Chapter 36
Don't laugh, you won't pass level 2 even if you do.
The gunfire in the prison stopped.
The battle in the administrative district had ended, and the scattered gunfire throughout the prison seemed to have stopped, returning the prison to silence.
The air was filled with the smell of gunpowder smoke and blood from the explosion.
John struggled to his feet and looked down at his Level 5 armor. The front was riddled with huge dents, and the bulletproof plates were long gone, barely held together by a few fibers, hanging on his body like a tattered vest.
He was panting heavily, moved his right hand, and with great effort pulled it off his shoulder, slamming it to the ground with a dull thud.
Not far away, Shimada also recovered and struggled to his feet, supporting himself with his hands. His face was covered in soot and bloodstains.
After George fired his final shot, he collapsed to the ground, exhausted. A tourniquet was tightly wrapped around his thigh, but it couldn't stop the slow bleeding from the muscle pierced by the bone.
It took 10 hand grenades, 3 incendiary bombs, and almost all the ammunition to win the battle, and even then, 3 people died.
"Take inventory." John's voice was hoarse, but you could still faintly hear a smile in his voice.
He had been holding it in for too long.
Since the last failure, leaders at all levels of the Bald Eagle Association, both those he had met and those he hadn't, have been trying to talk to him.
They all told him that if he couldn't kill the warden in this operation, he would have to disappear from the real world.
He leaned against the wall, his legs felt a little weak, and he swayed for a moment before regaining his balance.
He walked towards the corpses, stumbling along the muddy path.
Is this the person?
John was actually unsure, but he couldn't afford to think about anything else.
He just wanted to survive; he was under too much pressure, leaving him no time to think.
Since entering prison today, every organ in his body has been telling him about his fear; he is afraid of failure, or rather, he is afraid of death.
To die in the real world.
He was leaning against the broken wall, wearing a black trench coat with a yellow lining and a gold pendant around his neck.
One half of his face was covered by a black mask, while the other half was covered by a hideous scar.
The smile froze on his face, making it even more eerie.
John walked up to the body, ripped off the necklace from his neck, and played with it in his hand.
Made of pure gold, it resembles a bird's skull.
John thought this would be his most valuable collectible, and then put it in his pocket.
He kicked the two revolvers aside. Now, John was looking for something far more important than these war supplies; he was looking for his lifeline.
When he reached into the inside pocket of the black trench coat, his eyes lit up – he had found it!
That's his metal identification tag. With this, he'll have completed his mission! Not only will he survive, but he might even get promoted and make a fortune!
John pulled it out, wiped the blood off his hands, and held it up to his eyes.
The inscription reads: "Fallen Prince – Raven".
John stared at the line of text.
He blinked, then stared at the face frozen in a smile.
Shifting their gaze back to the nameplate, Shimada and George then noticed that his shoulders began to tremble slightly.
A suppressed "clucking" sound came from his throat. Then the sound grew louder and louder, turning into a hoarse, sickly laugh.
John looked down at the sign in his hand, his laughter echoing throughout the prison, sounding exceptionally jarring and insane.
"Ha...haha...hahaha!!!"
Shimada was startled by his strange behavior. His brows furrowed, and he unconsciously gripped the rifle in his hand, his finger on the trigger.
John swayed as he stood up, held up the sign, and displayed his "priceless treasure" to the pale light of the ceiling.
"Warden!!" He laughed so hard he could barely breathe, his voice filled with ecstatic joy.
"This is the warden! The Fallen Prince! Ha! He really knows how to name himself!!"
He turned around and waved the sign at Shimada and the delirious George, his face glowing with a sickly, excited red light.
"Mission accomplished! We fucking did it! We took him down! Warden! This badge is proof!"
He laughed and coughed at the same time. "Warden? Fallen prince? This damn mission... Hahahaha, accomplished!"
Shimada frowned, his gaze sweeping over the corpse on the ground, then looking at the sign John was waving in his hand. What did "Fallen Prince" mean?
Before they could delve any further into the second floor of the administrative building, the heavy metal door that had been tightly closed opened silently.
The quiet prison has once again been transformed by a new melody.
The neat thud of boots hitting the ground, the metallic clanging and scraping, accompanied by a deep, resonant drumbeat.
Ta-da! ...
John's laughter stopped abruptly.
The ecstasy on his face was still frozen in place. What was that voice?
Shimada lowered his body almost instantly and lay down behind the cover again.
Two tall soldiers carrying riot shields walked at the front of the column, behind which stood a row of guns aimed at the three prison guards.
Right in the middle of them, the warden, dressed in a black trench coat and wearing a white mask, walked slowly into the area that had just been bombed, his hands behind his back, keeping time with the drumbeats.
Han Che's gaze swept calmly across the battlefield through the white mask. It swept over the sign clutched in John's hand, the several corpses on the ground, George still clinging to life, and the bunker where Shimada was hiding.
Finally, the gaze returned to John.
"Do you like that brand?"
John opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
He stiffly lowered his head and looked at the plaque in his left hand that read "Fallen Prince - Raven".
The white masks and music before him seemed to reactivate his brain; the military uniforms before him were the very thing that terrified him in his memory.
Han Che didn't stop, maintaining his slow, leisurely pace with his hands behind his back, and the whole group continued walking towards John's direction.
John's Adam's apple bobbed, and then he abruptly raised his gun, pointing it at Han Che, his finger trembling slightly as he pulled the trigger.
"Stop!" he roared, pointing at the corpse beside him. "Who...who is he?"
Han Che tilted his head, his mask facing the raven's corpse in the corner.
"Didn't you get his name tag?" His voice was calm, but it carried a hint of sarcasm in John's ears.
"He...he's not the warden?" John stared at the sign in his hand, his pupils trembling.
"You guys are making a lot of noise," Han Che said. "Gunshots, explosions, shouts."
John's heart sank.
"Now that it's quiet, it's time to clean up."
Han Che raised his right hand, and the five warden's guards simultaneously aimed their guns at John.
"As for me," he continued, "I don't really like those fancy names."
John's pupils reflected that pure white, expressionless mask.
"They usually call me—"
"Gheros".