On the quality improvement of Omega agents

Garcia watched Bruce walk away, the woolen coat hanging down like some kind of black curtain over her chief's back, or, some kind of overly heavy, black wing.

Bruce Stewart, this man is a legend in the CIA that cannot be talked about.Garcia has been with him for less than two years, and she knows that the iron and blood tactics and cunning she sees are just the tip of the iceberg.And she had just seen a flash of a smile in this man's eyes.The subsequent response of the chief confirmed this point.

An excellent agent will never let those "accidents" that affect emotions continue.

Sure enough, too much imagination around the chief is harmful, Garcia blinked her eyes in horror.

Zone I.Twelve o'clock at night.

Randall lit himself a cigarette.The smell of inferior cigarettes occupied his sense of smell, and he imagined the nicotine slowly filling his lungs, trying to get rid of the subtle but annoying pain deep in his brain.

He is an omega, even after physical transformation, the smell of estrus will eventually affect him.

The meaning of "breakpoint" is actually very obvious. They created a "breakpoint" in his brain to control the excited area and the release of hormones. This allows an omega to be trained like an ordinary agent, go out to work, and not be affected by estrus The obsessions—like an ad for some kind of infertility cure or not lasting enough—are literally meant.

It's just a whim of the CIA. If alphas are favored by law enforcement agencies because of their strong physical fitness, why can't the characteristics of omega be used?

The CIA has always been good at using everything they can, including turning a group of omegas into "humanoid aphrodisiacs" that can emit the smell of estrus at any time but do not really enter the estrous period.This is a hundred times more effective than the most powerful veritaserum for their alpha targets.

They can control their own smell at will, and choose a good time to use hormones to bring down an enemy, but it's not like the omega will no longer be in heat.On the contrary, ordinary omegas will go into estrus one to two days a month. The "breakpoint" surgery suppresses their estrus impulse, but it cannot make their nature disappear. After a whole year of suppression, the omega agent's estrus will have a long period of estrus that omega inhibitors can't do anything about.

Randall twitched the corners of his lips in disgust. In those days, they would change from a sharp weapon of the country to a beast completely dominated by lust and mating.

Although neither is a bright fact, he still hates the latter more.Just hate it.

fear? — Just kidding, he never knew how to write those two words.

The drawings are fake, but "Heisha" really knows how to do business.The man took off his boots and banged on the edge of the bed a few times, watching the fine sand fall down.He yawned.

Tomorrow is time to visit "Black Sand".

The blond agent reached out and touched the micro-communicator in his ear. He thought about Bruce Stewart's expressionless face while reading the documents and listening to him speak in a estrous tone, and couldn't help but smile.

This communicator was specially made by the dispatch office. It was not only used for communication between the two parties, but also a bug for unilateral control.As long as the person with the authority opens it, it is as if he is in the same environment as the wearer. What he hears in his ears, the listener can also hear clearly.Randall buried his face down in a poor-quality feather pillow that was a bit prickly, and said vaguely.

"Won't you say good night to me, sir."

"Black Sand" headquarters.

"Bang!" The sound of a blunt instrument made one's teeth ache.

Randall let out a low hum. He stared at the Middle Eastern man walking away from him with a wooden stick, looking as if he wanted to tear him into pieces.

——Obviously this is an unrealistic "fantasy", given that he is currently being tied to a chair in a posture of fish on an anvil, surrounded by four guerrillas with live ammunition.

He has always been confident in his acting skills, what's more, he really doesn't like to use wooden sticks as torture tools.Rude and unrefined.Although that really hurts.

There was silence in the headset for a few seconds, and then the overly deep voice of his officer came.

"You know I don't approve of your risk-taking 'interrogation method', Mr. James."

The blond laughed softly, as if the beatings didn't affect him.He watched the man walk back and forth in front of him impatiently, calmly.Then before the next wave of torture came, he tilted his neck and rubbed his shoulders with his ears, and something fell to the ground, small and unobtrusive.

The Middle Eastern man turned around suddenly, and Randall tilted his neck, followed by another stick, hitting the man's upper abdomen hard.

"Well--"

Randall finally let out a muffled groan, and the sound of moaning held deep in his throat made it easy to think of his expression.The agent's blond hair was now covered with dust and sporadic blood, and he looked a little embarrassed.He struggled to adjust his breathing, the heavy blow to his abdomen made his muscles tense, and the pain was already numb.

He lazily said: "You know...it's always rude to be overheard if you make too much noise."

The other party didn't understand what Randall meant, and it seemed that he didn't bother to understand. "Maybe you don't hesitate to give your name after our hospitality?"

Randall smiled silently, his white teeth were stained with blood when he grinned, looking a little creepy. "I just want to meet your boss."

The Middle Eastern man threw away the stick in his hand and sneered, "You don't have that capital yet."

Randall blinked innocently, and said, "Even if I'm a CIA agent who was ordered to come here?"

The thug-looking man finally gave him a hesitant look.He picked up the communicator at his waist, said something in Kurdish, and then glanced at Randall who was tied to the chair.

