Darkstone Code

Sanchez, sitting on the sofa, looked disheveled. He lifted his sleeve to wipe his nosebleed, took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and had just taken a puff when the person in front of him snatched it from his hand and threw it to the ground.

The sparks that splattered in the air glowed brilliantly for a brief moment, then faded away.

He stared at the cigarette butt for a while, then a fist dragged him back from his fleeting thoughts.

Clutching his face, he slumped into the sofa but quickly sat up straight again.

Someone was pulling his hair; if he didn’t sit up straight, it would hurt.

"You lied, Sanchez. You told us it was August 15, but in fact, it was the wrong time."

The liaison officer looked at Sanchez with some disappointment, "I thought we could be friends, but didn’t expect you to betray our friendship."

Sanchez couldn’t help but laugh. He looked around at those Federation people and touched the wounds on his face, "You call this ’friend’?"

The liaison officer seemed not embarrassed at all. He nodded, "You betrayed our friendship first."

"Before this, we fulfilled all your needs: cigarettes, Ghost Face Mushroom, numerous different women. As long as we could get it, we provided it to you."

"But our sincerity only exchanged for shameful, despicable deceit, Sanchez. I am very saddened!"

The liaison officer glanced at the soldier beside him, who grabbed Sanchez’s hand and placed it on the coffee table, then stomped on it with his foot.

Sanchez struggled, and a fist once again taught him how to be human.

His expression changed somewhat, unlike earlier when he was indifferent. He even started to explain, "That’s what they told me. I was just repeating what Beigaao and I had communicated."

"And surely you guys have monitored, or there’s a recording..."

The liaison officer looked at him, and after he had given many explanations about his innocence, the liaison officer slowly said, "Look, you started explaining, which means you know what happened."

"You clearly knew, but you didn’t warn us. That’s betrayal, Sanchez..."

He glanced again at the soldier stepping on Sanchez’s wrist, who then drew his pistol from the holster and fired three shots at the back of Sanchez’s hand.

The gunshots sounded in rapid succession, immediately followed by Sanchez’s torn scream!

His entire palm was shattered, and even with advanced medical treatment for his wound, this hand of his was ruined!

Whether he could grasp anything again was still a question.

The liaison officer watched him without the slightest sympathy, "This is just to make you understand that, regarding this matter, we are not joking with you."

"This time it’s your hand, next time it will be your head!"

The Ministry of Defense has received the message and is extremely furious, and Darkstone Security is also very displeased. All the pressure is piling up on the liaison officer’s head.

He did not detect the problem in time, almost causing irreversible consequences. After returning this time, rewards are out of the question; if he isn’t punished, it would be fortunate.

He could only shift his anger onto Sanchez, and indeed, he needed to make this bastard understand the consequences of lying!

Half an hour later, the special operations team lurking in the Mariluo Capital received a new notification—"The bird is flying freely in the sky."

This meant they would be granted maximum freedom, allowed to do anything as long as they could assassinate the target!

Meanwhile, Beigaao was still awake, feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

As people age, they inevitably have various issues, feeling discomfort here or there. These physical ailments don’t usually impact their lives directly, but when they act up, they do harbor some fear.

After all, everyone is afraid of death, and with his son just having left today, he had an inexplicable unease.

At times worried whether his son would successfully enter the Federation, at others concerned whether the Federation people would disrupt their talks, or even worried that after success, the Federation people might use the lives of his son’s family to coerce him.

He thought about a lot, and the more one thinks, the faster the sleepiness fades away. He sat by the window in a chair with a glass of wine in front of him, occasionally taking a sip.

The night outside was deep, the sky without industrial pollution was like a transparent crystal, vividly displaying the splendor of the universe.

The sky was filled with stars flickering on and off, and at this moment, Beigaao felt a genuine sentiment for himself and humanity’s insignificance!

He drank the last of the wine in one gulp, got up, and lay back in bed. Staring at the ceiling for a while, he said, as if to himself or to someone else, "Good night," and then slowly closed his eyes.

The next morning, just after six, he gradually woke up.

As one ages, sleep doesn’t last as long, but requires multiple rests.

Generally speaking, in the afternoon, Beigaao would have a ninety-minute rest, which was enough for him.

