Enforcer Manual
Chapter 716 - 714: Runaway_1

Chapter 716: Chapter 714: Runaway_1

When Hog Foster uttered that signature phrase, Jock was stunned for quite a while; he felt he was on the verge of a mental breakdown due to the recent series of events.

The "expert" they had summoned was a troublemaking machine, and it had unfortunately crossed Hog, who was known for his strong vengeful nature. If the deceased really was a member of the Foster Family, things were about to get complicated, because when Hog said, "The Foster Family always avenges its wrongs," he wasn’t speaking for himself, but for the entire family.

If he, as the person in power, ignored the death of a family member, the Foster Family would find a way to oust him from his position.

"Give me three days, and I will give you a satisfactory response,"

Jock said.

"One day."

"Then one day."

...

After hanging up the phone, Jock slumped in his chair, feeling as if this matter would never come to an end. Though he had managed to stall Hog with the promise of a day, he had no idea how to communicate with the "expert."

The individual didn’t even respect "gods," let alone Hog.

He could already imagine the attitude with which "Dominate" would answer the call, as contacting it about this matter was undoubtedly an act of self-humiliation.

This was precisely why they had always been committed to fitting the Six Stars rescuers with "collars." Once an individual’s power became too formidable to ignore, they would fall into a state of doing whatever they pleased, breaking existing laws and systems.

Therefore, the United Government had custom-made different types of "collars" for each Six Stars rescuer, based on their personality — be it fame, power, back-end programs for prosthetic implantations, or a sense of honor tied to family or company.

But "Dominate" was different; there was no "collar" that suited it.

Since its arrival in The First Region, it had been like a wild horse without reins, bringing death wherever its power reached, and after causing such a commotion, it showed no sign of restraint whatsoever.

After much deliberation, resolving the problem through "Dominate" seemed virtually impossible, and he clearly couldn’t simply persuade Hog to step back and pretend as if nothing had happened...

Many thoughts flooded his mind for a moment.

This was a destined stalemate.

But once Jock had thought it all through, he suddenly saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

He considered Hog’s various actions after arriving in The First Region; he seemed to have gone completely mad. Even if they made him a part of the High-level Parliament, his current mental state might soon bring chaos to their ranks. It might be better to rid themselves of this trouble now rather than later.

It was the Foster Family that was irreplaceable, not Hog Foster.

Moreover, as far as Jock knew, an increasing number within the Foster Family had grown dissatisfied with Hog. One day was not enough time to persuade anyone, but it was enough to arrange for Hog’s succession in case of an unforeseen event — the allure of a High-level Parliament member’s status was too tempting to those craving power.

The United Government would continue functioning without any individual, just like Hog Foster had arrived after hearing of the Secretary-General’s death. If Hog died, there would certainly be someone to fill the vacancy, and by then, they might have a better grip on controlling the Foster Family.

With that in mind, Jock made a phone call.

"Hello? You again?"

"Dominate" sounded extremely impatient, but out of respect for Father God, it had agreed to help these people solve the problems they encountered in The First Region.

"Hog has begun investigating the previous case; the director who was shot in the head was from the Foster Family."

"I’ve heard of him."

The tone in "Dominate"’s voice shifted slightly, "The infamous Hog Foster."

Last time it had heard this name, Hog was an ambitious politician and also one of the individuals it most wanted to kill. However, the pesky Six Stars rescuers had been hounding it, preventing it from reaching the Sixth District and walking into Libra’s building personally.

It asked mockingly, "So, what now, you want me to personally apologize to him?"

"If you’re willing."

"I’d rather twist his head off."

"That would work, too, but since he is a man of strong vengeance, you’d better make sure he dies on the spot."

...

"Dominate" fell into a brief silence.

The direction of the phone call was not quite as it had expected; it had thought Jock would keep to the principle of minimizing the issue, hoping it would reconcile with Hog, but instead found support in its offhand suggestion.

"Isn’t he your friend?"

"Yes, but given his current mental state, he’s no longer fit for the work of the High-level Parliament."

"Heh, is that how you treat a friend?"

"I have only one request: kill him quietly. I will make it look like it was the doing of the Innovator Faction."

"As you wish."

It took "Dominate" less than a minute to transition from impatience to pleasure, as it gladly accepted Jock’s suggestion. One of Father God’s rules was to not attack members of the High-level Parliament unless requested by the Parliament itself.

