Starting to Gain Experience from Push-Ups Chapter 1037 - 516_2

"So, we must eliminate any potential threats that could affect the organization’s plans, understand?"

"Understood."

Ghost Scythe’s lips curled into a slight smirk, replying coldly:

"Better to kill mistakenly than to let go. I’ve done such missions many times, guaranteeing they’ll be handled cleanly without leaving any trace."

At this moment, the black SUV finally squeezed past the last handcart, turned its front, and accelerated out of the dimly lit area of Old Factory Street.

"Be careful, this person managed to escape from that man’s hands, definitely has some skills. And if he’s really part of the Special Search Team, we might have some unexpected incidents tonight."

Night Owl, being cautious, reminded his companion once more.

"Don’t worry, I’m one of Black Shark’s aces."

Ghost Scythe sneered disdainfully:

"Even if the Special Search Team sets a trap for me, they’ll need to send a Special-level Investigator to be qualified; sending small fries isn’t enough to fill my teeth."

After speaking, he hung up the earpiece and turned to the corner he’d previously been in.

Casually he peeled off a small piece of clay disguised as wall paneling and tossed it into the toolbox.

"Truly a waste of effort."

He shook his head, seemingly regretting not witnessing a great explosion artwork.

But it didn’t matter.

Since the prey escaped the cage itself, let’s deal with it on a broader stage outside.

Ghost Scythe’s figure flickered and vaulted over the fifth-floor railing.

Like a black bat, he plummet down the narrow shaft of the stairwell.

The dim floors rapidly retreated before his eyes.

Thud.

The toes touched the ground, knees slightly crouched, dissipating the last bit of falling momentum.

When landing on the cement floor of the first floor, his body was as light as a fallen leaf, not even a speck of dust was stirred.

Ghost Scythe adjusted the strap of the toolbox on his shoulder and strode toward the unit door, his figure swiftly disappearing into the night.

..................

At the exit of Old Factory Street.

A black SUV was parked by the roadside, its engine murmuring, waiting for a gap in traffic to merge onto the main road.

Fang Cheng held the steering wheel with one hand, the other relaxedly resting on the window sill, fingers tapping rhythmically.

"Chairman, the suspicious target has caught up."

Monkey’s voice came through the earpiece clearly, speaking rapidly and professionally:

"It’s an old silver-gray Jetta, a car with a fake plate, located about fifty meters to your left rear."

"This person is very skilled at driving, consistently using other vehicles and pedestrians for cover, hovering on the edge of your blind spot, following closely."

"Indeed, not so easy to deceive."

Fang Cheng glanced at the rearview mirror, his lips slightly curled up, but his eyes remained icy.

"Chairman, should we act now?"

Big Hammer’s rough voice chimed in, eager with anticipation: "With our skills, we’ll ensure he won’t escape."

"No need."

Fang Cheng decisively denied, his voice calm:

"This show has already succeeded halfway. Since the other party is relentless, let him follow."

"You two stay at Old Factory Street, keep a close watch here, observe whether there are other suspicious persons approaching, and ensure the safety of the tubular building."

"Yes, Chairman!"

After cutting the communication, a gap in traffic appeared ahead.

Fang Cheng gently pressed the gas pedal.

The black SUV, like a fish, slipped into the congested traffic of the city’s evening rush hour.

Neon lights flickered outside, the glass facades of high-rise buildings reflecting streams of light.

The giant LED screen in the business district broadcasts fashion ads, men and women cross the zebra crossings hastily.

This is a modern metropolis full of desire and vitality, noisy enough to conceal all the undercurrents.

Fang Cheng drove neither fast nor slow, maintaining a rhythm of "though urgent, restricted by traffic conditions."

This kind of seemingly distant yet close distance for the tracker behind is both psychological torment and bait that must be bitten.

Twenty minutes later.

The black SUV gradually stopped in front of a luxuriously decorated five-star hotel.

The security here was strict, luxury cars parked at the entrance, the revolving door reflecting brilliant lights.

Fang Cheng did not get out of the car but lowered the window, pulled out his phone, and dialed a number.

His brows furrowed, fingers impatiently tapping the steering wheel, speaking a few words to the person on the other end of the line.

His expression looked rather urgent, and he occasionally glanced at his wristwatch.

From a distance, inside the shadowy silver-gray Jetta.

Ghost Scythe turned off the lights, crouched low, chewing on a piece of gum that had long lost its sweetness.

Like a lurking venomous snake, peered through the tinted windows, fixedly staring ahead.

Moments later, the hotel’s revolving door turned.

Two men in black suits, looking solemn, stepped out quickly, coming straight to Fang Cheng’s car.

"Hello, are you Specialist Fang? Please show your credentials."

One of them tentatively asked.

"It’s me."

Fang Cheng opened the door and got out of the car, with a hint of apology and annoyance on his face, quickly took out a dark blue credential from his pocket and handed it over.

The light from the passing cars happens to illuminate this side.

The golden shield and sword emblem on the credential’s cover faintly reflected a beam of light in the night.

Observing secretly, Ghost Scythe’s pupils slightly constricted.

Even at a distance of dozens of meters, with his eyesight, he could clearly see the special emblem symbolizing authority and violence.

"It seems he’s indeed with the Special Search Team."

Ghost Scythe pressed the earpiece, speaking with more gravity:

"Even the credentials match, just how did the Special Search Team learn about our secret? Is there really a mole? Or did they see something from our collaboration?"