—Splash!
The surrounding people stared in shock at the scene before them. Even though they'd seen this young soldier fight before, watching him so easily subdue a man larger and stronger than himself left them stunned.
As everyone's attention remained fixed on Brian and the fallen man, a middle-aged man with slicked-back hair, wearing sunglasses and a cigar in his mouth, his face scarred in multiple places, emerged from the crowd, flanked by four or five armed men.
The moment he appeared, the noisy chatter instantly died down. Those holding weapons and tools looked at him with deep reverence. Anyone standing too close instinctively took a step back, afraid of blocking his path.
Brian looked up at the man stepping from the crowd, his exaggerated appearance making Brian's lip twitch. He released the man on the ground, straightened up, and said with clear disdain:
—Noslen, your look is as ugly as ever.
—Ha ha! My friend, you're as punchable as ever too! —Noslen replied, removing his sunglasses and tucking them into his jacket pocket.
With an exaggerated laugh, he gave Brian a hearty hug, slapping his back hard, like long-lost friends reuniting.
After their greeting, he glanced at the man on the ground, his face red with pain, and said:
—Looks like my guy accidentally picked a fight with you.
Without waiting for Brian's reply, he raised his hand and ordered his men:
—Take him away. I don't want to see him again.
Hearing this, the man—until now groaning like a dying dog—shivered violently. Only now did he realize he'd kicked a hornet's nest. Fear and regret twisted across his face.
He couldn't die. He had a wife and child to support. If he died, how would they survive?
Summoning unknown strength, the man scrambled to his feet, clutching his injured arm, eyes pleading as he looked at Noslen.
—Boss! I was wrong! I didn't know they were with you! Please, forgive me this once!
Then, as if that wasn't enough, he turned to Brian and began banging his head on the ground, begging:
—My eyes failed me, brother! Please, forgive me! I'll never do it again!
But neither man responded. They only gave him a brief, indifferent glance.
Noslen truly didn't care. He had countless recruits ready to join. Losing one or two new members meant nothing. As for Brian, this wasn't his territory—he wouldn't interfere for a stranger.
The men who received the order exchanged a look, stepped forward, grabbed one leg each, and dragged the man across the ground.
—Boss! Forgive me! I'll never do it again! Aaah!
The man clawed at the ground, desperately trying to stop himself, but one man couldn't resist two. With one arm injured, he was dragged helplessly out of the crowd. His pitiful screams echoed even from a distance, sending chills through everyone present.
Once the cries faded, Brian glanced at the crowd and joked:
—Not bad. Your smuggling camp's getting bigger. I'd say there's no one inside the quarantine zone with a setup like yours.
—Ha ha! You flatter me! You flatter me!
Noslen let out a boisterous laugh, slung an arm around Brian's shoulder, and said:
—If you hadn't saved me back then, where would I be today?
Then he turned to the back of the military truck.
—Come on, show me what you've brought me this time.
—Yeah.
Brian checked his watch, then led Noslen over. There were many boxes sealed with red tape. He pulled out his knife, sliced open one box, and pointed inside.
—This time I've brought you something good. Take a look.
Noslen stepped forward, peered inside, and his eyes lit up at the sight of fresh fruits and vegetables. He rubbed his hands together.
—Now this is a treasure! The veggies inside the quarantine zone are only for those damn officials, and even then, rationed. We never get to eat this kind of food. These alone could get me a fortune in supply cards.
As he imagined the wealth of information and resources he could trade for these supplies, a greedy, merchant-like glint appeared in his eyes. Even as one of the largest smuggling bosses in the quarantine zone, the number of times he'd actually eaten fresh vegetables could be counted on one hand.
Seeing that Noslen had seen enough, Brian closed the box and resealed it with tape.
—All the boxes with red tape are yours. Have your men transport them into the quarantine zone. You'll open them later. Twenty percent is yours. The rest will be collected by someone else. He'll tell you whether to keep it or exchange it for supply cards.
—Got it. Same as always.
Noslen gave a reassuring smile, then turned and shouted to the crowd:
—You heard him! Ten men, come carry this stuff!
Immediately, a dozen burly men stepped forward. Under Wade's direct supervision, they began moving the boxes one by one. They stopped only when half the supplies from the truck had been loaded.
As the transfer neared completion, Noslen seemed to remember something. He pulled Brian aside to a secluded spot, leaned in close, and whispered, just loud enough for Brian to hear:
—I recently got a hot tip—the Resistance might be planning a big move soon. You'd better watch your back.
—What? —Brian's expression shifted slightly, but he quickly calmed.
—Where'd you get this? Is it reliable?
—Come on, don't you know my sources?
Noslen glanced around, then continued:
—I heard it from a Resistance member who entered the quarantine zone. He let it slip. My guys overheard and passed it to me. Now, whether it's accurate… I can't guarantee that.
—I see…
Brian wasn't fully satisfied with the answer, but since Noslen had shared it, he appreciated the gesture.
Thinking it over, he mentally noted: I'll need to organize my hidden supplies in the quarantine zone. I need to prepare.
With that matter settled, Noslen dropped the secrecy. Smiling, he brought up another topic.
—Alright, that's that. Now, another thing—few days ago, someone sold me a tip. Said he used to be an arms smuggler, and that there's a hidden weapons cache in Tucker. Interested?
Brian, already worried about affairs in the quarantine zone, wasn't particularly interested. But he couldn't outright refuse.
—I just got back from outside. Let me think for a few days. I'll give you an answer.
Noslen caught the evasive tone but didn't mind. He just patted Brian's shoulder.
—No rush. My people will leave in fifteen days. If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.
Once he saw the cargo was fully loaded, he didn't linger. Surrounded by his men, he turned and walked into a tall building, disappearing from sight.
His subordinates, seeing their boss leave, also dispersed. Where there had been people moments ago, now there was no one.
Seeing Noslen go, Brian had no intention of staying. He opened the driver's door, got in, turned the truck around, and drove off in the direction they'd come from.
The truck hadn't gone far when, ahead on the main road, they saw three vehicles parked quietly by the side.
Yes, three. Besides the two cargo trucks, one of them was towing a beat-up small car filled with supplies.
When the military truck and the old car pulled up side by side, Kim and Wade silently got out and began moving the boxes from the small car onto the truck. Just enough to fill the cargo space.
The quarantine zone civilians remained locked inside the cargo trucks, completely unaware of what was happening outside. They had no idea why the vehicles had stopped.
This haul was the richest they'd ever collected on a mission. Though they still had time to gather more, it wouldn't have mattered.
Most of the supplies would end up in the hands of corrupt officials. What little trickled down to them was negligible. As long as they secured enough for themselves, the rest didn't matter. As long as the official quota was met, anything beyond that was irrelevant.
Kim casually cut the rope connecting the cargo truck to the old car. Then, with Wade, he returned to the military truck.
Once everything was done, Brian didn't delay. He signaled the convoy, took the lead, and sped toward the quarantine zone's main gate.