Fatty wriggled his lips, smacked his mouth but eventually said nothing more.
Yet from Fatty's expression, it wasn't hard to guess that he was very dissatisfied with the decision made at home, with a hint of ferocity flickering in his eyes.
The non-mainstream youth glanced at Fatty and then at the middle-aged man, then pulled a gun from behind his waist and with a "click," chambered a round.
"When the time comes, we'll use the room as cover. As those cops bust in, kill them one by one, two by two."
The non-mainstream youth, clutching his gun, spoke in a grave tone.
Upon hearing the non-mainstream youth's call, the middle-aged man nodded slightly, while Fatty made no particular response.
The waiting time always seems long.
And with prolonged time comes torture.
Whether it was the detectives outside the door or the trio of non-mainstream youths inside, everyone felt tormented, yet none dared to make a careless move.
This was a dual struggle, both mental and physical.
