Zhao Zhenwu was drowned by the storm of fists and electric sticks again. Sparks were flying before his eyes like a volcano eruption, and he was seeing all kinds of illusions in his trance. He felt that he was back to the battlefields of bombs and bodies.
His old brothers all turned into creepy ghosts and extended their skinny hands at him while they shouted desperately, "Commander? Where is the fortune that you promised? Boss, where is the gigantic fortune?"
Zhao Zhenwu shrieked and cramped hard.
The two guards beat him for a while more before they dragged his feet and threw him out of the pawnshop into a gutter on the dark street.
Clang! Clang!
His artificial eye, artificial arm, medals, title deed, and familial saber were all tossed out by the guards onto his body coldly.
Such things were anything but unusual in the thirty-sixth district or any other underground district in the capital in the recent half of the year.
