"Papa, papa, papa-"

The palms of the hands slapped against each other, making regular sounds, and in the corridor that suddenly fell silent, it was quite harsh, and even felt a deep mockery. Liszt squinted his eyes and raised his head slightly, and his eyes looked in the direction of the sound, only to find that it was the applause from the radio speakers installed in hidden places in the corridor. However, his gaze swept over the corner above the wall, where an oval object was moving slowly, a camera.

The six soldiers who were still standing here also gathered around, their M4A1 assault rifles in their hands re-grasped. After the battle just now, the only courage they had had had had vanished with deep reflection afterwards. Now both of their legs felt weak, especially looking at the huge deathclaw that had fallen to the ground motionless, and their hearts couldn't help beating a few times, for fear that this terrible guy would get back on his feet.

The deathclaw's madness slaughtering them was playing in front of their eyes just a few minutes ago. The blood that came with each swing of the claws, as well as the bone bursts that sounded on the soles of their feet, made them subconsciously clench the weapons in their hands. But their eyes looked at the sides of the corridor with some panic, and the slightest movement made them quite nervous. If they don't have a psychiatrist to counsel them after this battle, it is estimated that even if they do not have post-war syndrome, they will probably have mental illnesses such as neurasthenia.

"This guy is dead, I'm pretty sure."

As if he had overdrawn his strength, Liszt slowly lowered his head and exhaled a deep breath of turbid air that was suffocating in his chest. The hints given by the system are not wrong, and the 10,000 points are credited at the same time. It took nearly thirty people to sacrifice to kill this deathclaw, and if it didn't have ten times more points than ordinary deathclaws, it would obviously be impossible. And when he turned his head to look at the soldiers around him, still cautiously aiming the muzzle of the gun at the corpse of the death claw, he couldn't help but shake his head and said: "Don't be nervous, this is not a magic movie, this monster even has brains flowing out, and if you don't die, it really can't be justified." ”

As he spoke, Liszt slowly raised his head and slowly stood up with his hands supporting his body. A weakness was still in his body, and he couldn't help but grit his teeth secretly, perhaps it was the sequelae of the excessive adrenaline rush, but Liszt also felt that it might have something to do with his ability to slow down time. However, he didn't pay much attention to this matter now, just raised his head to look at the camera blackened by the flames, spat at the side, and said to the old Bunar with a cold face on the side: "I kind of hate that clapping guy." ”

"Well, I hate it too."

Old Bunnard's face was extremely gloomy, and there was even a certain haze of resentment in his eyelids. His hands holding the M4A1 assault rifle on his chest were clenched tightly, as if they were about to clench into the hardest fists. But he was still holding back, looking up at the camera, and a hoarse and tired voice reappeared in the corridor: "The 16th Mechanized Infantry Brigade is here for a rescue mission, if you are a survivor, please contact us immediately." ”

After he finished speaking, no sound came from the speaker, as if he was waiting for something, and after more than ten seconds, the voice in the speaker continued to appear: "Rescue mission? Oh oh, of course, in a sense, it was a rescue mission. His voice paused slowly, and some voices that seemed to be talking to himself vaguely appeared in the speaker, but then a clear voice continued to appear in the speaker: "Then I will wait for you to arrive in the director's office, of course, I will apply for recognition for your heroic performance." ”

"Commendation?"

A mouthful of spit spat on the ground, hidden in a dark red. Old Bunard was like stepping on a cigarette butt he had thrown away. I stepped on it with my foot, but it seemed to step on a broken finger, as thick as a hard cigar. It could be a researcher's, or it could be a soldier of Company E, old Bunal didn't think too much, and his gloomy face brought a smile on his face, but there was no smile at all: "Oh, that's so thankful." ”

Standing in the corridor were only six lucky soldiers of Company E, as well as Bunard and Liszt. Of course, it should also be said that the luck of the eight of them should be very good, because looking at the patches of blood and stump internal organs scattered in the corridor of less than one or two hundred meters, I don't know how many people have died to become this hellish appearance. Just looking at the original light infantry platoon of 50 people, now there are only eight of them left, and you can understand how this hellish appearance came about.

