Even his footsteps felt a little lighter.
After hanging up, Chamberlain did not feel any relief. He still had a mess to clean up, not to mention arranging an assassination for tomorrow morning.
"How did I do, emissary of Destiny?"
Chamberlain looked up at the man before him. The man held swords in his arms yet carried an extravagantly designed gun. Chamberlain had no doubt about the bullets' power.
Zhao Bai's expression was strange, like a comedic character had wandered into a grim gangster movie, utterly out of place.
"Are you carrying out an assassination?"
Scratching his head, Zhao Bai asked, "You mean the kind where, on a dark and gloomy rainy night, an old man enters a restaurant holding a large black umbrella, opens fire amid the cheerful atmosphere, empties all seven rounds in his revolver in an instant, then quietly leaves beneath that black umbrella to the wails of women and children, as if he had never appeared at all?"
"That was how it used to be, but only because circumstances did not permit anything better. Now that we have high-precision equipment, we absolutely will not do such joke-like things again."
Zhao Bai immediately lost interest.
He did not particularly care. By his way of doing things, before tomorrow morning, every dose of the circulating drugs would be gathered and destroyed. The mutants would be stuffed into St. Freya Hospital, released only after being cured, and all sent for labor reform.
But the boss here had his own ideas.
Chamberlain said helplessly, "To be honest, Qingshan and I are not the same kind of people at all. To me, the drugs and the bio-modified humans they create are merely weapons, no different from an artillery shell or a pistol. I use weapons, but I will never turn myself