Vodka Goes Mad

At the same time Vodka happily received free state housing,

"Vodka" and Gin had already escaped the chaotic battlefield.

They fled hand in hand into the base garage, only a stone's throw away from the Porsche 356A they knew so well.

"Vodka, get in."

Because of Vodka's earlier words, "I'm here," Gin had nearly let down his guard around his subordinate.

And after fighting side by side through all this,

Gin felt, in a daze, as though he had returned to the past:

Back then, no matter how dangerous the situation was, someone had always been there to face life and death with him.

There had been someone he could trust completely, someone to whom he could safely entrust his back.

Over the past decade or so, Gin had grown accustomed to that feeling.

He could not even imagine carrying out missions alone without Vodka by his side.

So, during this hurried escape, he had left his back to Vodka with almost no defenses at all.

But just then, as Gin habitually opened the rear door, about to get into his Porsche and break through the encirclement with Vodka as he had in the past,

he suddenly felt a chill at the back of his neck.

Something cold pressed against his neck from behind—

and "pierced" his heart as well:

"I'm sorry, Big Brother."

Vodka raised his gun behind him as he spoke.

"Vodka?!" Gin's body trembled.

In that instant, he seemed colder than before.

But it was not the kind of coldness that used to make people's scalps tingle at a glance.

It was not frightening at all. Instead, it carried a faint sense of desolation:

"Are you really the mole?"

There was a trace of disbelief in Gin's voice.

Or rather, unwillingness to believe.

Even though Vodka's gun