After Becoming a Little |

Mr. Bob returned to his room, opened the door and said to his housekeeper calmly: "Go and investigate that Zhanlan, if possible, try to kill her again."

"Okay, sir, but we need time." The steward nodded: "We don't have the right power to use right now."

"It doesn't matter, the last thing I need is time, I hate her, I hate any woman who looks very strong, they shouldn't appear in this world - let her die!"

"As you wish."

After the housekeeper left the room, he walked into the bathroom, wiped the fine sweat protruding from his forehead in front of the mirror, and said something to whom he didn't know: "You are always hiding in the shadows, but the bathroom Wouldn't it be uncomfortable for you to hide in such a narrow place?"

"...we're used to it, sir."

"It's better to be more comfortable in the bright light. If you can, you should spend more time in the sun and communicate with normal people more."

"When we were forced to leave our own country, we already lost the qualification to walk in the light. Baghdad and the Holy Land have been destroyed. We have lost the favor of the Lord. It is an ominous blade."

"Well, if you insist on saying that, I can't persuade you, but I still want to say that I bought you back from the Middle East, not to let you die again."

"It was you who saved our sister, and we are willing to sacrifice our lives for you, but we really can't do it only to show our appearance in front of outsiders." The voice was a little embarrassed, as if it felt that Mr. Bob's request was rejected. Asking was a very difficult and frightening decision for her.

"Just be happy." After wiping off his sweat, Mr. Bob sprayed some cologne to cover up the smell: "It's really sad, now I don't even feel my body exists, just drink After two glasses of wine, I was sweating all over, and I could even spend a whole day with them when I was young!"

"Sir, your health is very bad. If you can, you should enter the hospital for treatment as soon as possible."

"No, I'm in great health. I've never felt better. Everything I said before was a lie."

The voice in the shadow was silent for a moment, and put a box on the sink: "This is something the leader entrusted me to hand over to you, she said, this is a small tool of the Holy Cross, but it should be very useful to you. "

"The gadget of the Holy Cross? Isn't the Holy Cross gone?"

He took the box and babbled about his feelings: "But to be honest, I actually like Holy Cross, really, I like Des Moines very much, I drank with him, he is a guy with me The same person is decisive enough and ruthless enough, but it's a pity that he can't enjoy life and insists on dying for some organization or some messy belief."

The box was opened, and inside was a small, pager-like thing with a groove on it that reminded you to press your fingerprint on it, and beside the groove was the only small screen.

Mr. Bob's eyes flashed, he raised his hand to press it, and then only felt a slight pain in his fingers.

"Well, this is really not a fun toy." He looked at his pricked fingertips, and took a bite in his mouth.

The screen of the small machine flickered, and finally a number was displayed on it.

"87.7%"

"What's this?" asked Mr. Bob.

"...Sir, you understand what this is."

"No, I don't understand, it's signal strength right?"

"...yes, it's signal strength."

"Oh, this means that the signal strength on the plane is not bad." Mr. Bob shrugged and was about to walk out of the bathroom, but the moment he walked out, he suddenly raised his hand, wanting to put the things in his hand on the So smashed on the sink.

That hand was waving, like a madman hysterically trying to smash the shackles of fate.

But finally stopped...

That hand finally stopped a little above the sink, and the machine in his hand was still on.

His hand holding the machine happened to be holding down the machine again, so the screen began to flash for the second time.

[87.8%]

"I hate this thing, it's like a countdown alarm clock telling me how long I have left."

Mr. Bob sighed and wiped the humble pager again: "Who did Holy Cross develop this thing for?"

"Des Moines used it himself. He used this machine to detect the progress of the genetic collapse in his body."

"Did he die in a breakdown?"

"No, before he collapsed, he was punched to death by the tyrant of the Ninth Bureau of the Republic." The voice in the shadows took on a fearful tone: "That Republic's...frightening existence."

