Kill Kill Kill

"Ugh, disgusting. These people are actually Yellow Weasel. What kind of decent person would be into this stuff? Tell me, Angron, don't you agree?"

Although he liked to draw a bit of smut when he was bored, it was like Lord Ye's love for dragons—all talk and no substance. Seeing the faces of these technicians, Hogg couldn't help but associate them with Yellow Weasel. A man shouldn't, or at the very least, shouldn't.

"Angron, say something!"

"Ah, Big Brother, what did you say? I didn't hear you clearly."

"Didn't hear clearly?" Hogg didn't need to guess to know that Angron, with that bewitched look on his face, had already fallen. He slapped him across the face without hesitation.

"You loser, wake the hell up! This is Old Man Yellow! Even if everything that should be covered is exposed, the prototype is still Old Man Yellow. I designed the look, you think I wouldn't know?"

The damage from a solid slap is infinite. Stung by the blow, Angron suddenly sobered up, yet a strange thought still bubbled up in his heart.

Whenever such a bizarre notion arose, another instinct warned him not to dwell on it, as if something terrifying would happen if he let these technicians serve him.

But someone was faster than him. Corvus Corax, who had been silent until now, was already holding a technician's small hand and chatting away in all seriousness:

"Beauty! My place is quite spacious. Would you like to go for a joyride with me?"

Hogg thought, This is a disaster. If they went for a "joyride," who knew where they'd end up? If word of this got out, the Yellow Weasel would surely destroy them. It was a mercy that Old Man Yellow didn't know yet; there was still a chance to salvage