"Bang!"
The enamel mug in White Bear's hand finally dropped to the ground, spilling the cheap liquor all over.
His rugged face was full of bewilderment and incomprehension, as if he had heard the most absurd command in the world.
"Leave? Boss! You're telling us to leave?"
White Bear's voice sounded as though he had been greatly offended, his massive frame trembling slightly from agitation.
"Take the money and go to fuckin' beaches to sunbathe? Staring at those white creamy thighs? And then what? Wait to be dragged out of bed one day and slaughtered like pigs? Or wait for those old enemies to sniff their way to our door? Boss! What are we? We're wolves! We're hyenas! Without this cesspool, without guns and blood, we're fucking nothing! Our bones would rot on those soft beaches!"
He suddenly pointed at the dark night sky outside the warehouse, "My home is here! Next to these iron turtles! In the direction where the cannon is pointing!"
"White Bear is right!"
Hunter's voice was like a blade tempered with ice yet carried an undeniable resolve.
He sheathed the polished bright dagger back into the scabbard at his leg with a quick and decisive motion.
"Money? It's a good thing. But it can't buy life. It can't buy peace of mind. People like us, once we leave the team, leave our brothers, we're not far from death. The knife in our hand dulls, reactions slow down, we become someone else's prey. The bonus, I can take. Leave? Only if I'm dead and carried out."
The Queen didn't look at Song Heping, just lowered her head, leisurely wiping the barrel of her modified SVD with a piece of cloth stained with gun oil.
Under the light, the cold metal glowed with a bluish sheen.
Her voice was not loud, yet it reached everyone's ears clearly: "I'm used to the feeling of pulling the trigger. Used to the smell of gunpowder. Used to... watching the target fall through the scope. Sunshine and beaches?"
A faint, almost cruel smile appeared on her lips, "Too bright, blinding. Plus, it easily tans the skin. My battlefield is here."
Klein bent down to pick up the mug White Bear dropped, wiped it carelessly on his dirty pants, and poured it full from another bottle.
The playful arrogance on his face disappeared, replaced by a solemnity that was nearly reverent: "Boss, when I started following you, I had nothing but a few pennies left in my pocket. If it weren't for you taking me in, I'd have gone back home long ago, probably living a boring life as a nine-to-five office worker."
"You led me out of Illiguo's mud pit, fought all the way here. Money? It's good stuff. But following you, there's a battle to fight, revenge to take, living like a man! That's what the fuck living is about! You want me to become a rich gentleman? Counting money and playing with women every day? How is that different from being castrated?"
He raised his mug, staring fervently at Song Heping, "I'm Collins, alive as a 'Musician's man, dead as a 'Musician's ghost! I'm not going anywhere!"
"I can't survive without servers and the battlefield network."
Collins said concisely.
"I'm not going anywhere, nowhere else is worth it."
Jiang Feng didn't speak, just nodded silently, meeting Song Heping's gaze with calm and firm eyes.
The meaning couldn't be clearer.
That look seemed to say—You're not going back to the motherland, how can I go back?
Ferrari didn't make an excited vow like the others.
He keenly sensed the deeper implications behind Song Heping's suggestion of "retirement". Those sharp eyes were fixed on Song Heping, as if trying to see through him.
The clamor in the warehouse gradually died down, leaving only the heavy breathing and the distant hum of the diesel generator.
Henry's voice broke the silence, carrying a barely perceptible tension: "Song, there's something off about you today."
All eyes instantly focused on Ferrari, then quickly shifted to Song Heping.
Ferrari stepped forward, eyes locked on Song Heping's: "You haven't known us reckless bunch for just one day. Better than anyone, you know people like us are more miserable leaving the guns and battlefield than dying. You also know, the company now has money, guns, and territory; it's time to make a big impact. Yet you suddenly want us to take the money and leave?"
He slowly shook his head, voice growing heavier, "It doesn't make sense. There's only one explanation..."
He took a deep breath, speaking each word clearly: "You're about to do something big, and it's too big. Too dangerous. Dangerous enough that you think... it might drag us all into hell, never to return. You want us, these old brothers, to at least have a way out."
Dead silence filled the hangar.
Under the harsh white light of the searchlights, the air seemed to solidify into a heavy mass of lead, pressing on everyone's chest.
White Bear's breathing turned heavy, the Queen's action of cleaning her pistol paused, Klein's roguish grin completely vanished, and Hunter's hand paused mid-air with the cup.
Everyone's gaze was nailed to Song Heping's face, waiting for his answer.
Song Heping was silent.
He picked up the bottle of Vodka, pouring himself another half mug.
The strong smell of alcohol permeated the air.
He didn't drink immediately, just watched the slightly swaying liquid in the mug, gently swirling the cup.
Time ticked away second by second, the tension in the hangar building ever greater.
Finally, he tilted his head back and drained the spicy liquid from the jug in one gulp.
The burning sensation spread from his throat down to his stomach.
He heavily slammed the empty jug down on the ammunition box, creating a dull "thud" like the beating of a war drum.
"That's right."
Song Heping's voice sounded again, not loud, but like an undercurrent beneath the ice, containing a violent force that could tear everything apart.
He raised his head, the last trace of gentleness faded from his eyes, leaving only a bone-chilling coldness and an almost tangible, destructive killing intent.
"Lumar is dead, but this isn't over. Who let this Mad Dog Lumar out of his cage? Who fed him so he dared to bare his teeth at us?"
His gaze swept across everyone, each word striking like an ice pick on steel.