At Your Level, You're Barely Fit to See Me

On a dim street in Berlin, gunfire erupted without warning. Keeping his body low, Liu Ren slowly pushed his car door open. Regardless of why both sides were trying to capture that man, he felt he had to take this gamble. After all, no gambler lost every hand, and no child cried forever. If he won this wager, he would win honor for his homeland; if he lost, there was only one recourse—every witness on the scene who had laid eyes on him would have to die! Seizing precursor technology for nuclear weapons would inevitably draw hostility from every quarter, even though he was now the president of Silver Rock Arms. That meant there could be no witnesses from the very start! "A Hu, drive back to the hotel first and have someone pose as me returning to our room!" Speaking to Han Hu, the madness buried deep in Liu Ren's blood fully awakened. At his core, he had always been a gambler. Back in the orphanage, he had wagered every single day on whether he would survive. He had won the bet against his own body, but he had never managed to beat "fate"! "Understood, Senior Brother!" Han Hu nodded earnestly, even though he had no idea what Liu Ren intended to do. Stepping out of the car, Liu Ren darted swiftly into an alley, retrieved a clown mask from his Storage Space, and strapped it over his face. At the scene of the fierce firefight, the KGB pressed forward with frantic ferocity, bringing out submachine guns and grenades. Facing such savage onslaughts, both MI6 and the intelligence service sustained heavy casualties. Neither had expected the other side to place such immense importance on a single fleeing man. "That guy must be carrying critical intelligence. Damn it, hold them off! I'll go grab him!" Shouting to the agents up front, the squad leader reacted immediately. While the two sides clashed violently, the fleeing man had already been cut off. The man leading the interception happened to be Harold "Kim" Philby of MI6's Secret Intelligence Service. Having apparently caught wind of the man's planned escape well in advance, Harold led his team straight in to secure him. Yet as the sound of gunfire drew closer, Harold wasted no time reaching into the man's coat and pulling out a thick file packet. *Bang!* A gunshot rang out. The agent standing right beside Harold collapsed into a pool of blood, his face frozen in bewilderment. Staring in shock, Harold was momentarily stunned. This sure as hell wasn't in the script he and the KGB had drawn up. He had intercepted the man to stop him from slipping away; once the KGB arrived, he was supposed to stage a brief skirmish and then quietly let them have the man. But what the hell was happening now? Did the KGB want to put on a full-blown assault for show? As his mind raced, Harold grabbed the man and dove behind a parked sedan. *Swoosh, swoosh!* High-pitched whistles cut through the air, followed instantly by the detonation of grenades, hurling nearby agents who hadn't managed to duck into the air. Watching the grenades explode, Harold finally realized that their attacker might not be the KGB at all, but someone else entirely! Cradling a Thompson submachine gun in one arm, Liu Ren pressed forward, his finger holding down the trigger as he sprayed the street. *Rat-tat-tat-tat!* A storm of lead tore through the street. Liu Ren's eyes burned with murderous intent. As the agents attempting to return fire dropped to the pavement, Harold cursed furiously, "Fuck! Whose people are these?" If it wasn't the KGB, it had to be operatives from another country. After all, MI6 and the Federal Bureau of Investigation were operating in cooperation right now—they certainly wouldn't attack their own. The brief flurry of gunfire subsided, plunging the street into dead silence. Yet Harold knew all too well that this was merely the calm before the storm. Gripping his sidearm, he held his breath and peered into a shattered side mirror, trying to pinpoint the enemy's position. The moment he caught sight of a silhouette flashing past, terror seized him. "Look out!" Snapping his pistol upward, Harold squeezed the trigger. *Bang! Bang! Bang!* Rapid gunshots cracked through the air, and a bullet tore straight through Liu Ren's arm. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Liu Ren raised his Thompson to blast him away, but Harold clamped one hand onto the gun's foregrip, knocking its muzzle off target. *Rat-tat-tat-tat!