Chapter 146 The Twisted Assassination
Paul Three's voice, laced with amusement, echoed through the live stream. "Sorry, this road is closed!"
The chat exploded with glee.
[He did it! Paul Three outsmarted him!]
[He's playing with the assassin like a cat with a mouse!]
[This is too good!]
On-screen, Nine of Spades faltered for a moment, then quickly regained his composure. He scanned the area, and a new subtitle appeared above his head.
[It seems there's a slight issue with this particular manhole cover.]
"No matter," he muttered, a glint in his eye. "I recall at least six more access points in this vicinity."
With that, Nine of Spades melted into the shadows, sprinting from one manhole cover to the next. Each attempt to pry them open was met with the same frustrating resistance.
[What kind of shoddy engineering is this?] The subtitle above his head mirrored his growing frustration.
He reached the third manhole cover.
"FUCK!" he shouted.
The fourth.
"FUCK!"
The fifth. With a grunt, Nine of Spades threw his entire weight against the heavy metal disc. It refused to budge.
"FUCK!"
By the time he reached the sixth manhole cover, a full kilometer from the cemetery, Nine of Spades was panting heavily. He glanced at his watch. 16 minutes and 56 seconds. He was already over his self-imposed time limit, and he hadn't even made it inside yet.
The live stream audience roared with laughter.
Nine of Spades's face contorted in frustration. He clasped his hands together, as if in prayer.
'Please, God, let this one open!' he thought.
The viewers were in stitches.
[Did Paul Three superglue these shut or something?]
[This is pure comedy gold!]
[I've never seen an assassin so utterly defeated before he even started!]
They felt excited and typed.
Finally, with a resounding clang, the manhole cover yielded. Nine of Spades stared into the dark abyss, relief washing over him. He reset his watch to its initial countdown of 13 minutes and 28 seconds.
[He can't be serious! He reset the timer?] The audience erupted in a mixture of disbelief and amusement. They berated Nine of Spades for his audacity, their comments a steady stream of mock outrage.
Nine of Spades remained blissfully unaware of the digital, peanut-munching, audience observing his every move. He descended into the sewer, his eyes scanning his surroundings. Unbeknownst to him, the area was still under constant surveillance.
'I have this sewer system memorized, Paul Three. Your time is coming,' he thought.
The viewers held their breath.
'Surely, he wouldn't just waltz in there without expecting something, right?' they thought with a laugh.
Elbert's calm voice cut through the tension. "Release the water."
A faint tremor ran through the sewer line. Deep within its bowels, something akin to a subterranean dragon stirred.
Nine of Spades paused, a flicker of unease crossing his features. 'What was that?'
A moment later, the unmistakable scent of damp earth and stagnant water reached his nostrils.
Then, it hit him. A torrent of water surged through the tunnel, engulfing everything in its path.
[FUCK!]
[Did Paul Three just flush the toilet on him?]
[I almost feel sorry for the guy.]
[Almost. Here, have a gift, Paul Three, you magnificent bastard!]
A barrage of virtual gifts flooded the live stream. What began as a trickle quickly turned into a digital tsunami as viewers, spurred by the sheer entertainment value of the situation, emptied their virtual wallets.
The live stream viewership soared past 200 million. News outlets scrambled to cover the unfolding events, their breathless reporting further fueling the frenzy. Netizens, awakened by frantic phone calls from friends, tuned in, eager to witness the spectacle firsthand.
Back at Creator Company, employees watched in stunned silence. Coffee cups hovered forgotten near lips as they witnessed the sheer brilliance of their CEO's plan.
Ten minutes later, a thoroughly drenched and disoriented Nine of Spades emerged from the deluge, coughing and sputtering. He spat out a mouthful of sewer water, his face a mask of disbelief and defeat.
The chat, meanwhile, was a symphony of laughter and snarky comments.
[This is too much! I can't breathe!]
[Poor assassin never stood a chance.]