"Yeah, fear, it's great." Mr. Bob kicked the little machine into his pocket: "Your fears are always so simple. At first you feared those men, then you feared the Soviets, and then you Fear Millican, now you fear the tyrant..."

"You don't understand, sir, she is a very special existence, she exists in the world, the whip of the Lord."

"Whip?" Mr. Bob gestured: "Can a whip withstand a bomb? Kill her! Use an airplane! Use a bomber! Does she still fly?"

"Yes, she can fly, and last night she used a flying machine, from the National Academy of Sciences of the Republic, which can make short flights quietly."

"...Well, just pretend I didn't say it."

Mr. Bob still doesn’t understand the concept of the black-robed tyrant. In his opinion, the mighty power of an individual must give way to powerful weapons of war. If one missile can’t kill a person, then ten, one hundred, Even a thousand rounds.

How can there be people who cannot be killed?No, if a person is killed, he will die.

But he doesn't care about these things, so he just talks casually, he doesn't care about anything now.

...barely care about anything.

"Oh, yes," he suddenly remembered something, and turned his head to look at the shadow behind the door in the toilet: "That John, you will help me kill him later, and let him die after getting off the plane."

"...Which John? There were three Johns on the plane."

"It's the one who poked Bernice's head with a dart. I hate him. He thought he could please me, but he obviously made a mistake. I hate him very much now." Mr. Bob waved his hands nervously: "Find someone It doesn’t matter if you hit him or shoot him to death, remember to throw his body into the sewer at the end, I don’t want to see him lying in the sun openly, understand?”

"Yes, we'll do it, sir,"

"Well, he should have died a long time ago, and the others need to be fattened up... well, it's hard feeding time again..."

Mr. Bob returned to the plane, and the group of people who had been excited for a while sat down and started discussing the business.After all, everyone is an elite, a well-known figure in the upper class. They went to Japan to save the Japanese economy from the fire.

They are the warriors who slay the dragon, the pioneers who destroy the Leah Fund, and the invincible financial elites of the United States.

It takes more than ten hours to fly to Japan, so they still have a lot of time to slowly think about countermeasures.

"Everyone, we should think about how to make my niece feel hopeless." Mr. Bob took a big ocean horse and discussed things with a few friends in a mysterious way.

"...With all due respect, Mr. Bob, why do you insist on targeting Miss Bernice?" A woman pursed her lips, feeling a little unbearable.

In fact, she somewhat sympathizes with and even admires Bernice. Although the spicy chicken shreds is cowardly in front of someone all day long, she still wets the bed at the age of 11, loves to eat leeks, and will be beaten like an Ansai waist drum by others—but in Millikin Jian, she is still the queen behind the scenes.

Under her leadership, the Bernice family can be said to be thriving.

Of course, this female elite is not going to say stupid things to Mr. Bob like 'I support Bernice, so you step down', but just a tactful suggestion, you are all relatives, don't you want to be so desperate .

Perhaps it was a discovery of conscience?

Mr. Bob picked up a glass of wine, took a sip subconsciously, and then threw it aside in disgust: "I hate this glass of wine. When I saw that this glass of wine was brewed by my niece, I hated it very, very much, so who Get me a soda?"

As he said, he turned his head and looked at the talking girl: "My dear, you have to understand one thing, I don't hate my niece, on the contrary, I love him more than anyone else—"

After hearing this, everyone looked at each other for a while, and finally couldn't help laughing.

Mr. Bob laughed out loud himself, and shed tears while laughing: "Really, you see, when I think of her, I even burst into tears. This is an expression of emotion!"

"It's really great, Mr. Bob!" Someone couldn't help applauding: "I'm like watching a Broadway-level master show now."

"Oh, thank you for the compliment, I also think I'm great." Mr. Bob changed his face instantly, calmed down, and wiped away his crocodile tears: "But I have a difficulty that I haven't told everyone, and that is I am hostile to the roots of my niece."

