Special Banknotes and the Uncanny Place
Blaze kept feeling that the mysterious man had left part of his remark unsaid.
"Keep clinging to life, you parasite..." seemed as though it should have been followed by something like, "You don't have much time left."
Was he hinting at the end of the world?
Blaze's imagination ran wildly out of control.
But what could he do about it?
Blaze knew perfectly well what sort of man he was. Calling him human scum might have been a little excessive, but he certainly deserved to be called a thug.
At the very least, the drugs that passed through his hands were a source of evil.
To him and the two Mexican American underlings who had witnessed everything with him today, the existence of such a mysterious, secretive organization now seemed quite likely.
Thinking back, there were surely plenty of people with foresight. Several times, supermarkets had run out of certain canned foods and medical supplies. That said something, even if those incidents were few when spread over the whole year.
But the man had made his disgust for Blaze perfectly clear!
Blaze felt miserable now. If a major crisis really did strike someday, and someone had to choose between saving him and saving someone else, probably no one would choose him.
As for the government, with his dirty background, seeking aid when the time came might just get him killed.
If Blaze were in their position, faced with that kind of chaos, he would rather shoot a gang boss on the spot than let such a destabilizing element come over.
His criminal logic was crude and brutal, but not entirely unreasonable. Just think of how the US government had handled disaster relief over the years. It was entirely possible.
In his heightened state tonight,