The sky darkened little by little. On the outskirts of the Terrorists' base, an agile figure slipped past the crowds with practiced skill.
He stepped into the shadows by the factory as a masked patrol guard passed with a flashlight.
Clack, clack...
Pebbles struck the ground with a faint sound. The guard immediately shone his flashlight toward it and approached cautiously to investigate.
"Who's there?"
"Hiss, hiss." In the flashlight's beam, a yellow lizard flicked its tongue at him.
The guard said, "Oh, just a lizard."
He turned to leave, but in the next instant, a hand shot out of the shadows without warning.
Before he could call for help, an arm wrapped around his neck. His consciousness sank into darkness, and the flashlight fell.
About five minutes later, a hand picked up the flashlight again. The man had changed his clothes. He took a map from his waist-a layout of the factory he had drawn from memory.
"The hostages should be held to the southwest..."
Wearing a hood, he was about to head that way when a shout suddenly came from behind him.
"You over there! The one holding the paper."
A squad strode over. The man's gaze shifted slightly, and he straightened. "Sir."
The newcomer nodded, looked him up and down, and asked, "Are you on patrol?"
"Yes, sir," the man said respectfully. "It's almost time for the shift change."
The leader's mouth twitched.
"Oh, please. There's no such thing as a shift change in our line of work. All right, stop patrolling and follow me. The boss wants us to assemble."
The man lowered his brows and followed, casually tucking the map back into his waistband. He was about to obediently head to the rear when the leader called out to him again.
"Wait. What's that paper