Chapter 1298 - 421: You’re Just Like That Silver, Late-Stage Cancer, Got It? (2)

Chapter 1298: Chapter 421: You’re Just Like That Silver, Late-Stage Cancer, Got It? (2)

"What? Our mission..."

The sergeant frowned in confusion.

The lieutenant’s eyes slightly narrowed, revealing a hint of greed.

"We still have half a carriage empty, and these deserters aren’t on the registry... you know what I mean, right?"

The sergeant seemed a bit shaken.

"But..."

"These goods are worth a lot on the Slovakia black market. Once the deal goes through, I’ll split it seven-three."

The lieutenant dispelled the sergeant’s last bit of hesitation.

"Alright."

Just a bunch of Cuban deserters, no one cares if they live or die.

Upon knowing the other side agreed to bring them over and was willing to share some supplies, the deserters couldn’t be happier.

Completely forgetting how many times they cursed those European pale pigs along the way.

Because, after all, you have to eat.

Upon entering, the deserters realized it was a medical supply depot; the tents even had Red Cross markings.

The lieutenant had already moved a lot of cans and liquor out from the supply carriage, but all the cans had been opened ahead of time.

Seeing the artificial salted meat in those cans, the deserters, who usually wouldn’t even see it, let alone eat it, were drooling through their numbed mouths and tongues.

The lieutenant cheerfully pointed at the cans on the table.

"Share them with the brothers, it’s hard fighting on the front lines, we’re all having a tough time."

For these deserters who had been fleeing all day long, it was like a gift from God.

Especially the artificial salted meat; it seemed worthless, something a player wouldn’t eat even if given out for free, but the deserters couldn’t afford it.

What does frontline cannon fodder have besides expired protein blocks?

Even artificial salted meat counts as a delicacy.

One by one, they rushed to grab the cans, using their dirty, unwashed hands to stuff the meat into their mouths, gobbling like starving ghosts reborn.

Only one person didn’t eat.

Wheelchair Sprint

He stood still, looking at the salted meat with disdain, having zero desire to eat it.

Joking.

Can players eat this United Kingdom junk food?

The lieutenant seemed a bit anxious, stepping forward to hand Wheelchair Sprint a can.

"Why aren’t you eating yet? Come on, eat quickly."

Wheelchair Sprint looked at the lieutenant with a knowing gaze.

"Doesn’t this look poisonous to you?"

This artificial salted meat can inherited traits akin to a famously infamous dish from the United Kingdom, the salted meat can, and even looked quite similar.

The dried meat paste blocks had distinct edges, some places even showing mold patches, no normal person would eat this.

"You must be joking."

The lieutenant forced a smile, signaling to the sergeant behind him to prepare for action.

Wheelchair Sprint shook his head, pointing at the wound on his thigh.

"I’m injured, who eats such high-salt stuff? It’s not good for wound recovery."

Wheelchair Sprint hadn’t replaced his prosthetic legs, allowing him to feel his body absent for over a decade.

"Oh!"

The lieutenant suddenly realized.

"Hey! I’ve got the equipment here, let me perform surgery for you."

"That... doesn’t seem right?"

"What’s not right about it? We’re here to treat wounded soldiers."

The lieutenant took hold of Wheelchair Sprint and started walking him to the surgery van.

"Come on, let’s go."

His grip was assertive, and Wheelchair Sprint didn’t want to struggle, as he was here for reconnaissance, and nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

Maybe, as this European officer said, it’s a place for transporting medical supplies.

The lieutenant, once both were inside the surgical van, reached out to close the door, signaling to the sergeant before shutting it.

Turning around, his expression changed as he walked to the surgical table.

"Quick, quick, quick, lie down."

"..."

Wheelchair Sprint thought this guy was a bit too enthusiastic but didn’t dwell on it and lay down.

The lieutenant efficiently prepared the painkiller, drew it into a syringe, flicked away the air in the needle, and intravenously injected without Wheelchair Sprint struggling.

He wasn’t using regular anesthetics but strong opioid painkillers.

Once the medication was injected, the lieutenant let go of his guard entirely, certain no human could resist under this condition.

Picking up the surgical knife, he started making markings on Wheelchair Sprint’s forehead.

"?"

This act made Wheelchair Sprint somewhat puzzled.

"Doctor, isn’t my injury on the leg? Why are you looking at my head?"

Going for foot surgery on a headache patient; what kind of doctor is this?

The lieutenant froze for a moment, shocked this guy could still speak rationally.

Then, he sneered.

Too lazy to respond, he wielded the knife and cut into Wheelchair Sprint’s forehead, drawing a line of blood, then exchanged for a cutting machine, switching it on.

Zzz—

The rapidly spinning small cutting wheel began cranial cutting along the bloodline, skillfully removing the entire skull cap.

He reached out and grabbed it, popping off Wheelchair Sprint’s skull cap to reveal steaming, exposed brain tissue.

"Wait, buddy, what are you doing? My scalp feels a bit cold."

Wheelchair Sprint, somewhat confused, looked at the lieutenant, then saw the skull cap in the other’s hand, momentarily stunned.

"Bro, are you from the United States? Why are you scalping me? Wasn’t my injury on the leg?"

Even he sensed something amiss.

"?"

The lieutenant was startled and took a step back.

"How is it possible..."

The administered drug should make a strong man sleep all day; how could this guy metabolize such an amount so fast?

He’d checked the guy’s prosthetics, no blood filtration system, couldn’t achieve this.

The monster!

Absolutely a monster!

The lieutenant’s hand holding the surgical knife trembled.

"What... what exactly are you?"

"I’m your dad."

Wheelchair Sprint climbed off the surgical table, grabbed his skull cap from the lieutenant, placed it back on his head, then twisted it tight, like screwing a bolt.