This immediately made it lose interest in other matters, "I’ll settle my current task at once."

Hog Foster immediately took precedence over Melissa in its mind.

But it had always been one to see things through to the end; even old toys had to have a proper conclusion.

......

"Ding-ding-ding, ding-ding-ding."

The familiar ringtone of her cellphone interrupted Melissa’s thoughts.

She knew hallucinations were appearing again, but that seemed to be the only way to help her escape her current predicament.

When she awoke, she found herself locked in an isolation room – a place where Military Intelligence Section Seven kept the most vicious criminals under watch, and without her prosthetic implantation functioning, she had no way to leave.

Melissa would rather be taken over by the Counter-Intelligence Department, where she could have taken down one or two interrogators before being killed.

Devoid of her prosthetic, her hands cuffed, but she still had her mouth and teeth.

She knew exactly how to bite a person to death, even if they had prosthetic implants.

When the ringing reached the tenth tone, Melissa picked up the phone that should not have existed and answered the call.

"I told you they were going to hurt you," said the voice on the other end of the line, "You made the wrong first move. You should have had those clinic quacks crack the prosthetic’s vulnerability, not kill them."

"Unlock these handcuffs for me," Melissa requested, not wanting to waste time on senseless arguments. From the moment she awoke, she had made up her mind – whether it was the Counter-Intelligence Department or Military Intelligence Section Seven in her way, she intended to take a few with her to the grave, just like Ulan did before dying.

After leaving Military Intelligence Section Seven, she would head straight for the Counter-Intelligence Department building.

"Can be done," said the voice, "I can not only unlock your handcuffs but also restore your prosthetic."

"Really?"

"There is no need for doubt, just do what you do best."

...

The call was cut.

Melissa harbored doubts because, in theory, everything she’d heard was a hallucination conjured by her mind; in fact, as soon as Military Intelligence Section Seven brought her in, they’d stripped her of all communication devices – there shouldn’t be a cellphone next to her.

Yet the handcuffs securing her were indeed unlocked.

She moved her sore wrists in astonishment, then tentatively swung her arms, and the familiar heat cutting blade appeared in her line of sight.

Was that call a hallucination or reality?

Melissa searched the compartment but the cellphone had vanished yet again.

Then, the shrill, piercing alarm sounded throughout the facility, as if composing a prelude to this grand finale ceremony.

Military Intelligence Section Seven’s agents quickly discovered that she had slipped out of her handcuffs and regained access to her prosthetic.

And then, the sealed door was also opened.

Before her lay a path to freedom and revenge.

Melissa no longer wanted to ponder whether all this was fantasy or reality, because she heard the call of instinct urging her to leave this cage and step into the outside world.

No wild beast wishes to be locked in a cage.

All this almost took her back to the battlefield, where they too had infiltrated a facility of the Rebel Army, sweeping away all enemies amidst the shrill alarms.

She weaved through the labyrinthine corridors; after some time, she finally heard footsteps drawing near.

Although she made no sound, it seemed the other party had discovered her by some means and was heading toward her.

The footsteps were solitary – one person, alone, without any backup.

This indicated the newcomer was confident in their skills, unlike those good-for-nothings at the Counter-Intelligence Department.

With this in mind, Melissa didn’t recklessly engage in a face-to-face confrontation; instead, she hid behind cover, patiently waiting like a hunter for her prey to approach.

Nearer.

Even closer.

The sound of footsteps passing through the security door of the corridor, followed by the door closing, allowed her to pinpoint the opponent’s position instantly.

And all her patience was for this moment to arise.

From her current distance, less than a second was needed for her heat cutting blade to behead the opponent.

It no longer mattered whether the opponent was a Psychic, someone with a prosthetic implantation, or a body modification user.

Bloodlust filled Melissa’s eyes, and as she moved from behind cover, she finally saw the identity of the newcomer, and in that split second, their gazes collided.

The heat cutting blade aimed at the opponent’s neck did not unsheathe; the action of chopping off the enemy’s head suddenly turned into an elegant dance step, and Melissa, using her momentum, spun in front of the other party, ultimately finishing with the bow of a Dancer.

The arm that was supposed to decapitate shifted downwards significantly, transforming into a handshake.

"Lucky, Mr. Lucky, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Melissa, 26 years old."

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