One soldier volunteered to support Liszt, while the others had already aimed their M4A1 assault rifles deep into the corridor in front of them. But no one made any further move, but just turned their heads to look at the old Bunnard, with a certain expectation and longing in their eyes. Because they all had a fear that if there was another one of these horrible monsters in the depths of the hallway, then perhaps a shot in the jaw would be the best option.

"We are soldiers, the U.S. Federal Army."

Old Bunard stepped forward first, having been crawling on the ground before, blood already staining his shirt. Even a lot of internal organs were hanging from his body, and he didn't look like a majestic general, but a butcher who had come out of the slaughterhouse on the fly. Old Bunnard's gray hair had also been stained with a large area of dark red, and the viscous blood even ran down his hair and slowly left on the back of his head. And his voice was still calm and suppressed: "Continue the mission." ”

Everyone followed, and Liszt refused the support of the soldier next to him, took a slow breath, and walked forward with the Winchester M1887 shotgun in his hand as a crutch. In fact, he didn't need this crutch, and as he gasped, a trace of strength gradually recovered, and he could feel that his recovery ability was much faster than that of ordinary people. At least in just a few minutes, he was almost tired and paralyzed, but he already had the strength to walk.

But looking at the old Bunard in front of him, Liszt also had a certain uneasiness in his heart. At this time, it was not a reminder of his own safety, but a feeling for old Bunal. But if you think about it carefully, you can know that whoever loses a lot of troops will be furious, not to mention that the old Bunnard was confused and ordered to annihilate the monsters in this underground research institute?

"Now it looks more and more confusing..."

Slowly holding the Winchester M1887 shotgun over his shoulder, Liszt pulled on his somewhat loose backpack. There are still a lot of supplies in the heavy inside, and more of them are the ammunition of their own shotgun. Squinting slightly, Liszt looked into the depths of the corridor in front of him, in the dim light, this corridor had gradually become normal, but there was still a lot of blood and internal organs on the ground, and with his gaze, an open steel gate was appearing in front of him.

Fortunately, no trace of the deathclaw was found, whether it was the large deathclaw that was more than four meters tall just now, or the small deathclaw more than two meters high that I encountered before, it seemed to have disappeared without a trace. But just as Liszt's heart slowly calmed down, a soldier who took the lead in inspecting it gasped and made a careful gesture towards them, reminding: "There is a situation! ”

The elder Bunard and the other five soldiers immediately dispersed, raising their M4A1 assault rifles and aiming them at the front and rear of the corridor. Liszt was also standing in a corner, with the Winchester M1887 shotgun in his hand resting on his shoulder, watching the depths of the corridor and observing cautiously. But looking at the gate that had been opened, he couldn't help but frown, because the appearance of the gate that was already half-open was covered with bright red blood, as if someone had deliberately spilled it on it.

"It must have been contaminated by that monster, this steel gate should have guarded it for a long time."

As if sensing Liszt's doubts, Old Bunard also saw the blood on the steel gate, frowned slightly and looked at the surrounding situation, but he couldn't help but snort coldly: "Someone once closed the entrance and exit inside and outside, isolating the outside of the underground research institute, but I didn't expect this steel gate to be opened again, so that the monster just now broke in, and killed most of the survivors who fled outside." ”

Old Bunard walked forward, the steel gate littered with corpses, but the damage wasn't too severe, and it looked like corpses had been torn apart by claws, rather than all the flesh that had been trampled on as it was outside. Old Bunard came to a relatively intact corpse and squatted down, lifted the gas mask on his head, and at the same time looked at the name tag on his chest, turned his head and snorted coldly at Liszt: "It's the security personnel of this underground research institute, not the regular army." ”

"Oh, of course, they're all retired young lads, too."

Just as the elder Bunard was about to say something, a figure came out of the dimly lit hallway. He looked a little short and fat, and covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief, and said with a frown and some disgust: "I'm sorry, it's too stuffy in my safe house, I really can't wait to talk to you." He walked over, looked at the corpses around him but frowned, as if he was looking for something, and scolded loudly: "That Bichi who stole my things, I really want to cut off her beautiful face!" ”