I Need Superman
"We killed him," said Diego with difficulty.
"But it wasn't an easy process. Chris almost became... a complete monster; I don't know how else to describe it. He had at least a dozen knives stuck in his body; he was covered in blood, but... he only seemed to be... more alive.
Our group couldn't subdue him. Instead, he hacked several of our members to death while injuring even more.
"Then Dmitri, who we thought was dead, got up and started crawling towards us. His waist and abdomen were shattered, but he still didn't stop. He continued to crawl with a blood-soaked knife in his hand—the same knife Chris used to stab his body and carve out his flesh. We could even see the spine connecting his upper and lower body.
"What's even more frightening is..." Diego held his breath, a nightmarish hallucination clouding his vision, which already started to blur due to blood loss.
"He was laughing," Diego said. "...he was covered in blood, his broken body connected by a spine, but he was still laughing like crazy even after we smashed his head to pieces; we could still hear his mad cackles lingering in the air."
Ivan listened, flicked away a cigarette butt that was about to burn out. He put a new cigarette in his mouth, took out a lighter, lit it, and exhaled a cloud of smoke.
"We thought it was over, but it wasn't," Diego continued.
"A situation cropped up with Luke from another group. I wasn't there at the time, but I heard it happened during an unloading mission. Luke suddenly launched an attack without warning, picked up a crowbar, and smashed the head of the brother next to him.
"He killed two of the seven brothers unloading the cargo. In the end, they said he had to be riddled with bullets before finally stopping, and...
...he was still laughing until the end."
"That's when we realized there's more to this f*cked up sh*t.
The lingering laughter was like an infectious disease. You can kill those guys, crack their heads to pieces, but you can't kill that laugh.
"Sure enough, two days later, another companion went crazy, suddenly laughing wildly and picking up a wine bottle to smash it on the head of the person next to him.
"And then the next day, another person exploded without warning..."
Ivan smoked his cigarette calmly, lost in thought.
"We were going crazy. We all have to be on our toes these days, wary of everyone around us. We can't even trust our best friends. We live in fear every day. Anyone who makes even the slightest suspicious move gets knocked down by those around him...
"One unlucky guy got riddled with holes because we suspected an attack. Later, before he finally died, we found out he was just trying to get a tissue..."
"Interesting!" Ivan said, gaining a general understanding of the situation. He thought for a while and asked again.
"That homeless man, after you killed him, where did you dispose of his body?"
"If you want to find him, you may be disappointed," Diego gritted his teeth. "We took care of that a long time ago. We checked his identity and discovered that his name was Greg Hunter, an unemployed slum dweller who had just been evicted by his landlord the month before.
"Although the boss didn't allow it, I went with a few brothers to find the place where we poured the body... You know, there are always people who are more superstitious on the streets. We all felt these evil things were caused by ghosts.
"So we thought about digging him out and burying him, hoping it might help..."
"And then? Did you dig him out?" Ivan asked.
Diego swallowed. "...No," he shook his head, his eyes empty and frightened as if reliving the scene.
"We found the concrete mixture, but there was... nothing. The body was gone; no residue, no bone fragments, nothing."
"Are you sure you got the place right?"
"I'm positive we were at the right place; it was right there, that concrete mix, fourth bin on the left. The bin had 'Thug Life' spray-painted in red near the bottom," Diego said, full of fear.
"I'm telling you, it's true; it's that guy Greg. Maybe he's turned into a ghost; maybe he's become... something else. But he's after us, and he won't stop until we're all killed by each other..."
"That's the best news I've heard all day," Ivan grinned. "One last thing, I need the address of the construction site, the headquarters of your gang, and your boss's address."
Under severe pain and the fear of death, Diego became a classic villain who answered every question without hesitation. He spilled everything he knew, driven by the desire to survive. Whether the boss would tear him to pieces later was another matter. It was important to save his life first.
Finally, Ivan finished asking his questions and let go of his foot from Diego's chest.