He lowered his voice and waved at everyone: "Come on, listen to me."

Some people gathered around, some held wine glasses and laughed without saying a word, some had contempt flashing in their eyes, but on the surface they still put on a look of admiration, watching Mr. Bob with interest. neurotic performance.

Mr. Bob looked at the people in the circle, and said slowly in the lowest voice and tone, "Actually, I have a terminal illness!"

Everyone froze for a moment, then burst out laughing again——

"My God, Mr. Bob, I really regret not suggesting that you study comedy acting..."

"While it's rude to say that, it's the funniest joke I've heard today."

"You are so funny!"

Terminally ill?how is this possible……

For rich people, there is no such thing as terminal illness.

Death may come eventually, but it is not difficult for them to use conservative treatment to save their lives to the maximum extent and continue to linger. Jobs also used the best doctor and the best lawyer to find him the best doctor and the best lawyer. The state that was suitable for jumping the queue had his diseased liver replaced at the fastest speed, and he lived for two and a half years longer.

If Mr. Bob really suffered from some terminal illness, he shouldn't be sitting with them drinking and chatting now, but should accept the treatment plan tailored for him by the most professional treatment team in the entire Blue Star.

But Mr. Bob seemed to be in the act, and took a very deep sip of soda: "At this moment, I thought, if I can do something before I die, then what should I do?"

Even if everyone knew that he was performing, they were still unconsciously attracted by him.

Mr. Bob is like this, he is a born star, even if he is a playboy, he is the most famous playboy in the entire high society of Michigan.

"Do you know? A person who knows her best and loves her the most has become her enemy." Mr. Bob put his hands on his shoulders, as if he was embracing himself: "That feeling is really amazing. Bravo……"

People don't quite understand how good this pervert feels, but it's clear he has something to say.

Both Miss Bernice and everyone thought that he used to love Bernice the most.

Because the direct line of the entire Mellon family can really be regarded as the direct line of succession, in fact, only he and Miss Bernice are left.

Those collateral descendants of the Mellon family used to fight for power and profit, but Miss Bernice wiped out anyone with a little ambition. The ruthless Miss Bernice never let go of any threat. At that time, Mr. Bob was still Being in front of his own playboy, it seems that nothing has changed.

He and Miss Bernice were once the most affectionate relatives.

"So I was thinking, if I were to choose the most useful way, it would be to become her enemy!"

Mr. Bob said so, and drew a big circle: "My enemy, I know all her shortcomings and understand all her worries, so I won! Just like now!";

An engaged woman raises her hand like a good student trying to ask a teacher a question.

"Student, please speak."

"Then, Mr. Bob, what good does an enemy like you do to Miss Bernice?"

"Good question! A good friend is, in my opinion, far less useful than an enemy!"

Mr. Bob was so excited that he even broke out in sweat: "A qualified enemy can help her gather her core team. External pressure will definitely be more useful than internal interests. This kind of thing I think everyone understands it very well, like our President Donald who wants to make America great again."

Everyone looked at each other, smiled and nodded meaningfully.

External pressure can indeed alleviate internal worries. Throughout the history of the United States, it has always been the case of external pressure that will unite the entire United States.

This kind of solidarity is not limited to the financial industry and industry, and even the struggles between the so-called political parties and behind-the-scenes forces will stop and work together to form a single rope.

Why was Roosevelt able to be elected four consecutive presidents?Isn't it because such an enemy with the axis of evil has helped him accumulate enough prestige.

Why did the United States during the Cold War erupt into a powerful national power, and even pointed out various black technologies?

Wasn't it because of the huge red bear of the Soviet Union, staring at it across the Pacific Ocean, giving it too much pressure.

Once there is no opponent, it will fall into infighting, which is the inferiority of human beings.

Human beings always need to choose an opponent, just like Millikin chose the Soviet Union at the beginning, but now he chooses the Republic.