Wishing everyone _____ (fill in the blank)!
"No, I don't believe you can do it!"
The poisoner roared in a hoarse voice.
He was like a drowning man clutching at his last straw, hysterical yet filled with hope as rootless as floating duckweed.
He didn't believe it. This had to be fake!
Randall sneered.
"Whether it's real or fake, your companion will tell you when he wakes up."
As he spoke, the gunman's eyes snapped open.
The poisoner's eyes lit up, and he was about to ask how he was doing.
But the gunman suddenly began shaking violently, his entire body trembling like a vibrating rod.
"Stay away! Stay away from me!"
The gunman screamed hysterically, clearly out of his mind.
His face was ashen, dark lines crowded around his eyes, and his lips were bloodless.
"Hey, Old Gun."
The poisoner called out tentatively.
But before he could say anything else, the gunman screamed.
"Aah!"
The gunman's body jerked, his neck twisting every which way like a propeller.
When he spotted his old acquaintance, the poisoner, his eyes noticeably brightened.
He immediately threw himself before the poisoner, only to say:
"Save me! Kill me. Hurry up and kill me!"
His voice broke into sobs as tears and snot streamed down his face. He looked as wretched as a prince whose entire family had been slaughtered.
Seeing the gunman like this chilled the poisoner to the bone.
Anyone who could become an assassin naturally had exceptional mental fortitude.
Yet the gunman was now such a wreck. What on earth had he experienced in those brief ten seconds?
If Randall had known what he was thinking, he would have scoffed.
Did assassins even have such a thing as mental fortitude?
They were nothing but iron houses riddled with holes.
Iron might be