022. No News in a Small Country (Part 2)
Whoosh—Boom!
The missile flew some distance before reigniting, accelerating instantly to strike the armored vehicle, sending it skyward as a blazing fireball. Under Barnum's shocked gaze, the bearded man put away the launcher and waved at him, signaling to close the window to avoid stray bullets.
"Hey—Barnum, the embassy called me and told me to stay at work. What's going on? I heard gunfire! Tanks, armored vehicles are passing by downstairs. What the hell is happening?"
A coup.
Barnum quickly guessed the possibility.
Without a doubt, it was a military coup, a meticulously planned and suddenly executed operation.
He recalled the bearded man's daily photo-taking, binocular observations of the guards, and how the guards didn't change shifts today.
"They were ready for this." Barnum sat in his chair, unsure of what to do.
The sudden upheaval shattered his peaceful life and worldview. People cowered in their homes, afraid to look outside, fearing they'd be caught in the chaos. Just outside his building, rebels and the Grand Duchy's police and military engaged in fierce gunfights. Bullets even pierced his window, leaving a distinct hole in the mahogany cabinet.
Before long, he saw the bearded man pick up another rocket launcher, trying to cover his allies again. When he looked up and saw Barnum frozen in place, he urgently shouted:
"Get back! Don't come out!"
Ssh!
The bearded man's words had barely left his mouth when a blade suddenly protruded from his chest. A Law IV agent coldly withdrew the weapon, dragging the bearded man into the building. A horrific scream followed, and blood splattered on the window. Even from across the street, Barnum could almost smell the iron scent of blood.
Urgh—
He nearly vomited. A grenade exploded below his building, and the deafening blast left him temporarily deaf. The shockwave sent him tumbling back into the apartment, where Barnum scrambled, using his hands and feet, to hide in the bathroom.
Footsteps echoed through the hallway, accompanied by women's screams and the occasional sound of bullets striking marble tiles. Barnum didn't dare make a sound. He curled up in a corner, covering his mouth in fear, too terrified to move.
The street battle raged on for at least a day. The sound of gunfire never ceased. Law IV agents used the chaos to search and arrest people house by house. They brutally dragged Barnum out of the bathtub, beat him mercilessly, and interrogated him about whether he had seen Bermudez.
At first, Barnum thought that if he answered "no," the agents would whip him. If he said "yes," they'd press him for details.
But he was wrong. The agents didn't give him a chance to lie; they beat him until he almost vomited blood and then splashed cold water on his face to wake him up.
When he curled up in pain, muttering incoherently about who Bermudez was, the agents finally believed his story and let him go.
Barnum staggered back to his shattered balcony, righted his chair, and collapsed into it, his eyes swollen shut from the beating.
The artificial sun was still as bright as ever, but now the wind carried the stench of burning tanks.
It was like throwing a piece of rotten pork on a coal stove.
Barnum squinted, realizing that in another country, Frost-Plated agents could freely arrest and beat people. Even as a GTB employee and Frost-Plated citizen, he wasn't spared.
The company group chat was filled with colleagues who had also been beaten. Some were still in detention. People were venting their anger, pleading for protection, and even calling the embassy, hoping to return home.
However, GTB's top officials remained silent, watching as Law IV agents unjustly beat their employees. They even refused their requests to return home, citing that they were still on duty according to company regulations and couldn't leave.
"What a load of bullshit."
He took a sip of whiskey, the oak flavor making his face hurt as if punched.
Barnum looked at the window of the apartment across the street. Through media reports and word of mouth from colleagues, he learned for the first time in his life what Bermudez was.
In the local language, Bermudez meant "dike."
They were a group of independence seekers in the Grand Duchy of Grant, hoping to restore normalcy and sovereignty to the country.
It sounded somewhat laughable.
Barnum glanced at the Duke's guards, who were back on duty, marching with mechanical precision. The tall, strong guards stood proud, clearly having successfully defended the Duke, their faces beaming with pride.
He looked back at the apartment window, but the bearded man didn't reappear with his binoculars.
Barnum sat in the chair, dazed, unsure of what to do about the future.
Suddenly, he felt a touch on his shoulder. Someone patted him, and before Barnum could react, a man pulled up a plastic chair from the street stall, placed it beside him, and helped himself to Barnum's whiskey, pouring a glass for himself. He took a sip and commented:
"Whiskey without ice is just kerosene."
Barnum was about to retort, "No shit, my fridge broke, and I got beaten to a pulp; otherwise, I'd have added an ice ball." Then he suddenly realized that he had locked the door when he came back. How did this man get in?
He looked again and found the man's appearance familiar—he was incredibly handsome, with a charm that was hard to ignore.
The more Barnum looked, the more familiar the man seemed. The man noticed the pack of cigarettes on the table and raised an eyebrow:
"Romantiss?"
"Uh—yes."
The man unceremoniously took a cigarette, then casually extended his hand: "Buddy, got a light?"
Who's your buddy?
Annoyed, Barnum pulled out his lighter and lit the man's cigarette. The handsome man held the cigarette but didn't take a single puff, just letting it linger in his mouth, as if only using the tobacco to clear his head. He then meticulously began to unroll the cigarettes on the table, carefully pulling out the foil layer from between the cigarette and the box.
Under Barnum's puzzled gaze, the man carefully folded the foil in reverse, following the creases like a child folding paper firecrackers, finally shaping it into a card.
"Oh, lucky me. Romantiss' 'Greenhorn' series."
The man grinned, and for the first time, Barnum found a man's smile more captivating than a woman's. He couldn't help but be mesmerized. Just as he began to question his own sexual orientation, the man's gaze swept over him.
His clear and bright eyes paired with his handsome face didn't stir any romantic feelings in Barnum. Instead, he felt the man's presence was gentle and approachable, not at all aggressive.
No, his beauty wasn't ordinary. It was dignified, magnetic, a pure charm free from any impure intentions.
Barnum thought: I've met someone extraordinary. He climbed four floors without making a sound and has this kind of charisma. If he ran for president, who would care about that old hag Medvei?
"I took your smokes and booze. You can ask me for a reasonable favor in return, Barnum Ziegler."
The man's words were full of conviction, making Barnum believe he was serious.
But Barnum hesitated and asked:
"Who are you? Why are you looking for me?"
The man seemed surprised, then smiled and asked:
"You really don't recognize me?"
Suddenly, something clicked in Barnum's mind. The man immediately changed his demeanor and said:
"The atrocities of Abyss Humanitarian Relief must be exposed—"
A lightbulb went off in Barnum's head. He blurted out, in sync with the man:
"People can die as humans, but they must not live as beasts!"
He stared at the man in shock and said:
"You, you're Li Aozi! The one who killed over a hundred people from Abyss Humanitarian Relief… But how… how are you here? Why are you looking for me?"
"Well, that's a long story."
Li Aozi sat in the plastic chair, amused, and said:
"Don't get too excited, Barnum. You're the protagonist in this country."
"Uh, what do you mean?"
"You'll understand later. There are a few exceptionally talented individuals in this country. I plan to dig you all out."
Seeing Barnum's confusion, Li Aozi decided to change the subject:
"Since you're curious about why I'm here, I'll tell you."
He took a sip of whiskey, savoring the taste, and said slowly:
"It all started with my failed attempt to assassinate the Duke…"