Martin stared at these people viciously, because of hunger and fatigue, he now had no strength in his body, but his eyes were still sharp, sharp enough to kill people. Pen | fun | pavilion www. ｂｉｑｕｇｅ。 ｉｎｆｏ

Who the is going to tell me what the hell is going on, is there al-Qaeda in Western Europe, which is said to be the safest? It should not be called France, it should be called a hotbed of terrorist organizations, an amusement park for South American drug lords.

Martin shouted in anger as he cursed the damned Foreign Legion, the damned instructor group.

"Ask you again, who are you? Why come here? Where are their companions? ”

Damn it, Martin glared at him with murderous eyes, watching him speak his mouth in incredibly proficient French, like a native Frenchman.

The damn guy looked at him, clapping his hands and looking at him scrutinically.

Martin didn't speak, he was thinking about the three questions the damn guy asked.

The subtext of who you are, whether you are asking yourself to be a police officer or an agent. The reason why I came here is to ask if the purpose of coming here is whether it is for some special reason and whether it is threatening to them.

Where the third companion was, they must have wanted to catch them all for safety, and as for what to do after they were all caught, to kill them one by one or to do something else, Martin did not know.

Martin never thought of himself as a good person, that is, he could do some bad things.

It is not too difficult for an egoist to do these bad things, it is certainly feasible to sacrifice others to fulfill himself, and when necessary, he will sacrifice anyone.

So now, Martin is going to say it.

If this group of people were really Arabs, if they were really a terrorist organization, Martin would not hesitate to choose to betray, but if they were fakes, those instructors sent people to impersonate them.

Anything is possible, and Martin has a hard time believing it all.

From the very beginning, when it came out of the Marseille boot camp, it all seemed weird, the instructors were weird, the people of the first regiment were weird.

This quest, a quest similar to survival in the wilderness, seems to have been less simple in the first place, but has been overlooked.

Martin still couldn't believe that he would have met al-Qaeda by such a coincidence, and if it was Algeria, he would definitely be half-convinced, but at this time, this is impossible.

Conspiracy, this is a conspiracy.

“bitch！”

Martin didn't say anything, just spat out these two words coldly, and looked at him mockingly, watching how he flew into a rage, and then vented like a madman.

Surprisingly, the damn guy didn't seem surprised, he nodded imperceptibly and looked back at the leader in his seat.

The leader was wrapped all over his body, and had a scarf wrapped around his head, like an Arab, and Martin wondered if he was cold.

The leader nodded, they were supposed to be delivering something, but Martin couldn't make it clear.

Almost quickly, Martin saw the guy, and he dragged out a small wooden box from behind him, a wooden box that smelled of decay.

The wooden box wasn't heavy, but the damn guy was holding it like a treasure, until it was gently lowered and placed on the ground in front of Martin's eyes.

How did the wooden chest come about, and was it in the cave all the time? As Martin thought this, he saw the damn crouch on the ground, slowly opening it like a Pandora's box.

With a click, the wooden box was opened, and Martin craned his neck to see the contents at once.

The wooden box contained a lot of things, bottles and jars that looked like pills, tools such as pliers and clamps, and some handcuffs and whips.

The damn guy took out a bottle, opened it and took out a pill of unknown color, put it in his hand and poured it into a cup, then added a little more unknown liquid, and dissolved it without stirring it.

Rat poison? Sleeping pill? Ecstasy* pills? Martin speculated wildly, he didn't notice it at this moment, and his heart began to become uneasy, and a kind of extreme fear spread from the bottom of his heart.

Martin looked at the damn guy and watched him stand up, holding the green liquid in the cup, and walking towards him step by step. In fact, it was not very far, only two steps away, but these two steps seemed to be stepping on his heart.

The damn guy smiled like a demon and walked over step by step, and Martin began to panic, his eyes dodging, and his body trembled.

Then, the damn guy approached, and he knocked Martin's mouth tightly with one hand, and Martin's body trembled, but he was clamped tightly, and the green liquid began to pour into his mouth.

Martin was disgusted, and he struggled desperately to swallow it, but the green liquid still burrowed into it like a viper.

The damn guy let him go again, and Martin gasped for air, retching desperately, trying to vomit the liquid out, but in vain.

Martin had a gut feeling that the thing he was drinking was definitely not a good thing, and he knew it was something disgusting by looking at the sticky green residue.

"Believe me, I'm not injecting drugs, drugs are too expensive, it's just very cheap rat poison, you may not die if you eat it, but it may be very uncomfortable."

The damn guy said very flatly, walked to the back as he spoke, and when he came out again, he didn't know where to take out a mouse.

A lively, black, scary-looking little mouse to be exact. The little mouse's eyes were bright, jet black, looking left and right, and still squeaking.

Martin stopped retching, and he seemed to guess what the damn guy was going to do.

Sure enough, he saw the damn guy grabbing the little mouse, and with his other hand he took out a syringe, sucked up a little of the green liquid just now, and injected it into the little mouse.

Martin watched in amazement, watching the damn guy finish the injection, and then threw the little mouse to the ground, and the little mouse thief ran away, ran for less than two steps and then seemed to have no strength, lying on the ground and starting to convulse, the corners of his mouth spitting white foam.

Martin was dumbfounded, and at the same time a chill rose in his heart, if he was just struggling just now, now he didn't even have the strength to struggle.

Martin stiffened, he didn't know what he was thinking, he didn't hear what the damn guy behind him was saying, he just knew that these terrorists weren't joking, they really would kill.

Martin stared blankly at the twitching rat, and watched as the damn guy began to dissect it with a knife, and dissected it alive, first cutting open the abdomen, and the bright red flesh and entrails were exposed.

Then, the damn guy cut off the little mouse's head, and a scalpel picked the hairy head, and just walked over to him.

The damn guy smiled wickedly, and he approached Martin, pinned Martin's mouth like he had just done, and picked the little mouse's head to shove it into Martin's mouth.

Martin had no strength at all, he was stupid, he looked directly at the head of the little mouse, and suddenly he realized something, and began to yell, and he broke down and began to cry.

"I said, I said, I said it all."

…… (To be continued.) )