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When I recovered, I closed the shotgun safety and evacuated the bullet.

The fat man also returned to the co-driver position, and a bag was thrown at me earlier.

I fumbled and took out the soy milk.

It's salty, every time I'm wrong with this alien.

I sighed and said, "What next task."

The fat man smiled and said, "Wait, let me see."

The fat man took out his mobile phone and said madly: "I took a C task and went to the slums to check for mutants."

"Another life-wasting task?" I said.

"Not for your safety?" The fat man said with a smile.

. . .

Fat is my second partner.

My first partner was Franklin.

At that time, I was Franklin's assistant.

Responsible things are similar to those of fat people now.

Take the task to Franklin.

There are usually three categories of tasks: ABC.

Mutants are only divided into threats.

The method of differentiation is more direct, as long as it is offensive.

Even a little bit will be called a threat.

Non-threatening mutants are called category C.

The threatening mutants are called category B.

Type A is a gang of two mutants of type B or more.

And Franklin, only let me take A-type tasks.

Because Franklin is called a lone wolf.

He is really powerful, and he told me my gun skills.

Unfortunately, Franklin is past.

. . .

Investigating slums is the simplest task in category C.

It is to hold the book to register for the mutants in the slums from house to house.

Threatening Class B can be directly killed.

But mutants without threats enjoy human rights.

How ironic.

But this way of enjoying is very special.

They will be required to undergo chemical castration so that they can live like normal people after castration.

Castration is to fear that they will inherit the mutated genes.

So more than 90% of these people are poor.

Some threatened mutants will hide in the slums.

I knocked on the door, but the fat man hid far away.

"Who?" There was a voice behind the door.

"Police, census." I shouted.

The iron door opened slowly, and a thin figure appeared in front of me.

"What's your name?" I said with a pen and paper.

"Ike." The thin figure whispered tightly with his mouth closed.

"What ability." I asked lightly.

Ike opened his mouth slowly, and the dazzling light shone from his mouth.

I took out the sunglasses in my pocket and smiled bitterly, "Shut up, is there anyone else in the room?"

"My cousin Dick." Ike answered quietly with his mouth closed.

"Let him come out, what ability." I subconsciously pulled out the shotgun.

The light was turned on and a man appeared in front of me.

"My name is Dick, I have no ability. I just have one more thumb than others." Dick said and raised his right hand.

On the thumb of his right hand, there is one more thumb than the normal person.

The deformity was also forcibly included in category C a few years ago.

Just to reduce the probability of deformity for normal people, even deformed people are classified as mutants and deprived of the ability to reproduce.

Don't ask me why he can't perform a resection operation to enter the category of normal people. Once born, he is characterized as a mutant.

Then the label is accompanied by a lifetime, and if it is pretended to be a normal person, it will be treated as B level.

Therefore, there are still two jokers who have been castrated by jokes such as chemical castration.

I pressed the button on the sunglasses, and the thermal image scanned the room.

I was sure there was no outsider, and I closed the door slowly.

The fat man came slowly and smiled at me and said, "How is it?"

"How else? The next room." I took notes and slowly walked to the next room to tap the door.

One morning, half of the slums were searched.

Without discovery, it is basically impossible to find anything.

Because this is the simplest task.

The sun burned the ground, and the crowd on the road was extremely rare.

The fat man said sweatingly: "Jack, I'm hungry. Have a snack, I want to order a cone."

Ding Lingling ~ The phone rang at this time.

A glance at the number is the headquarters.

I answered the phone.

"Call Viper."

"Viper received it," I said.

"Are you still searching for civilian areas?"

"I just ended my search and plan to leave." I said.

"The type A fugitive is found in the civilian area you are searching for."

"Type A? How many people? What ability?" I asked subconsciously.

"Just one person, I will transfer his picture to your phone."

"Pass it to Panda, my phone is not a smart model and cannot accept pictures. A person? Why can a person be classified as Class A?" I asked doubtfully.

The fat man said aside: "Send me? What should I send to me?"

"The photo of the suspect is of type A." I said.

The fat man closed his mouth and opened the phone.

"I don't have any information for the time being, and the source of the online report is a red file. I have no right to intervene here, I can only answer that your suspect may have more than one mutation ability. So it will be included in category A alone, waiting for you Good news. "

Two class B associates will be classified as class A. Can a mutant with two class B abilities be called class A?

I also encountered this kind of problem for the first time.

The fat man raised his phone and said to me: "Do you have an impression of this person?"

I looked at the image on the fat man's phone.

A normal child is no different from ordinary people.

The eyes are golden yellow, and other information is basically equal to no.

My brow furrowed slightly, and there seemed to be some reflection.

Looking through the notes in his hand.

Wait, I remembered.

It is the 402 household.

An elderly woman and her child.

The picture in front of her is her child.

Jiucheng is similar, but the child himself is smaller than the one in the photo.

I opened the door and said, "Mission, Type A."

The fat man looked at me with dissatisfaction and said, "No, why do you have another mission."

"Just the 402 room in the civilian area, do you still have an impression of one old and one young?" I finished and went straight out, ran upstairs.

The fat man stared at the phone screen and scratched his head and said, "It seems really."

At the door of Room 402, I pulled out the shotgun.

Reloaded and pulled the insurance, tapped the door.

It was the woman who opened the door, sixty or seventy years old.

I directly raised my gun and pointed it at the woman's head: "What about the child?"

I still remember that this woman said she was incapable because she could not afford to raise a child and was rented into a civilian area.

"Inside." The woman's trembling fingers pointed into the room.

I took the glow stick from my pocket and threw it on the ground, kicked it into the room with a kick.

Then orange fluorescent light shone inside the room.

I saw the child, and the child was staring at me.

A pair of golden pupils is particularly obvious, he still seems to be smiling at me.

I singled out and pointed at the child.

A glance at the old woman beside her left her mind, and the other hand was lying in front of the old woman, fearing that she would make trouble.

Then it was a shot at the child.

After the fire, the child actually stood still.

The bullet was indeed fired, and the chair behind the child had been shattered.

Mindfulness? Teleport? Ghost system? Or did I miss?

All imaginable abilities came to mind.

The child started walking towards me slowly.

Come straight to me.

I aimed at him again.

Pull the trigger and shoot.

I widened my eyes to see what was going on.

I saw the child naturally tilted to the left, avoiding the barrel of the shotgun and all the bullets fired.

The ground behind the child has been broken.

The child's speed is very slow.

I then fired several more shots.

But the child escaped my gun with the same action.

At this point the child has already ran in front of me.

I reached for my hand, but he turned around and turned out of the room.

The child stood up and stopped, and we looked at each other.

He was laughing, it was a mockery.

I raised the gun again, half a meter away.

He didn't dodge, how close it was.

His speed must not be avoided, and I pulled the trigger.

With a click, there was no bullet.

The child turned and began to think about running away.

Does he know that I have no bullets? Is this his ability?

So what is his ability?

Why does my shotgun miss?

. . .

"Franklin, why do you have to use a shotgun?" I said.

"Do you know why I can kill so many mutants?" