"Sough— sough—" A light breeze blew.
"Hum hum~ yeah~ mm-hmm~"
Myron, in the driver's seat, rested his left elbow on the window frame of the lowered window and hummed a little tune while steering with his right hand.
In the back seat, Karl turned around, resting both hands on the door armrest, looking out the window with a face full of curiosity.
He could see many small animals unique to Africa popping up in the nearby fields from time to time, and couldn't help but let out a "Wow~".
After all, they were still just children...
Well, children who knew how to kill quickly, drive various vehicles, and were proficient in combat.
In contrast, John, sitting in the passenger seat, maintained a rigorous attitude.
He carefully reviewed the floor plan of Dadaab spread across his lap, which marked the safe house they were heading to.
The intelligence agency of Kenya Base was quite efficient; they had sensed a crisis a month ago and purchased a large number of safe houses in Dadaab in advance.
Similarly, several black Agents who knew Swahili were still hidden within Dadaab.
The destination for John's trio was a safe house located a hundred meters west of the Mahmoud Manor, where an Agent would be waiting to meet them.
Then would come the process of familiarizing themselves with the terrain and waiting.
At 00:00, they would launch a surprise attack with the other four groups of Spartans to kill Gerard Mahmoud in one fell swoop.
Although the operational plan was somewhat rushed, given the alertness of Mahmoud's troops and their extremely backward intelligence network, there was a sufficient success rate.
.
"Hum hum~ Eh?"
Myron, who was supposed to be paying attention to the road, seemed bored; he glanced at his side and behind him, saying with a smile:
"John, Karl, if we really don't make it out in time to evacuate, will Mom stop the A-10 airstrike?"
"Number Three."
John put away the map into his pants pocket and looked out the front windshield, saying coldly, "You are not allowed to use real names in private; only use designations."
"Alright, stop acting so cool, geez."
Myron pulled back his left hand to grip the steering wheel firmly and used his right hand to tap John's left shoulder.
"Yeah, John." Karl leaned forward, hugging the passenger seat's headrest, and smiled gently:
"Mom even supports us using our names; as long as we do it behind the Major's and the instructors' backs and don't get caught, it's fine."
."
John closed his eyes and remained silent for a few seconds.
Opening them again, he answered Myron's question: "If my deduction is correct, the airstrike the Major mentioned is likely fake."
"Huh?"
Myron's left eye widened in confusion. "What would the Major gain by doing that?"
"Think with your augmented brain," John explained calmly.
"The Boss once said that we are humanity's last line of defense.
And not even mentioning the painstaking training the Major and instructors gave us, the value of the chemicals injected into us every day alone probably can't be measured in money.
So, how could the Major actually carry out a bombing?"
"Oh, right..." Myron nodded, half-understanding.
"Look!"
At that moment, Karl pointed ahead of the car and said with some excitement, "The outskirts of Dadaab must be just ahead."
Following his words, their gaze focused outside the car.
They saw the'scenery' from those photos appearing vividly before their eyes.
Everywhere were refugees in rags.
A woman sat slumped on the ground, holding a child who had already died, staring blankly at the sky.
There were no tear stains, no expression of sadness, as if she had long since grown accustomed to it.
Some even younger boys, their bellies pathologically bloated, bit their fingers as they watched the cars driving past on the road.
There were also several adult men dragging a young woman who was resisting with all her might toward the bushes behind the thorns.
What further shattered the young Spartans' worldview was...
In the alleys formed by cloth tents, there were warlord militias armed with Soviet-style rifles and wearing mismatched military uniforms.
These militias were escorting unresisting refugees to a pre-dug sandpit, and then...
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Piercing gunshots echoed continuously throughout the outskirts.
Those militiamen ignored the passing vehicles, focused only on the slaughter, mechanically repeating the killing.
Death.
It shrouded this continent abandoned by God.
.
"Oh my God... *bleh*..."
Karl sat back in the rear seat, covering his mouth with both hands, all the previous excitement about the mission gone.
At this moment, his face was filled with horror, his stomach churning as he desperately tried to suppress the urge to vomit.
Myron gripped the steering wheel with both hands, shaking his head repeatedly.
He questioned John: "John, the Boss told us to protect humanity, but...
Even without those anomalous phenomena, humans are endlessly killing each other. Is humanity even worth saving?
Look at this place; it's simply hell on earth."
."
John's cold face also showed some slight changes.
He was clearly shocked by the scene before him.
However...
"Anomalous phenomena?"
Myron's exclamation just now reminded him.
John felt that everything happening before his eyes was far from normal.
Even if the militia had guns, refugees further away should have been able to run.
But the refugees seemed indifferent, going about their business, and when caught by the militia, they simply waited for execution.
Anomalous phenomena...
John felt more and more that something was wrong.
He carefully observed all the buildings, people, and vehicles outside the car.
Nothing suspicious.
The only thing worth noting was that many poles equipped with four loudspeakers (horns) were erected throughout Dadaab.
They were repeatedly broadcasting:
"Kifo, unaweza kujikwamua ya maumivu, wala kupinga mauaji, unaokoa yao."
Hearing this.
John frowned slightly and said to Myron, "Number Three, do you remember what the official language of Kenya is?"
"Huh? Um..." Myron was taken aback, then tried hard to recall Halsey's teachings.
He said, "I remember it's Swahili; only a few tribal Elders speak English."
"Exactly." John looked around at everyone in the car and said in a low voice:
"Stay alert. Don't forget the Base's intelligence personnel said that the reason that Mahmoud warlord came to Kenya is unknown."
"Yes." (x2)
Myron and Karl both nodded in agreement.
The car had been driving in Dadaab for a while now, and they were gradually adapting to everything happening outside.
Because the militia didn't stop them, the disguises the Spartans had prepared earlier turned out to be useless.
But this could be considered a good thing, as it avoided a lot of trouble.
Entering near the city center, Myron followed John's guidance to the vicinity of the safe house where they were to stand by.
"Clatter— clatter—"
The car stopped in an alley. The three Spartans got out one by one and stepped out of the alley to observe their surroundings.
The dirt roads, brick houses, and vegetation were exactly like the urban style in "Black Hawk Down."
Next, the three of them came to a small two-story brick house and walked up to the second floor via an external staircase.
"Knock-knock-knock-knock." Myron knocked on the door with a rhythmic code.
But after waiting for several seconds, the Agent who was supposed to meet them did not come to open the door.
With their excellent hearing, they could even faintly hear a series of whispers coming from inside the room:
"Kill... kill? Wait, I am... number... no, I am... I should kill..."
-------------------------------
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