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Chapter 6: Who Will Follow Me?
Click, click...
The seatbelts automatically unlocked. One after another, bald brutes opened their eyes and stood up. The air was thick with a frenzied energy, like a pack of ravenous beasts baring their sharp, stinking fangs.
These were all killers—murderers, ranging from those who blew up space stations to those who committed home invasions and robberies. Not a single decent person among them. The stench of bloodlust radiated from them head to toe. As for their identical bald heads, that was simply a quirk of the warden's personal taste.
There were thirty-two of them in total: thirty men, two women, and Tang Fang, making up the entire crew for "Operation Butchers."
As one bald brute after another stepped off the Scorpion armed transport helicopter, a few passed by Tang Fang with vicious grins. Among the two women, the one with a black tulip tattooed on her chest even threw him a flirtatious wink and blew him a kiss.
Tang Fang responded with a cold, hard stare. He was not someone to be trifled with, nor a fool who would fall for cheap tricks.
Only after the last person left the cabin did Tang Fang slowly rise and disembark.
Click.
The rear hatch closed, and the Scorpion's engines roared to life. It climbed to an altitude of a thousand meters before opening its lower bay, dropping an armored crate. After that, the helicopter sped away.
Moments later, there was a muffled thud as the crate hit the ground. With a hiss of compressed air, the crate opened, revealing military gear inside: M-505 assault rifles, thermoregulated combat suits, night-vision goggles, gas masks, medical gel…
The moment they saw the equipment, the tension between the group melted into raw greed. They rushed toward the crate like a swarm of wild animals, their eyes glowing red. Tang Fang stood by coldly, watching. He didn’t move.
Bang!
A gunshot rang out. Blood splattered, and a scrawny man fell to the ground, dead.
“Ptui, I told you not to push me, but you didn’t listen! Now you’re dead!”
“Ahhh!”
Amid the cries of pain, a muscular man with a square face and thick eyebrows was crawling backward, half-lying on the ground. Standing in front of him was a man nearly a head shorter, gripping a knife tightly and plunging it into the big man’s stomach repeatedly.
“How does it feel? Huh? You kept bullying me! Well, now what? So what if you're bigger? Once you get sliced, you bleed just like the rest of us!”
The reddish-brown earth beneath them grew even redder as the setting sun cast its light on the faces of the crowd, turning them into wild, bloodthirsty beasts.
Amidst the chaos, Tang Fang spotted three individuals who remained calm, while everyone else steered clear of them, as if they were avoiding the plague
One was a scruffy, unshaven middle-aged man whose stubble was as tough as steel. His face was unnervingly calm. Not the vicious curses, the wild howls, nor even the spurting blood caused a ripple in his dead eyes.
Another was a young man with half of his face burned, like a demon from hell. He was laughing, laughing maniacally. His laughter was harsh and cruel, like the cawing of a night owl.
This man was Grosso. Tang Fang recalled this name from Tang Yan’s memories—he had been a gunner in the "Sperm Whale" fleet and was the mastermind behind the destruction of the Gene Space Station.
The third person was a man with dark circles under his eyes, who carried himself with the elegance of a Solon Empire noble. He tossed his rifle aside and lazily wiped a long, narrow knife against his prison clothes.
Tang Fang recognized him too: Byron Alonso, leader of the "Apollo" pirate gang. He had raided countless Imperial transport ships before his capture, betrayed by his own men. Rumor had it that he was actually descended from nobility, a real count. As for the dark circles under his eyes, that was just one of his bizarre, lowly amusements.
"Oh yeah… yeah…"
While the others fought over weapons, a woman's moans echoed from afar. Tang Fang glanced over and saw that the woman who had blown him a kiss earlier was now rolling around naked with a man whose right arm was tattooed with a large lizard. They didn’t care at all about the crowd's amused, disgusted, or lecherous stares.
Thump, thump.
A man with a cross-shaped scar on his forehead walked slowly over, each step causing the sand under his military boots to scatter. As he passed by Tang Fang, his eyes narrowed, and a cold glint flashed in his pupils.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Tang Fang’s cold voice cut through the air. The man froze, his hand, which had been reaching for his trigger, involuntarily stopped. A strange feeling came over him. Somehow, he knew: if his hand moved even half an inch further, it wouldn't be that guy that died—it would be him.
All of them had served in the military and fought in wars. They had an instinctive sense of death. On the battlefield, this instinct had saved his life many times. He didn’t know why Tang Fang, unarmed, gave him such an overwhelming sense of danger, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. After all, he had just escaped that dark, confined box. He didn’t want to meet his end before he even had a drink of tequila.
Taking a deep breath, he walked away and sat on a bare rock in the distance.
This strange scene left several prisoners nearby dumbfounded. Even the scruffy man gave Tang Fang a surprised look.
"Housen didn’t make a move; he got spooked by just one sentence from the other guy."
"What’s Housen afraid of? That guy is clearly unarmed. A single stab would take his life."
"Housen's always had sharp instincts. Maybe he sensed something."
"Yeah, that guy’s still an active-duty soldier and technically the official leader of this operation. Who knows if the military gave him some secret weapon?"
Tang Fang ignored their chatter. Now that most had chosen their weapons, he finally strode toward the weapons crate.
Shuffle, shuffle…
His footsteps were slow and measured, but to the men in front of him, each step felt like it was stomping on their chests. The invisible pressure forced them to step aside, clearing a path.
Reaching the crate, Tang Fang calmly equipped himself. He picked up an automatic rifle, stuffed some magazines into his pockets, grabbed an infrared sensor, and walked to a nearby sand dune. Taking a sip from his water canteen, he glanced at the sky. Nightfall wasn’t far off.
The chaos had finally died down. No one wanted to be out in the open overnight.
Four were dead, one injured. If the wounded man wasn’t sent back to base soon, he probably wouldn’t live to see the next sunrise.
"Done fighting?" Tang Fang stood up, sweeping his gaze over the group. He spoke calmly, “I don’t want to be your commander, and I don’t care what you do. If you don’t want to follow me, suit yourselves. If you do, I won’t guarantee your safety either.”
“I’ll wait here for ten minutes. Those who stay are agreeing to follow me. Those who don’t want to come can leave now.” His words stunned the crowd. Who among them didn’t have blood on their hands? Their tempers were wild and untamable. But compared to them, this guy seemed even more insane. Did he actually take the title of "commander" seriously? Every one of them was a ruthless killer. Did he really think he could command them? Was he out of his mind?
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