vibration came from the glass at the building's front entrance, as though someone were carefully pushing the door. The four guards immediately tensed, gripping the guns at their waists and turning around in unison.

A blonde girl of seven or eight stood on tiptoe, her entire body nearly pressed against the glass doors. She wore a slightly oversized floral dress, with a section of fair calf stained with mud showing beneath its hem. Her cheeks were streaked with mud as well, making her especially conspicuous under the pale lighting.

The guards exchanged glances. One of them holstered his pistol, bent down behind the glass door, and said, "Listen, brat, this isn't a playground. Go home, now!"

The little girl shrank back half a step, her voice as faint as a mosquito's buzz. "I-I'm lost."

She pressed her small, frost-reddened hands against the cold glass. "Can you let me come in and warm up? Let me use the phone. Please."

As she spoke, tiny droplets of water still clung to her blonde hair, glimmering faintly beneath the lights.

The guard turned to his companions and lowered his voice. "This little girl looks frighteningly pale. She might be freezing. Maybe... we should let her in to warm up first?"

Another guard approached the glass door and carefully examined the shivering girl outside. Her thin body trembled slightly, and her lips had already turned purple from the cold.

He hesitantly looked at the companions gathering around him. The others had no objections. A lost little girl needed help, and they had no reason to refuse.

The guard took a keycard from his pocket. "Come in, child. We'll help you contact your family."

With a soft beep, the glass doors slowly slid open.

A wave of warm air rushed toward the little girl outside. At the same time, a bullet came flying in with the cold air from beyond the doors.

Pfft!

A bloody blossom burst from the forehead of the guard who had just swiped the card. His whole body snapped backward and slammed heavily onto the marble floor with a dull thud.

Before the second guard could recover from his shock, he heard a voice from the darkness call, "Catch!"

He reflexively reached out and caught a can of cola flying through the air. Before he could finish that absurd motion, the second bullet precisely pierced his forehead. His body convulsed as he collapsed beside his companion.

At the edge of the light, a bloated figure emerged from the shadows. The man held a pistol out in each hand. After two muffled pfft, pfft sounds, the last two guards crumpled to the floor as well, blood slowly spreading across the polished ground.