At this moment, the brightness of the air over the city had already changed, and as soon as the first beam of sunlight pierced the last darkness, light would arrive.

He stood on the balcony, slowly stretching his body as he pondered some upcoming matters.

A major warlord still hadn’t arrived; he had made a call, and the people left behind said their General had been away for some time.

The radio couldn’t reach this warlord either, and no one knew what had happened.

As August neared, Beigaao felt increasingly uneasy for some unknown reason.

He had a sense of urgency because he had told Sanchez to inform the Federation that the date was August 15th, though they had actually reached a preliminary agreement almost a month earlier.

Only the final negotiations remained.

A sliver of golden sword pierced the eastern sky, and the magnificent sunlight overlooked the earth, bathing everything in gold.

Beigaao took a deep breath and made his decision.

No need to wait for the last warlord; now everyone’s opinion had basically unified, with or without him, it made little difference.

Today, the matter needs to be settled, and at the latest, it cannot surpass the day after tomorrow!

He then turned around and headed to the dining room, instructing the butler to inform everyone that if they had no other issues, tomorrow or the day after, they would announce to the outside world that Mariluo had entered a period of unity, and all warlords were under the Central Government’s control...

Before breakfast ended, nearly all the warlords knew of the news.

Honestly, the Grand President’s urgency in announcing these matters made people somewhat... uncomfortable.

It’s not dissatisfaction, just discomfort, even though everyone knew these were false, warlords still remained warlords, and the Central Government still couldn’t govern them.

Yet they still felt uncomfortable; sometimes "nominal" things might not be as practical as actual benefits, but they can affect people’s mood.

Most warlords had no opinions on this; minor warlords had no standing to express their opinions, and major warlords had already benefited enough and didn’t need to raise any more opinions.

In other words, a new "era" was about to arrive!

A little after eight in the morning, Antenna returned from gathering information outside and gulped down a few sips of cold water.

"There’s nothing outside the city, but the President’s Mansion started imposing martial law; the distance from the President’s Mansion to the President’s Manor is lined with local police and soldiers; the meeting location might be at the President’s Mansion, not outside the city."

The Commander furrowed his brow; this was the situation he disliked the most—discovering the intel in hand was either wrong or fake right when it was time to execute the plan.

He pondered a moment and then looked at the sniper, "Switch to Plan C now, you’ll provide firepower support..."

In the previous plan, the sniper was supposed to be the one to assassinate the President, executing the assassination from afar followed by everyone’s getaway, given the open environment outside the city—but Sanchez’s intel was utterly deceptive.

This meant the sniper would be of no help in the assassination; his scope couldn’t see through the layers of the President’s Mansion’s walls to spot the President, and even if he did, the bullet couldn’t.

Fortunately, the Federation’s "overthinking" value proved useful in this moment; in another plan, assuming their target temporarily changed locations, and assassination by long-range sniping was impossible, each person’s arrangement adjusted accordingly.

The sniper turned into firepower support; the one originally tasked with doing the dirty work became the main action personnel responsible for the assassination, and the whole team would revolve around him.

The sniper nodded, indicating he understood—the weapon used varies with different scenarios and targets.

In addition, everyone was assigned tasks; their priority now was to find a way to infiltrate the President’s Mansion.

If they couldn’t get in, besides calling for a bombing, there was no other way to assassinate the President.

And doing that would be unrealistic; it would expose the Federation’s involvement in the plot.

The team was split into four parts: logistics, support, and two action groups that would attempt to infiltrate, find an ideal position for the assassination...

Once the Commander assigned each person’s tasks, the room suddenly became empty.

It was now 9:13 in the morning.

It was roughly a time to start working.

Due to its uniqueness, Mariluo lacked heavy industry and underdeveloped handicrafts, making the pace of life there slow.

Half-past nine, or even ten o’clock in the morning, was when some businesses started their workday.

The start time for the Capital Wastewater Treatment Company was 9:45, choosing a time that was neither aggressive nor conservative to commence work.

The chief designer in charge of the city’s sewage pipeline network leisurely arrived at the company with coffee in hand; after a brief chat with the girl from the day before, he entered his office.

Generally, if the city wasn’t expanding, he had no work, yet his salary remained unchanged.

It was a highly comfortable job—unless, as he closed the door, he didn’t have a gun to his head, he’d think so even more!