The Bad Old Man is Very Wicked

"Hey! Summer intern! Wake up!"

Yuri opened his eyes, and a dazzling light flashed within the brilliant golden pupils hidden beneath his goggles. The Captain, who had roughly awakened him, met his gaze and felt a primal fear rising from the very depths of his soul.

A golden light flickered past, followed by his pupils turning completely white. The Captain's hand, which had been patting Yuri's shoulder, retracted naturally, and he forgot everything he had just seen without the slightest awareness.

He took a box of ammunition from the large crate in his arms, tossed it into Yuri's lap, and reminded him nonchalantly, "Afghanistan is a dangerous place. It doesn't matter if you don't earn the commission; the most important thing is to keep your own life, understand?"

"Yes sir."

Yuri agreed readily; he could sense the man's genuine goodwill toward him. He took bullets from the ammo box and filled his magazines using a speed loader.

Several teammates nearby teased the Captain as he distributed the ammunition: "Sir, that's not what you told us earlier. I remember someone saying: 'It doesn't matter if you lose your life; this money is enough for your family to live comfortably for the rest of their lives,' isn't that right?"

The Captain pulled out a box of ammo and threw it at the head of the man who had spoken: "You son of a bitch, of course your family would be happy if you died. Don't forget, boys, our dear little Yuri is only twenty years old this year. He's only here to work a summer internship to fulfill his school's social service requirement~"

The man who was hit caught the ammo box with ease, and the topic shifted to whether 20-year-old Yuri had ever held a girl's hand, and how the Captain's throwing skills were absolutely trash—he must never be allowed to throw a grenade...

Yuri tightened his sand-proof headgear and quietly continued loading his magazines.

He knew these jokes were merely a way for his teammates to relieve tension; once the hatch opened and they jumped one by one, no one would remember what they had just said.

One magazine filled, two magazines filled, three magazines filled...

Shaking the two remaining empty magazines in his hand, he shouldered his ten full magazines—each with a thirty-round capacity—and asked the soldier to whom the Captain had tossed an extra box of ammo: "Do you mind giving me that box of ammo? If you don't need it all?"

"Of course!"

The soldier glanced at the ten magazines neatly lined up on his waist, laughed, and teased those around him: "Our summer intern must think his bulletproof vest is too thin, so he's adding some extra thickness. Look at that ring around his waist; I swear to God, no one is ever going to be able to blow out his kidneys!"

All the soldiers burst into laughter, and Yuri laughed along with them. If he remembered correctly, his current condition was known as a sort of illness in 21st-century China on Earth, something called "Firepower Deficiency Syndrome"?

"Beep! Beep! Beep!"

The alarm sound before the hatch opened suddenly rang out, and all the mercenaries fell silent and braced themselves, checking their gear in unison.

Then they shouldered their parachute packs and stood on both sides of the cargo hold according to their seating order.

As the hatch slowly opened, the Captain shouted over the fierce wind: "Our luggage will be sent to the US military base. I hope I won't have to personally return the luggage of you sons of bitches after the mission!"

"Click!"

The hatch opened completely, and the parched, yellow earth of Afghanistan came into view. The mercenaries in the front row exchanged glances, ran forward a few steps without hesitation, and dove out.

The Captain squeezed in front of Yuri and turned to help him adjust his gear: "Follow me. This mission is very simple; we will all be very safe."

Yuri nodded. Every scene in his memory felt as if he were experiencing it firsthand, and he had inherited the powerful physique of the Mutants quite well. A mere parachute jump was nothing; even if he didn't open his chute and went into freefall, he would at most suffer minor injuries upon hitting the ground.

After all, he was the culprit behind the extinction of the dinosaurs!

A weapon created by the Gods Group!

The lifelong enemy of the Eternals!

The leader of the Mutants!

Yuri!

Ambrosius!

His body hung in the air, the airflow rushing against his face. The parched yellow ground approached rapidly, and Yuri spread his arms, fully enjoying the sensation of freefall.

Suddenly, the Captain's roar came through the headset: "Yuri! Open your parachute! Yuri! Do it now!"

"Yes sir."

The parachute pack on his back deployed with a boom, the powerful drag instantly slowing his descent. Maneuvering the parachute to get closer to the Captain, he shouted, "Captain, where are we landing?"

"There's a nest of militants at ten o'clock. We're going to hijack a car before we head out!"

Yuri paused for a moment, then cursed at the Captain not far away: "Fuck you, mother! Mr. Captain! Is this what you call 'following you will be safer'?"

The two landed steadily on a mountain ridge. The Captain opened his locator, watched as his teammates split into pairs and dispersed to their designated positions, then patted the furious Yuri on the shoulder to comfort him: "Trust me, kid, following me is definitely the safest!"

"I don't believe a word you say!"

The two stopped bickering and hiked a kilometer or two, rifles in hand, to the summit. After securing the high ground, the Captain took out his binoculars to scout the enemy: "There are only nine of them left here. I'll take the left, you take the right. Let's make this quick!"

Yuri wiped the sweat from his forehead—something he had done deliberately to avoid appearing abnormal. Without wasting words on the old geezer, he quickly mounted his rifle and looked through the scope, blowing the head off the enemy on the far right, three hundred meters away.

"Nice aim!"

The Captain nodded in satisfaction and fired his own weapon, unwilling to be outdone, but his speed was no match for the superhuman Yuri.

Within two breaths, everything was settled. The firefight ended, and Yuri laughed as he patted the Captain on the shoulder: "Nine people. I took out six, you took out two and a half. I'm driving the car later."

The Captain shrugged indifferently; whether they found Tony or not was entirely up to luck, and it didn't matter who drove or chose the direction.

The two found a tan armored vehicle with a full tank of gas. The Captain found a can of spray paint and wiped away the pattern on the door—a large circle formed by ten smaller circles: "This thing is truly ugly. You'd have to be brain-damaged to use it as a logo."

"You're right."

Yuri nodded in agreement and walked quickly to the side of the militant the Captain had crippled earlier.

Ignoring the man's pleas for his life, a strand of hair at the back of Yuri's head suddenly elongated and, to the man's terrified gaze, pierced into his neck.

After obtaining what he wanted, he stood up, took a crude rifle that had fallen to the ground, and aimed it at its former owner.

With a "click," he ended the man's life.

Everyone on the Afghanistan battlefield holding a gun and firing, himself included, deserved to die.

In the distance, Captain was stuffing gasoline canisters into the trunk. Seeing Yuri walking over, he shouted, "Hurry up and help, you lazy bastard!"

After helping him fill the trunk and tossing a few crates of ammunition into the backseat, the two climbed into the vehicle. Yuri turned the ignition to start the engine: "Captain, please fasten your seatbelt."

Captain shot him a glance. Seeing that Yuri was stalling on the gas pedal, he had no choice but to comply, all the while muttering things like, "What kind of mercenary wears a seatbelt while driving?" and "I've never worn a seatbelt in a car in my life."

"BOOM!"

Yuri slammed his foot on the gas, and the engine immediately stalled out. He gave Captain a friendly smile: "My deepest apologies, Captain. My driver's license only permits me to operate a bicycle."

"However, rest assured, there is no place in all of Afghanistan safer than sitting in my car."

Hearing these all-too-familiar words, Captain grabbed the overhead handle with one hand and pressed down on the personal computer on his lap with the other: "Oh my god! I want to get out!!"

A new book sets sail; I ask all you masters for your generous support.