"This was a pleasant conversation," Ivan said in a casual tone.
His tone and smiling expression made Charlie feel like he genuinely meant what he said.
"If I have any further inquiries, I'll make sure to come back for another conversation.
And by the way, you'd better be telling the truth." Ivan, already near the car, looked back and smiled softly. "Otherwise, I'll break your other leg next time we meet."
Diego was startled, thinking, What does he mean by my other leg? He didn't break my leg in the first place...
Before he could further contemplate, Ivan fired another round, hitting his knee with incomparable precision, causing blood and bone fragments to splatter throughout. Diego let out a painful hiss, finally passing out from the severe pain.
"That took a bit longer than expected," Ivan said, sitting back in the driver's seat and starting the engine.
He glanced at Charlie and smiled. "What? Do you think it's too cruel?"
Honestly, the bloody scene did make Charlie feel a little uncomfortable.
Although he had seen more thrilling scenes on screen, it was different in person. There are not many opportunities for a student who grew up in a peaceful era to see such bloodshed.
"Don't worry, those guys weren't good people," Ivan said casually while driving. "They've done worse things to others."
"That's not it," Charlie said. "I was just wondering if doing this on the street would attract unnecessary attention."
"Although this road is relatively remote, and because everyone knew the people in this bar weren't exactly 'good company,' there weren't many pedestrians nearby, but the disturbance this time was so large, it might attract the attention of, say, the FBI."
"Unnecessary attention? The FBI? Haha, don't worry." Ivan didn't care. "This kind of matter will only be handled internally by the CIA."
"Huh...why the CIA? Won't the Ninth Division take care of it?"
Taking a puff of his cigarette, Ivan continued, "If I let our division handle this—criticism reports, stating reasons for punishment, demotion, and dismissal, will be the least of what I'll have to go through... and besides, I'll probably have to do a mental evaluation. That thing always makes me drowsy. I prefer to steer clear of such matters."
"Can't help it. I'm unable to hold back when people upset me. If it weren't for that small issue, I would have been promoted long ago. Hard to change old habits."
"Did I ever tell you why I no longer work for the FBI?"
"No, you haven't," Charlie answered.
Ivan looked relatively young in the photo; it must have been quite a few years ago.
"It's because I have a problem of being unable to control my temper.
There was once a child molester who was arrested and brought to the interrogation room. After he came in, he kept acting cocky, as if he owned the place. Constantly talking sh*t and ranting about how he has 'connections' that 'we'll regret arresting him,' blah, blah, blah..."
Ivan slowly took another puff.
"Then I broke his neck," Ivan calmly exhaled.
Charlie: "..."
"Naturally, I was fired," Ivan smiled. Although he said he was fired, he seemed pleased with how the matter ended.
"Later, it was discovered that I became a Specialist individual. Naturally, I came to the Ninth Division."
He lit another cigarette and smiled.
"Fortunately, like today, the people I interact with are usually quite sensible and relatively easy to talk to. Diego answered my questions fairly positively. The ambulance came in time, and he should survive. It rarely escalates to anything serious."
Charlie was silent.
He had caught their entire conversation. Diego's expression when Ivan trampled on him could be described as mournful; there was nothing positive about it.
"Do we go to their gang's den next?"
"What are you going to do at their den?" Ivan asked.
"Our task is to follow clues and find the source.
According to Diego, said source should most likely be the homeless man they poured into the concrete mix.
We'll simply do more investigation about his identity, contacts around him, and so on?"
"We won't go after it? But won't letting it go lead to more people getting infected?" Charlie asked.
"That's the job of the Infection Prevention and Control Department, not ours," Ivan shook his head. "Our task is to investigate. Once this kind of thing is reported, the prevention and control department will naturally take care of it."
There is a Prevention and Control department...
Charlie quickly imagined a group of heavily armed personnel battling tentacle monsters and demonic life forms.
Peaceful my ass, this world is all kinds of f*cked up. I need Superman, and I need him now!
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