Finally regaining his composure, Nine of Spades cursed, "That's it! Veridiania's sewer system is officially insane!"
He cautiously continued his journey, sticking close to the tunnel walls, wary of another unexpected deluge.
"No matter. I have the entire layout memorized. Paul Three, you will pay for this humiliation!" Nine of Spades roared.
Twenty agonizing minutes and two more resets of his countdown timer later, Nine of Spades, his pride thoroughly shattered, finally located the correct path. His face was a mask of grim determination. Never in his career had he experienced such utter humiliation. Thankfully, nobody would ever know.
"Paul Three," he growled, his voice dripping with venom, "I'm going to enjoy tearing you limb from limb."
A shiver ran down the spines of the viewers. The assassin's fury was palpable, even through the screen.
[Okay, I'm not going to lie, this guy is starting to freak me out a little.]
[Be careful, Paul Three! Don't let him win!]
Elbert's calm voice reassured them. "Don't worry, everyone. This is a secure facility. We have guard dogs."
On-screen, Nine of Spades froze, his acute senses picking up a faint sound.
"Woof! Woof!"
The sounds of a dog came through.
[Guard dogs it is, then.]
[Wait, why do those barks sound kind of…cute?]
The viewers were baffled.
Nine of Spades, however, wasn't taking any chances. He drew his handgun, his expression deadly serious.
Guard dogs were standard procedure for the wealthy. Eliminate and proceed.
He pulled out a small, black flashlight and cautiously aimed its beam into the darkness.
At the base of the wall, a small, mechanical dog, no bigger than a shoe, stared back at him with glowing, bulbous eyes. It continued to bark fiercely, its tiny tail wagging furiously.
[Aw, look at the little guy! He thinks he's tough!]
[That's the cutest guard dog I've ever seen! I want one!]
[Where can I buy one of those adorable murder machines?]
The viewers were instantly smitten with the miniature guard dog, their attention diverted from the assassin.
Nine of Spades, however, was not amused. He glared at the mechanical canine, his face a mask of disgust.
"A toy? Is this some kind of sick joke?" he growled.
"Get out of my way, you stupid mutt!" he snarled, kicking the mechanical dog across the room. It landed on its back, its tiny legs flailing helplessly in the air.
[Hey! No animal abuse!]
[You brute! How could you hurt something so adorable?]
The viewers were outraged.
As Nine of Spades took a step forward, a crisp, mechanical voice pierced the silence.
"Intruder alert! Intruder alert!"
Nine of Spades froze, a wave of primal fear washing over him. Danger!
Two enormous red lights, the size of soccer balls, flickered to life on the opposite side of the basement, bathing the room in an eerie glow.
'What the hell was that?' Nine of Spades instinctively shielded his eyes.
A low, guttural growl echoed through the chamber, followed by the distinct whirring of machinery. A giant, metallic paw emerged from the shadows, its claws gleaming under the red light.
Then, with a deafening roar, a colossal figure leaped from the darkness, landing directly in front of Nine of Spades.
Nine of Spades stared in terror at the creature before him. Towering over him was a mechanical dog, easily over three meters tall. Its eyes glowed an ominous red, its jaws were lined with rows of razor-sharp metal teeth, and its entire body gleamed under the harsh lights.
He was outmatched.
Panicked, Nine of Spades emptied his gun into the mechanical behemoth. Sparks flew as the bullets ricocheted harmlessly off its metallic hide. The mechanical dog didn't even flinch.
With a speed that belied its size, the mechanical dog lashed out with a paw, catching Nine of Spades squarely in the chest. He flew backwards like a ragdoll, crashing into the wall with a sickening thud.
The giant dog stood over him, its growl a menacing rumble. The small mechanical dog, finally righting itself, trotted over to its larger companion, barking fiercely.
Paul Three's voice, calm and composed, filled the live stream. "Ladies and gentlemen, meet my guard dog, Coco 2.0."
The viewers stared at the screen, speechless.
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