Chapter 362
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Chapter 362: The Spectacle of Slaughter
Suddenly, a sentence flashed into Old Mike’s mind.
“Get rid of all the assassins here.”
The next moment, he found himself able to move.
Yes, Bai Yan had given him the power of “self-discipline.” Indeed, Bai Yan was too lazy to handle the task himself.
“…”
Old Mike furrowed his brow, still uncertain of the identity of the mysterious force controlling him. What did they want?
But one thing was clear:
It was absolutely impossible to resist the commands of this enigmatic presence until he understood who they were and what power they possessed.
Being able to control his very existence, unnoticed, within the entire Ring City—and more so, the Night Union—was an ability possessed by only a rare few.
With that in mind, he decided to focus on completing the “task” assigned to him for now.
Old Mike chose not to resist, instead deciding to follow the mysterious presence’s commands. After all, those assassins had been sent to kill him. He couldn’t help but chuckle.
The task of killing…
He chuckled again.
For decades, he had carried out hundreds of assassination missions, staining his hands with the blood of thousands.
He had once dreamed of a smooth retirement—of walking away and enjoying peaceful, comfortable years. It seemed like a luxury to hope for.
Yet, here he was. He still couldn’t escape the life he had chosen.
Old Mike calmly entered the dimly lit entertainment hall. He took a wire from his collar and connected it to the “Green Plant” nursing home’s internal LAN through the Dream-Catcher device.
Seconds later, he gained control of the network.
Using the cameras, Old Mike pinpointed the locations of all the targets in the hall. He also created fake scenes in the live footage to cover his tracks.
“…”
After ensuring everything was in place, Old Mike unplugged the wire and disappeared into the darkness.
Before long, assassins began vanishing, one by one, in the shadows.
None were the wiser.
The elderly patrons continued to indulge in their dreams, lost in the fantasy world before them.
In this world, some became unrivaled heroes, others lawless monsters. Some even played with forbidden imagination, controlling figures like Heart of Radiance, Fate’s Strings Master, and Crimson Sovereign.
Almost without exception, each elderly person in their dreams chose a youthful body.
Reality felt so powerless and terrifying, while the dream world was perfect.
Old Mike, disguised as a staff member, used visual gaps and diversionary tactics to deal with each hidden assassin, unnoticed.
No one suspected a thing.
When only one assassin remained in the hall, Old Mike’s right hand morphed into a small, silent gun.
He aimed carefully.
“Biu.”
The last assassin fell without a sound.
All the elderly in the entertainment hall remained lost in their blissful world, smiling ecstatically as though nothing had happened.
Old Mike quickly tidied up and left the hall, making his way into the corridor.
He never used the Super Dream Entertainment.
In the next moment, his eyes were filled with camera footage, while other assassins saw false images on their monitors.
“One, two, three…”
Inside the “Greenery,” twenty-seven assassins had snuck in.
He had already dealt with eight of them, leaving nineteen still alive.
“After finishing this group of trash, there’s a high chance I won’t receive any reward. Damn, I’m really unlucky!”
Old Mike’s face turned serious. He realized someone was already lying in wait in his room.
Instead of returning directly, he went next door and unlocked the adjacent room.
The elderly neighbor was absentmindedly playing with a ball, with no one else around.
Old Mike skillfully retrieved a hidden stash of supplies from the neighbor’s bathroom. He began applying makeup and, in no time, transformed into a younger version of himself.
With his new appearance, Old Mike approached his room with calm composure.
“Open the door.”
Upon voice recognition, the door opened. He tossed a smoke bomb inside without a hint of expression, then stepped aside.
The smoke bomb quickly filled the room, causing chaos.
“Cough, cough, cough!”
“Oh no! He’s right outside!”
“Be careful!”
Standing at the door, Old Mike fired five silenced shots—one for each person trying to escape—and killed them all.
Just as he turned to leave, something unexpected happened.
A man who had been shot in the head suddenly stood up again.
The frail body began to expand, growing rapidly until it transformed into a werewolf standing over two meters tall.
It opened its massive mouth, ready to howl.
“Boom!”
But before it could, the werewolf was hit by a powerful plasma cannon, blowing most of its body to pieces. All that remained was a puddle of blood and half a body.
“I hope no one heard that.”
Grumbling to himself, Old Mike noticed his right arm had morphed into a plasma cannon.
Just another extraordinary being.
In his decades of assassination, half of his targets had been extraordinary beings, including several Crown-level ones. He had long grown accustomed to battling such powers.
Inside his room, Old Mike gathered his belongings and quickly prepared to finish his remaining targets and make his escape.
Then, he set off to deal with the rest of the trouble.
“Another name change is in order… and the current account might not be safe…”
Luckily, he had ten active accounts, all with plenty of credits.
For a legendary assassin who never got his hands dirty, money was the least of his concerns.
The real question was always how to spend it wisely.
In the following days, the remaining assassins in the nursing home began disappearing without a trace. This triggered a sense of alertness in those left behind.
They tried to contact one another, attempting to unite, even resorting to hostage-taking—but none could escape death.
From beginning to end, no one managed to figure out where the target was or how the killings were happening.
Finally, the last surviving assassin broke down.
Fear drove him to flee the “Greenery” without a second glance.
Old Mike stood outside the nursing home, his eyes gleaming with a spark of amusement, watching the panicked man run off.
“I’ve already placed a tracker on him.”
Without the tracker, this man wouldn’t have survived long.
“Go on, go help me find the mastermind,” Old Mike muttered.
He knew one thing: the mysterious entity controlling him and the assassins probably wasn’t a group.
The unfathomable presence was far more terrifying.
Just as Old Mike was about to leave, he realized something: he couldn’t move again.
“Darn it! Darn it! Darn it! Ahhhhhh!”
It dawned on him that escaping the control of this mysterious force would be difficult. Anger swelled in his chest as he realized his peaceful retirement was slipping further and further out of reach.
“I am the Savior. All is done to save the past and the future, for this world that is on the brink of collapse and destruction.”
“The Final Gun.”
“From this day forward, you are a member of the Babel Tower.”
“Go away, you silly Savior! Go away, you silly Final Gun! Go away, you silly Babel Tower!”
“I understand now. So that’s how it is.”
On the surface, Old Mike nodded calmly, softly responding to the incredibly mysterious voice.
“Go away!”
After venting his emotions, Old Mike realized he could move again.
“Babel Tower… a new organization that’s emerged recently? Why haven’t I heard of it before?”
During the years Old Mike had spent escaping the dark world, he had never bothered to inquire about these new organizations. He knew nothing of the mysterious Babel Tower.
He soon left the “Greenery” nursing home, erasing all traces of his presence within.
The “Greenery” was a high-tech, fully automated nursing home, where robots were the only staff. It was one of its main selling points.
Since Old Mike kept to himself, as long as the information was wiped clean, no one would remember him.
On the outskirts of the city, Old Mike had a safe house, prepared twenty years ago.
He quickly entered the small room, where hidden in the wall was a weapon capable of destroying several streets. He also retrieved a unique model of computer.
“Alright, let me see what you are exactly.”
Old Mike connected to a dark web platform called “Deep Sea.”
“I want to purchase all the information about ‘Babel Tower’ and ‘Savior.’”
Old Mike’s account on “Deep Sea” was at the highest level. As soon as he made the request, a flood of answers arrived in response.
He was stunned.
“What’s going on? Why is this new organization so famous?”
