In the not-too-large, not-too-small room, Smith had gone through two intense firefights in succession—one with Quintana, and the other with the corpses now lying cold on the floor.
Quintana went to the bathroom to change clothes and feed the wailing infant. Russell and Smith searched the bodies. The hotel was no longer safe; another wave of attackers could arrive at any moment. They hoped to find useful clues on the corpses before the enemy got there.
All the attackers wore identical uniforms. Smith judged them to be veterans and found a few clues from their sidearms.
Once Quintana had changed, the three of them did not dare delay and drove away from the hotel at top speed.
The cops were late yet again. Just after Ford drove out through the hotel entrance, urgent police sirens came from around the corner. In the rearview mirror, Russell saw more than ten police cars, along with two armored riot-control vehicles.
The armored vehicles' doors opened, and two squads of SWAT officers filed out with guns in hand. They wore helmets and tactical vests, and as they turned, white English letters showed on the backs of their black vests.
S.W.A.T.!!
Russell frowned. He knew what SWAT was. They were not usually deployed, and their main duty was handling extreme violent crimes. The targets they normally faced were vicious criminals and organized crime gangs.
Their appearance meant that someone higher up had branded Russell and Smith as heinous criminals.
Ding!
The host has come into contact with S.W.A.T., triggering the Lottery Draw. Draw now?
Well, at least there was one piece of good news.
As Russell comforted himself, he began the draw. Before long, a system prompt informed him that he had obtained a Character Card.
Character Card: Swart (You actually said my 100 kills and 0 deaths on a transport ship were the result of cheats, then kicked me from the room? You bunch of noobs. I, Swart, never cheat.)
Russell: "..."
Good kick. A hundred kills without dying—if you were not cheating, who was?
Smith sat in the passenger seat, holding loot he had picked up from the bodies: a pistol with a strong metallic feel.
"Look at this. A Nite Tac pistol produced by Hammerson Arms Company. It has been on the market for less than six months, yet every one of them was using this model."
"What is there to look at? Isn't the truth obvious?"
Russell only glanced at it before losing interest. He had never heard of a weapons company called Hammerson. It was a company that existed only in the plot; even using his toes to think, he could tell the attackers were connected to it.
Smith held the same opinion. It was not that he was too smart; the enemy was simply too stupid, delivering clues right to his door.
Russell drove Ford out of the city. People were hunting them everywhere, so they could only make do by spending the night in the car. The two grown men had no objections. Quintana held the baby and had the backseat to herself. She had lived a hard life, and having a place to stay was enough to satisfy her.
Perhaps because they had fought side by side, Smith's attitude toward Russell gradually became friendlier. He took the initiative to briefly recount the strange events he had encountered.
Russell learned how everything had unfolded. Both men were curious about the infant's mysterious origins. What kind of identity could bring about such a frenzied pursuit?
Smith decided to investigate the so-called Hammerson Arms Company. Russell had no intention of joining in and chose to stay behind on the grounds that he needed to protect Quintana and the baby.
Quintana did not want Smith to risk danger alone, but Smith nodded in agreement. Only by ensuring Quintana and the baby were safe could he boldly go all out.
The operation was set for the next day. Smith left early in the morning. His plan was simple: infiltrate Hammerson Arms Company first, then play the rest by ear.
The simple, brutal plan left Russell speechless and made him even more certain that Smith was the protagonist of this new instance. Only protagonists got this kind of treatment. If an ordinary person courted death like this and did not fail, Russell would write his name backward.
Smith really was the protagonist. In only half a day, he successfully returned with intelligence. The one who wanted to kill the baby was the Major Shareholder of Hammerson Arms Company. The purpose of killing the baby was simple: to prevent the baby's father from receiving a DNA-matched bone marrow transplant.
So next, they only needed to find out who the baby's father was and hand the baby over to him. Then Smith could retire with success.
According to clues Smith had gathered earlier, the baby's father suffered from an incurable illness. Unable to find a compatible donor, he decided to have children himself. He paid three women willing to serve as surrogates, built a concealed safe house, and even dispatched the CIA to protect them.
By this point, the situation was already very clear. The Major Shareholder of Hammerson Arms Company had attacked the safe house. The baby in Smith's hands was the sole survivor, while the baby's unknown father was an extremely powerful man. Because he had obstructed Hammerson Arms Company's interests, they had gone to every length to put him to death.
Russell was thoroughly confused. Smith's analysis made sense, but it gave Russell the feeling that he had a god's-eye view. Then again, considering that Smith was the protagonist, everything somehow became reasonable.
For a protagonist, this was basic stuff!
During the few seconds Russell was distracted, Smith swiftly identified the baby's father. He picked up a newspaper smeared with poop, pointed at the senator whose face had been covered in it, and said with absolute certainty, "It's him, Senator Lattridge!"
Russell: "What is your reasoning?"
"He has enough power to mobilize the CIA, and he is a staunch gun-control advocate. He has given speeches about it more than once. If he becomes president, Hammerson Arms Company will go bankrupt!"
Russell: "..."
Forgive me for finding that hard to accept. Your deduction is too fantastical. Fiction would not even dare write it like this. Also, this newspaper appeared at a really convenient time!
Quintana chose to support her beloved's fantastical deduction without thinking. "If we contact Senator Lattridge, will we be safe?"
"No, that would only make things worse. It will not just be Hammerson Arms Company—the entire American government will come after us..." Smith looked grave. "You need to take the child and leave this place. You can only come back after I settle everything."
"How are you going to settle it? Fight an entire country?" Quintana shouted. She did not want Smith to risk himself again. She could not see even a sliver of hope, and she was beginning to give up on herself.
Smith grabbed the hysterical Quintana and gazed deeply into her eyes. "Trust me. I'll settle all of this... for you two."
Russell gave a light cough from the side, signaling that he existed too. It did not do a damn thing.
Russell: "..."
The baby began wailing loudly. Quintana's dazed gaze cleared, and she pushed Smith away, switching into mother mode.
Smith could only stare helplessly from the side.
Russell did not want to get involved in this incident, but if Smith unfortunately died in glory, his trip would have been for nothing. After counting the cards in his interface, he decided to lend a hand.
"I appreciate the offer, but I can handle it alone..." Smith glanced at Quintana, then lowered his voice to Russell for the first time. "Protect her and the child. I can't live without them."
Seeing the tough guy lower his head, Russell's heart softened. "No problem. I'll hand them back to you safe and sound. Just don't hold anything back during training."
Smith smiled faintly and raised his fist. "Of course! If you pay more, I'll consider teaching you some special moves. Diapers and formula are not cheap."
Russell raised his fist and bumped it against Smith's. "Don't worry. Cross will cover the full cost. How much formula money you earn will depend on your skills."
Smith laughed. If he could make a little money every time he taught Russell a special move, he guaranteed he could bankrupt Cross.
"Then it's settled. Good luck!"
"You too!"
Failure Diary
I am very proud, because the great gods can never quit as freely as I can.
A failed author begs for support!
Before you continue