* Bullets sprayed wildly into the air, both men's eyes blazing crimson. Just as Harold tried to bring his own weapon up, Liu Ren dropped his submachine gun without hesitation and slammed an elbow viciously into Harold's throat. *Cough!* Dizzied and reeling, Harold slammed backward against the car. Grabbing a handful of Harold's blond hair, Liu Ren drove his right fist forward, then curled two knuckles to strike straight into his Adam's apple. *Crack!* With the cartilage crushed, Harold's eyes bulged wide, as though feeling the chill of death descending upon him. Clamping both hands around Harold's head, Liu Ren showed no mercy despite the crushed windpipe and gave his neck a violent twist. *Snap!* Collapsing like a sack of mud, Harold was drained of life, his pupils beginning to dilate. Cold and detached, Liu Ren turned to the trembling courier beside him, clamped a hand around his throat, and snapped his neck in an instant. Scooping up the file packet dropped on the ground, Liu Ren hurled several grenades behind him and vanished swiftly into the night. And so, Harold—the man destined to become one of the famed Cambridge Five—fell forever into the Berlin dark. By all rights, Liu Ren and Harold were nominally on the same side, but unfortunately, Harold's loyalty lay with the Russian bear. Even if Liu Ren had approached him for the documents, Harold would never have handed them over, and doing so might even have blown his cover. Liu Ren had no choice but to kill him. After all, the Soviets might be Big Brother for now, but only a half-dead Big Brother was a good Big Brother! Back at the hotel, Han Hu waited anxiously until he finally heard movement at the door. The moment he opened it, he saw Liu Ren stride straight inside, peel off his coat, and begin tending to his wound. Seeing his arm pierced completely through and Liu Ren uttering not a sound, Han Hu blurted out, "Senior Brother, what happened to you?" "Don't ask, and don't pry. Everything proceeds as normal from here on out!" Gritting his teeth, Liu Ren packed hemostatic gauze into the through-and-through bullet wound to halt the bleeding on both sides. Watching cold sweat bead across Liu Ren's forehead, Han Hu said anxiously, "Senior Brother, shouldn't we call a doctor to look at it? You're—" "No doctors!" Turning to Han Hu, Liu Ren's expression hardened into stone. He clamped the end of the bandage between his teeth and wound it tightly around his arm. Just as he finished patching himself up, a knock came at the door. Putting on a relaxed demeanor, Liu Ren walked out to the sitting room, sank into an armchair, crossed his legs, and pinched a cigar between his fingers. "Good evening, Mr. Liu. The gunfire tonight seems to have caused quite a disturbance, and we'd like to ask..." Before the agent from the Federal Intelligence Service could finish, Liu Ren tilted his head back and regarded him with chilling detachment. "At your level, you're barely fit to see me. If you really want to question me about something, have your director come in person!" Hearing such arrogance, the agent's face twisted into an ugly grimace. They were agents of the Federal Intelligence Service—when had anyone ever humiliated them like this? Before he could voice his anger, Han Hu stepped forward, his hand resting cold and heavy on the holster at his waist. "What are you still standing there for? Get lost. Or are you waiting for me to treat you to a bullet?" Glancing casually at the agent, Liu Ren puffed on his cigar, his face dripping with disdain. "Yes, sir!" Faced with Liu Ren's words, the agent had no choice but to lead his men out in defeat. They had only come to ask a few routine questions because Liu Ren's car had been spotted near the area. Who could have imagined the man would be so utterly overbearing? It was infuriating! When the squad leader learned that his men had hit a brick wall with Liu Ren, his brow furrowed deeply. "Don't go back to question him again. That Liu from the Silver Rock Group is dangerous!" "Does he not even show our agency any face?" the young agent asked indignantly. "Our face? You think that's *your* face? What face do you have to speak of! In New York, anyone who dared speak to him like that would have ended up at the bottom of the Hudson River long ago!" The squad leader glared at the young agent with utter contempt. Having risen to his position, how could he not know just how dark and ruthless Silver Rock Arms truly was? But even knowing that, what could they do? It was exactly as Liu Ren had said—at their rank, they were barely even fit to lay eyes on him!