Mercenary Black Mamba

82 Chapter 12, Episode 2: Death is a Mercenary's Friend

The western side of Singapore's Marina Bay was lined with large and small refrigerators and fisheries. Singapore had the second largest fish consumption per person after Japan.

Singapore itself didn't have a high catching rate. Over half of the consumed fish was exported to Japan. Most of its storage places were to store products for exporting fisheries.

There was an old 50 square foot storage container along the western side of the road, which was always closed.

Inside the storage were the remains of fish scattered across the cement floor. There were boxes stocked with salted fish along one side, plus fishing equipment. It was a common sight in fishery storage containers.

In the corner of the storage was a large fish tank, used for breeding farmed fish. No one knew there was a secret set of stairs leading underground beneath it.

Creek— Clang—

A sleek car stopped in front of the storage container, and the door opened. The cement walls greeted the visitor without color, still depressingly gray. The single 200-watt white lightbulb on the ceiling spluttered, unable to push away the darkness.

The healthy man who had grown his combed hair to his neck entered the storage as though he was sliding in. The man in an original Armani suit topped with Ray-Bans that showed off his handsome features, comparable to those of a movie star.

Unlike his handsome features, the man's gray eyes were unmoving, like a fish's dead eyes, but even those enhanced his charismatic features.

The golden-haired man looked around the storage and helped a woman out of the car. She was a young white woman with flowing golden hair. The woman swayed as though she was drunk.

The blond man pushed the tank with surprising strength. The ten-foot-long tank moved helplessly. He had strength comparable to a grizzly bear.

When the tank was moved, an opening appeared.

The blond man opened the panel attached to the wall and pushed a button. A ladder slid down from the opening.

The man went down the ladder with the woman on his arm without hesitance. The underground, unlike the storage house, was bright as day, to the point they could see the dust floating off the floor.

The long, thin fingers lifted a sharp surgical scalpel from the bed. On the bed were other weapons of all kinds, like sashimi knives, claw hammers, bombs, axes, daggers, and much more in a row.

Perhaps he didn't like how dull its blade was, but he placed the scalpel down and picked up the electronic saw instead. It was a saw usually used to cut frozen tuna.

The lifeless eyes, comparable to those of a dead fish, glanced back. He could see the thin neck of his sacrifice and placed the chainsaw back down.

The blade, which was mismatched on its right and left sides, would destroy the sacrifice's muscles and bones uselessly. It wouldn't do for a human's structure to be destroyed by a chain, as its quality would decrease.

What he chose after much deliberation was a piano wire. With seven cords of 0.01-inch wire, the material was a combination of tungsten and chromium. Made under specially requested specifics, it's surface was coated with diamond dust.

It was one of his most beloved objects. This was it. That day's operation tool was going to be the piano wire. He felt excited when he chose his tool.

The vibration of the sacrifice trembling against the piano wire gave another kind of excitement in and of itself. He felt an orgasm rising from within that he hadn't felt even when he caught a 22-pound tuna at the northeastern end of America. His body trembled at the expectation of his high.

"Mm!"

The woman regained consciousness.

It was the right time. The golden-haired man was proud of his skills. Targeting sacrifices according to their physical aspects and age so that they would wake at a certain time was his secret skill.

He had only taped the sacrifice's mouth and committed no violence. Despite that, the weak sacrifice was sitting still, unable to move.

"Hic!" The woman hiccuped as she came to her senses.

Her mouth was taped shut. The strange sound of her hiccups rang across the basement. A yellow liquid leaked out between the sacrifice's legs.

The blond man frowned. Weakness was a sin. Weak things always ruined his mood.

That day's sacrifice was a fresh 20-year-old woman.

Gray eyes slowly examined the woman. Her height was five feet and seven inches, a bust of 36 inches, a waist of 24, and hips at 36 inches. She weighed 139 pounds. Her body measurements were delivered to his brain with a single sweep. She was pretty, sexy, and glamorous, perfect to feel that sparking sensation.

She was apparently a visitor from Australia, but whether she lived there or was born in the United States was none of his concern.

She was a woman who followed him out of interest in his handsome features and blond hair. The vague kiss marks on her neck were a trace he had left behind. She might have been lured by all the brands he wore on his body. Either was fine. The fact that she was there was more important.

There were grips attached to either end of the piano wire.

When he turned around with the wire in hand, the woman sat up. Survival instincts exceeded her fear.

"Mm, mmph!"

"Haha!"

A burst of moan-like laughter leaked out of the man's mouth. It was his first humane reaction since he had entered the underground basement.

His adrenaline increased when the sacrifice attempted to protect itself in such a weak manner.

Unfortunately, the woman was unable to take more than two steps. The blond man grabbed her hair roughly as though she was bouncing out of place. The woman was dragged into the man's body helplessly.

The wire whisked around as though it was alive and wrapped itself around the woman's thin neck. When the scary wire caught on her neck, the woman began to cry, flooding her face with tears and snot.

When the woman resisted, the wire dug into her neck, and blood ran down. When the man applied more strength, the wire slowly started to slice her neck.

The woman thrashed around but was unable to overcome the man's power. She was like a young crab being crushed under a polar bear's front paw.

