Chapter 1842 - 1389: The Aftermath (Part 4)

"It's... it's me..." Misu's voice was hoarse and trembling, with a heavy Arabic accent: "Who are you? CIA cleaners? Or the 'Witness' division's retrieval squad?"

"That doesn't matter."

Blake's finger started to press down on the trigger.

Eliminate the target.

Mission complete.

Suddenly, Misu shouted: "Don't move! Or we'll all die together!"

As he spoke, he loosened his other hand, which had been gripping a canvas bag.

Thud—

The bag fell to the ground, stirring up dust.

Something akin to an old-style mobile phone revealed itself in his hand.

Blake instantly recognized the device in Misu's hand.

Soviet-era PMK-3 remote detonator, commonly used in improvised explosive devices.

His gaze swiftly scanned the room: behind the stacked electrical boxes in the corner, several square objects covered with canvas; the ventilation grille on the ceiling showed signs of being dismantled and reinstalled; even the edges of the floor tiles had subtle pry marks.

This room is a trap.

A meticulously arranged death cage.

"Don't be impulsive!"

Blake lowered the gun's muzzle immediately, quickly signing behind his back with his left hand: cease all attack actions.

"Put that down, we can talk properly."

"There's nothing to talk about!"

Misu took a step back, his spine against the metal cabinet, his body trembling violently due to adrenaline.

"I know who sent you! The 'Seeder' plan's cleaners! The butchers of Harab Town! You're here to take the evidence and then have me 'shot dead by terrorists'!"

He raised the detonator, his thumb relaxing slightly on the red switch, then pressed it tightly again.

That subtle motion nearly stopped Blake's heart.

"See this?" Misu's eyes flashed wildly behind the lenses: "I've buried four kilograms of explosives in the room, distributed in four corners. But that's not the best part—"

He swallowed, his Adam's apple rolling up and down.

"I mixed diethyl chlorophosphate and isopropanolamine into the explosives."

His voice suddenly became exceptionally clear, as if reciting chemical formulas.

"Do you know what that is? Precursor compounds for VX nerve agent. Upon explosion, high temperatures will partially synthesize and gasify them. In this enclosed space, the concentration will be sufficient to kill everyone in thirty seconds. No gas masks can completely filter it out, no antidote can work in such a short time."

The air in the room seemed to solidify.

Victor's fingers froze on the trigger.

Derek's breathing became heavy.

Beads of sweat appeared on Blake's forehead.

He quickly mapped the room structure in his mind—the door is five meters behind, the window is welded shut with iron plates, the ventilation duct is too narrow to pass through quickly.

Even if he kills Misu instantly, his loosening thumb would trigger an explosion.

And if the explosives really contained chemical precursors...

"Listen..."

Blake forced his voice to stay steady, even deliberately slowing his speech.

"We're not here to kill you. Orders from above clearly specify: bring back the target alive, retrieve the evidence. What you have is crucial to the nation."

"Lies!" Misu spit, saliva splattering on the lenses: "I've heard too many 'guarantees'!"

His thumb slid slightly on the switch, each movement strung everyone's nerves in the room.

"Put down the detonator."

Blake slowly raised his left hand, palm facing outward, signaling he wasn't a threat: "I guarantee you'll be safely handed over, receive a fair trial."

"Guarantee?"

Misu let out a piercing dry laugh, the sound echoing in the enclosed space.

"What can you guarantee? Use chemical weapons to slaughter civilians, then pin the blame on someone else? Let entire villages' flesh rot away, then write in the report 'unknown chemical attack'? Use new types of agents, test lethality outcomes, even Satan wouldn't believe your words!"

His emotions began to unravel, tears mixed with sweat pouring down.

"Harab Town's 327 civilians! Including 96 children! Their bodies melted into each other, indistinguishable from one another! And your report said... said it was the Silia Government Army's atrocity!"

Blake felt a chill.

"Misu, listen to me."

He switched to a softer tone, like soothing a frightened beast.

"I know you've been through terrible things. But violence won't solve anything. Put it down, hand over the evidence, you can testify in court, hold the truly responsible people—"

"Court?" Misu interrupted, his voice suddenly eerily calm: "Do you think those big shots will stand in court? They don't even have to attend hearings! Lawyers will handle everything, media will shift the focus, and three years later, everyone will forget what happened in Harab Town!"

He took a deep breath, exerting more pressure on the red switch with his thumb.

The plastic casing emitted a subtle "click" sound.

"But I won't forget. I dream of those children's faces every night. So, I added some 'souvenirs' in the explosives—remnants extracted from the soil of Harab Town. If we must die today, then let's all go to Hell with the marks of those souls."

Time ticked by.

Each second like a dull knife cutting through nerves.

Victor quietly adjusted the angle of his gun, attempting to aim at Misu's arm holding the detonator.

But the angle was too tricky, any shot could lead to disaster.

Blake's gaze met Misu's in mid-air.

He saw the resolve in the other's eyes—this wasn't a bluff, but the calm madness of someone long prepared to die.

And just then, Blake glimpsed something fleeting through the crack beneath the door.

His heart suddenly tightened.

"Watch out!"