Spy Wars: I am the Captain of the Military Police

However, just at the moment when Shadow's body muscles had just provided strength for dodging and drawing the gun.

A faint blue light, like an icy meteor suddenly leaping out from the abyss of Hades, had already accurately and unerringly struck its target! Fast! Faster than the instinct of the shadow mind!

That's not a bamboo stick at all!

It was an old Sheaffer fountain pen that Old Tan had just pulled out of his pocket! He didn't even bother using the fine taper in his other hand!

The slender and sturdy silver metal pen barrel has now become the most deadly thorn!

With the pure killing intent of the Fujita school of "no turning back, one breath to kill", it was like the most accurate blow of a poisonous snake!

The tip of the pen tore through the air, and in a flash, it steadily and fiercely penetrated the shadow's throat, the most fragile and delicate depression of the tracheal cartilage, the sunken Adam's apple, the acupoint of the qi cavity!

"puff!"

A barely perceptible muffled sound was the sound of the pen tip penetrating the flesh, bones, and finally the trachea!

The flow of time seemed to be frozen in an instant.

Shadow's body was frozen in a retreating posture, his hand reaching for his waist only half an inch away from touching the cold gun handle.

The lenses of the gold-rimmed glasses were suddenly covered with a thick layer of splashing warm liquid.

The horror on his face and the ferocity of drawing the gun were frozen in an extremely grotesque and distorted moment.

His mouth opened in vain, trying to breathe, but only a broken hissing sound and a large amount of blood gushed out.

Those eyes that were once full of ambition now widened rapidly. The pupils first shrank in disbelief, and then expanded wildly due to suffocation and unspeakable pain.

Boundless fear and the dark abyss of death instantly engulfed his consciousness like a tsunami.

Old Tan's hands were as steady as a rock, without a trace of trembling.

The other hand holding the hammer shot out like lightning and clamped Shadow's neck tightly like an iron clamp, preventing him from falling and struggling due to the severe pain and fear.

The whole movement was smooth and flowing, with a cruel rhythm and mechanical cold precision.

"I'm sorry, teacher, I lied to you. Just think of this as a lesson for you. As an intelligence officer, don't trust anyone easily."

Shadow let out a desperate gurgling sound from his throat, his body convulsing violently.

His hands were vainly scratching at the air, his eyes fixed on Old Tan's face, which was so close to him. In his eyes were a final confusion, a crazy curse, endless regret, and...

A trace of the eternal question of "why" at the moment of death.

Old Tan's face was hidden in the shadows, dim and unclear.

Only those eyes flashed a cold and dark light in the dim light.

Watching the shadow struggle in his hands, watching life slip away rapidly like a candle in the wind.

There was no anger, no pleasure, not even a trace of emotional waves of revenge. There was only a complete indifference, an understanding and silence of the disappearance of life itself.

"Power... oppression... should not be written with fingers stained with the blood of soldiers on the front lines."

Old Tan leaned over, pressed his lips against Shadow's ear, which was blurred with blood and saliva, and spoke in a low voice, like the deepest abyss: "You will pay the price yourself.

The achievements of the first place will rot with you in the ruins of Tianjin." After saying this, he loosened the hand that was tightly holding Shadow as if throwing away a piece of dirty garbage.

The shadow collapsed to the ground like a body with its spine removed. The back of its head hit the cold, hard concrete floor with a muffled sound, and then there was no sound.

Those eyes, unable to close, stared blankly at the dark sky filled with smoke that appeared through the gap in the broken roof of the warehouse.

Old Tan slowly stood up and calmly pulled the blood-stained Sheaffer pen out of Shadow's throat.

Warm blood slid down the pen and dripped onto the equally dark red ground.

He took out a white handkerchief and slowly wiped every inch of the pen, carefully wiping away the filth that symbolized betrayal, infighting and endless death, his movements meticulously.

He wiped the clean pen on his sleeve and put it back in his breast pocket.

The silver pen clip reflects slightly on the gray silk gown, making it look clean and restrained.

He bent down and picked up the blood-stained letter of authorization on the ground. Without even looking at it, he tore it into pieces, and the scraps of paper scattered on the face of the corpse.

After looking at his former student lying on the ground with his eyes open for a few seconds, Old Tan walked to the dusty telegraph machine in the corner.

It only took ten seconds to tear off a key coil inside, crush it, and throw it casually into the cotton wool in the corner.

The movements were clean and neat, like completing a routine task.

After doing all this, Old Tan took a last look at Shadow's face, which was frozen in horror and pain.

Then, he turned around and walked silently towards the darker shadows deeper in the warehouse. He slowly opened a gap at the back door.

He stepped out, the hem of his grey silk gown fluttering slightly in the wind mixed with blood, and blended silently into the depths of the night, as if he had never appeared.

Inside the warehouse, there was only Shadow's gradually cooling body and a Japanese weapons box beside him that smelled of fresh gun oil.

A conspiracy for power, before it could really cause a bloody storm, had already quietly sunk into the endless darkness before dawn.

A startled crow landed on the high, broken window frame of the warehouse and let out a short, hoarse cry.

Old Tan's steps were not hurried at all, and the hem of his gray silk gown rose and fell slightly with his steps.

It was as if he had just completed an ordinary walk, rather than having just pierced the throat of a former student with a pen.

The alley behind the warehouse was a narrow, muddy path filled with rotting wooden boxes and discarded machinery debris, and rats scurried about in the shadows.

At the end of the road, in the deep darkness that could not be illuminated by the dim and swaying light of the street lamps, there were three black cars with their engines turned off, their hoods still emitting a faint warmth in the night breeze.

The rear door of the middle car was silently pushed open from the inside, and the car was filled with hazy darkness, like a huge mouth opening into an unknown abyss.

Old Tan bent down and went in without any hesitation.

The car door closed quietly behind him, immediately isolating himself from the rotten smell outside the car.

The car was filled with the faint bitter aroma of tobacco and the smell of leather seats, which formed an ironic contrast with the blood and mold in the warehouse.

On the car window glass, a silhouette of a man sitting upright in the shadows was outlined: the chief of the Special High Section of the Tianjin Military Police Command, Yudai Itai.

The light barely revealed his short outline. He was wearing a straight military uniform, but the epaulettes were obviously a little worn from long wear.

The face was particularly eye-catching. It was not fat, but it had many scars from adolescent acne and a few new red and swollen pimples, which looked even more uneven in the dim light.

At this moment, Itai Yudai's eyes appeared direct and even a little irritable in the darkness, just like a young man, which was completely different from the sinister image of the military police intelligence chief in Lao Tan's mind.