When the woman moved, the wire's slight vibrations gave a rhythm that dug into his sexual senses. The blond man trembled at the height of his excitement. Giving in, his underwear was soon soaked.

Soon, the woman trembled once more before ceasing to move. The blond man slowly sawed away with the wire. Blood began to spew out of the sliced vein on her neck.

A white body that had collapsed in a puddle of blood was the realistic art he loved madly. He didn't insist on white people, but white skin contrasted better with the red blood, rather than yellow or black skin.

The man breathed in deeply. The thick smell of blood pushed out any scrap of a thought in his head. His heavy head grew lighter. The man admired his artwork for more than ten minutes. He felt as though he could suppress his murderous desires for the time being.

The man pushed the woman into the 40-gallon fish tank used for breeding. He opened the panel attached to the wall and pushed the button. Formalin, a chemical, was expelled into the tank out of a four-inch golden pipe.

When the tank was filled with formalin, he pushed the button and stopped the machine. He then sealed the tank with a resin cover, lifted it up, and placed it upright next to the wall.

It was an amazing show of strength.

When the liquid was added to a 40-gallon resin tank, it weighed 350 pounds in total. This wasn't a weight a human could carry.

There were another 30 resin tanks lining the wall in this exact state. With this, there was another one to his basement collection.

Ocelot was his identity, the man who was being chased by Interpol and the United States, alongside 20 other countries, as a legendary killer. He had forgotten his real name, since he had used so many others. All he had left was the code name Interpol had given him.

An ocelot was a feline animal that had golden stripes and lived in southern regions of America. The Amazon rainforest was its usual habitat, and it was said that some lived in the southern U.S. and Mexico.

It was beautiful to see, but it was a fearsome predator who ate monkeys and deer. It was an Amazon assassin, possessing a feline's trademark fierceness and secrecy.

The reason for his Ocelot codename was because, unlike his noble features, he possessed a cruel personality of killing and had golden hair.

Those whom he sacrificed were always found in a pool of blood. Ocelot was a unique assassin who didn't use guns very often despite being a first-rate sniper. The lingering smell of blood and iron was his only motivation for living.

After finishing his work, he pulled out a memo from his front pocket. His long white fingers opened the memo with care. The memo, thrice folded, was no larger than a suit button. Its contents were as simple as its size.

[Legion Etranger 11 – Currently at Chad Borkou province. Pays (approx.) 60 thousand dollars]

He hadn't received a request for a long time. He wouldn't move if the price was below 50 thousand dollars, so he never managed to have more than two deals per year. That was why he had to relieve his killing desire in this way.

The reward of 60 thousand dollars wasn't satisfying, yet he had never killed a mercenary. The new experience prompted his mind.

Ocelot took out his lighter and burned the memo. When Ocelot pressed the panel, the ladder appeared from the ground. All that remained in the empty basement was the smell of burning paper and blood.

Miguel, Mouris, and Chartres were laid in a row, and the captain approached to grasp their hands tightly, as though he was shaking them.

"I'm sorry. I'll return alive with the team members you sacrificed your lives for. I will shatter the jaws of those who shoved us into this dirty chaos." The captain remained calm.

Anger wouldn't help the current situation. He had already lost four major skilled fighters, his subordinates, without a single gain. Even if he killed a thousand FROLINAT members in retaliation, they were meaningless numbers.

Mouris and Miguel had died due to his decision. He had chosen the lower ground in consideration of Chartres, but even Chartres had died in the midst of their battle due to a lack of care. Thirty percent of their power was gone due to his wrong decision.

He shook his head and threw the despair away.

If the captain lost his calm, everyone would become unstable. They had to return in order to crush those who had deceived and abandoned the team.

"Ugh, ah!"

The captain looked at Black Mamba, who was choking back his tears.

"Seems like a nightmare of a battlefield. Azrael has moments when he whines like a woman."

"Ha, a picture of a crying leopard of Algeria is something that can be plastered across the front pages of the world news." Black Mamba returned the captain's harmless mocking.

Algeria's leopard was Sergeant Paul's nickname.

"Thanks, Black Mamba."

A smile appeared on the captain's dry face.

Algeria's leopard was his forgotten nickname. The nightmare of battlefields, Black Mamba, and Algeria's leopard could return as long as they were alive.

Burimer reported the current situation. "Thirty-six people at the rear, 221 people in front, a total of 257 people were killed. There were none injured."

"Mm, that should be right." The captain nodded.

There was no way someone could have been injured. His subordinates had shot them all. It wasn't something to be blamed for, either. There was nothing funnier than debating the humane side of people on a dirty battlefield. Relieving their pain by killing them was a better form of benevolence.

"Okay. Seems like the number is about the size of two companies. How many did they put in anyways? Gather all of their weapons and take a break."

The captain sent Burimer away and took out his notebook to organize the situation.

The detailed before and after reports had been written up by Burimer. They were simple memos.

1. 1982/11/7 Mission: Day 2

1st Battle: Uldi Hamarl

Killed: 43

Gathered equipment list: ...

2. Same day, 2nd Battle: Uldi Hamarl

Dead: Sergeant Mark

Killed: 185 – enemy leader commander Musta

Gathered equipment list: ...

3. 1982/11/9 Mission: Day 4