Scaring People Was My Specialty

In Marvel, a System Wage Slave

In fact, although Flamingo had taken a jab at his subordinate, he also thought Mike was a pretty boy and looked down on him.

Flamingo was a mercenary codename. Most mercenaries had one; it made them seem cooler. His subordinate's codename was Bison. True to his name, he was recklessly aggressive. According to Bison, though, he was named after the infamous American serial killer Buffalo Bill.

What a bastard.

The fewer people who knew about shady business, the better. So Flamingo felt that just Bison and himself would be enough.

As long as they knew the areas Mike had searched, it was easy to predict where he would search next. All they had to do was set out ahead of time and lie in ambush along the only route he could take.

Their weapon was a shoulder-fired individual missile made by Stark Group. Flamingo called it "Love," meaning it would inevitably meet you, and then—boom—ascend amid flames and gunpowder.

Flamingo was responsible for firing, while Bison acted as the spotter. Covered in camouflage netting, they were difficult to detect with the naked eye.

Before long, the two heard the deafening roar of helicopter rotors.

Bison strictly carried out his duties as a spotter:

"Attention, target approaching!"

"Sector A, Marker One, fifty degrees to the right, distance one hundred fifty."

Facing the helicopter flying low and carelessly straight toward them, Flamingo felt this was practically a free point.

Flamingo dropped to one knee.

"Distance one hundred."

"Tracking system locking on."

"Distance eighty."

"Tracking system locked. Ready to fire."

"Distance fifty."

"Fire!"

Through the scope, Flamingo could even see the pilot's panicked expression and frantic movements with Qing clarity.

"Have we been spotted?"

Flamingo did not care. Given a helicopter's maneuverability, even if they had been spotted at this distance, it could not make a tactical evasive maneuver.

The helicopter's side door was open.

Flamingo saw the target holding a long blade in a strange stance. No matter how the helicopter shook, he remained as steady as a mountain.

"Don't tell me he wants to slash a missile out of the air with a sword."

An absurd thought arose in Flamingo's mind. As a veteran mercenary, he had encountered quite a few superpowered individuals, most of them Mutants. At first, Flamingo had indeed been intimidated, but after seeing more of them, he felt they were nothing special.

Some superhumans could withstand pistol bullets with their bodies?

So what?

A heavy sniper rifle could still blow half their body apart.

Some superpowers could breathe fire.

So what?

That was basically just carrying a flamethrower around.

Was that really so impressive?

Flamingo admitted that a small number of superhumans could form an army by themselves, but ninety-nine percent of them could not withstand a well-trained armed squad.

Why did politicians always clamor about imprisoning and eliminating Mutants?

Ming showed that they were not as terrifying as television made them out to be.

As for the destruction caused by Mutants... did anyone know how many villages in the Middle East and Africa had simply "mysteriously" vanished from the map for oil and mineral resources?

It was merely a means for American politicians to manipulate people through fear and sway public opinion for votes.

All these thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant.

Flamingo pulled the trigger without hesitation.

Boom!

Amid the violent explosion, the helicopter remained completely intact and continued climbing.

"It blocked it?!"

Flamingo bit the tip of his tongue in shock, and the pain restored his Qing clarity.

"Bison!" Flamingo roared.

Another duty of the spotter was protecting the shooter. Bison, Ming, also did not understand why the helicopter had not fallen from the brilliant explosion. Hearing Flamingo's shout, he immediately raised the automatic rifle he had prepared.

A figure dropped from the sky, but the smoke from the explosion obscured his vision.

Rat-a-tat-tat...

Bison fired a burst of bullets. He roughly knew he had hit nothing, so he stopped wasting ammunition and instead aimed at the predicted landing spot.

Rat-a-tat-tat...

The instant Mike landed, Bison fired again and emptied his magazine. But Mike rolled before landing, and every bullet struck the ground behind him.

The landing spot was only twenty meters away from the two of them.

During the gap while Bison changed magazines, Flamingo drew his pistol. Their coordination was flawless.

Pfft!

"Ah!"

After firing only two shots, Flamingo felt a chill at his wrist, followed by an overwhelming surge of pain.

The gun fell to the ground, along with the hand holding it.

The severed edge was clean and Qi-straight. Pale bone showed through as blood sprayed everywhere.

Mike had severed Flamingo's forearm with one slash, then spun and slashed Bison.

"Bulletproof vest? Heh heh~"

The feel was wrong, so Mike immediately increased his strength.

His slash became a smash.

Bang!

Bison flew five or six meters as if struck by a speeding train. He vomited blood wildly in midair and had already lost consciousness before hitting the ground.

"Hm?"

Seeing Flamingo endure the agony and draw a machete, Mike felt that this man was at least tough.

"I advise you to bandage that first, otherwise..."

Before he could finish, Flamingo swung his blade at him.

"How rude!"

Mike flicked the machete away with a deft motion. It spun through the air, and Mike caught it with one hand as it fell.

"Nice blade."

It was a BASTINELLI M combat machete, a prisoner-of-war execution blade. It was 41.5 centimeters long, and its chopstick-length fuller was intimidating. After the Geneva Convention was signed, prisoner-of-war blades faded into history and became collectors' items for military enthusiasts.

Pfft!

Mike threw the machete. Its blade buried itself in Flamingo's thigh, and the latter crashed to the ground.

Mike said, "I wasn't planning to kill you. Why are you in such a hurry to die?"

Flamingo lay on his back, staring fixedly at Mike. "If the mission fails, we either die on the spot or get silenced afterward. We're dead either way."

"Even if you keep your mouths shut?"

"If you were the employer, would you believe us? Would you dare take that risk?"

"Fair point." Mike stroked his chin. "But you could strike first and sell out your employer first."

Flamingo fell silent.

Mike took out a bandage and helped wrap Flamingo's severed wrist. He sighed. "Don't tell me you would never betray your employer. I don't believe that. Is it for your family? Makes sense. People like you who do dirty work must have some leverage in your employer's hands, or who would dare hire you?"

"It's funny. For money, you slaughter husbands, mothers, and innocent children on other people's land without restraint, and you people think you deserve faith and family?"

"Your employer might hurt your family, so why do you think mine would not? Some people lose the things most precious to them. You have no idea what they might do, even if they were originally kind people. I would gladly give the employer a discount to do this job. In fact, I would not need to do it personally, right? I would only need to give your enemies information about your family. You have many enemies, don't you? I'm sure they would be very willing to treat your family the way you treated the elderly, women, and children in this land."

Mike spoke calmly, as though they were merely chatting about everyday matters.

"You dare... You can't do this!" Flamingo's eyes nearly split with rage.

"When an avalanche comes, not a single snowflake is innocent. Why can't I do this?" Mike smiled. "Hypocrite!"

To Flamingo, Mike's smile looked like that of a demon.

"Your employer couldn't possibly trust you unconditionally, and I assume you don't trust him either. You should have made preparations—a way to ensure that your employer would not harm your family after your death."

Flamingo remained silent.

Mike did not mind. He said gently, "Then why don't we start with who your employer is?"

"Obadiah Stane!"

After a fierce internal struggle, Flamingo finally spoke.