The tall blond man swaggered into this abandoned factory building on the edge of the desert 5 minutes ago, and the patrolling guerrillas and surveillance cameras failed to find him.He said politely to the muzzles of a dozen black holes, I want to see your chief, and then he spread his arms and was caught.

Randall grinned indifferently, showing a smile that was neither graceful nor aesthetic, and the movement of shrugging his shoulders made the twine sink deeper into his skin.

A minute later, a guard's cell phone rang.

The other party stared at Randall fiercely, then put the mobile phone in his hand to the man's ear, motioning him to listen.The blond agent's arms were tied behind the back of the chair, and he had to tilt his head to hold the phone.

"How rare is it for a CIA agent who declares himself to be a CIA agent?" The man over there spoke English with some sarcasm in his tone. "Why are you here, Mr. CIA?"

Randall smiled: "It's really straight to the point, don't you really plan to say hello?"

The other party didn't pick up his words: "You should feel lucky to break into the territory of 'Black Sand'. You haven't been torn apart yet. Feed the dog."

Randall showed a bright smile. He was careful not to let the old-style mobile phone fall from between his head and shoulders: "The reason for this is very simple. The CIA wants to get back that blueprint."

The Middle Eastern man on the other side of the phone laughed mockingly: "The blueprint is no longer in Heisha's hands, Mr. Agent." There was a certain kind of joyful complacency in the voice of the other party.

Randall raised his eyebrows and said, "The drawings you gave to the Russians are fake, are they true?"

The Middle Eastern man smiled "haha" and said, "Mr. Agent, it's a pity that you are doomed to fail this mission." He said, "You can't protect yourself, do you still want the real blueprint?"

Randall listened to the other party mocking him with a flat face.It seems that the "Black Sand" people knew that what they sold to the Russians were fake blueprints.He thought to himself, with a cold smile on his face: "I'm afraid, you don't have the real A-11 blueprint, do you?"

The other party seemed to pause for a second, and then laughed loudly: "Mr. Agent, you should worry about yourself first. Next time, remember to ask the CIA to find someone who is smarter to do this job."

Randall provoked a bit.Sometimes the difference of just one second is enough for an experienced agent to judge whether what he heard is a lie.He shook his head, let the phone fall from his shoulder, and dropped the back cover on the ground.

As if receiving some order at the same time, the Middle Eastern man standing aside suddenly pulled out his pistol and pulled the trigger at Randall.

"boom--"

The man leaned back almost at the same instant, his arms were still tied together, and he fell to the ground together with the chair, just a few tenths of a second faster than the bullet.

The Middle Easterner didn't seem to expect that he could dodge the bullet, and was stunned for a moment. The blond agent had already rolled the chair towards him with the powerful strength of his waist.

"Shoot! Shoot!"

A few guerrillas on the side opened fire amid the shouting, and the bullets chased Randall all the way and hit sparks on the concrete floor.

It seemed that those restraints and the heavy wooden chair behind him did not exist at all, and the man's movements were as swift as a cheetah.The bullets chased him and knocked the chair into sawdust. Randall bounced off the ground before the leading Middle Easterner shot again, using the chair as a weapon, and slammed towards him.

"Ahhh-"

The blow had momentum, and the chair fell on the Middle Eastern man, and it fell apart abruptly.The Middle Eastern man couldn't help but let out a cry of pain, and the blond man had completely escaped from the shackles of the chair. He threw off the rope wrapped around his arm, turned around, and dragged the Middle Eastern man to him, followed by a A string of bullets slammed into the man's body.

Randall threw the already useless human shield at a guerrilla, and with a flick of his body, he rushed in the opposite direction.

The guerrillas he targeted did not appear to be in their 20s.very young.Cheetahs always like the weakest antelope in a herd, this is a rule.

The blond man's eyes even had the same laziness and smile as before, but his movements were completely different, fierce and swift.The young guerrilla almost stopped his movements the moment the man turned to him. It was a feeling of being locked in by the god of death, and panic hit his heart, making a soldier forget how to shoot.

After all, he is still too young. Even if some people have killed people and seen blood, they still lack "talent".They cannot treat it as a skilled job and get "kinky, disgusting pleasure" out of it.

Killing is also talent.

This is the comment given by the CIA chief when he graduated from special training.Randall snapped and snapped the young prey's neck, listening to the crisp sound with a smile on his face.

He remembered the way Bruce Stewart had seen him.

That man was indifferent, taciturn, excessively harsh to everyone, sophisticated and calculating, he was a legend that could not be mentioned in the CIA.But he saw blood in his officer's eyes perfectly concealed.His eyes made Randall think of some kind of raptor, elegant and indifferent when retracting its wings, as if it had never been stained with blood.Randall admitted that he had a beast-like instinct. He smelled a metal-like smell from the man, cold and without heat.He knew it was the smell of cold blood.

Randall knew that it was the eyes of the same kind.

His chief looked at him as he looked at Bruce Stewart himself, which didn't mean they were very similar. The omniscient man just knew what kind of road Randall had walked and was about to become what it looks like.

So did Randall.

They all paid the price, they all walked in the dark, carrying their sins, leaving only a shell of steel.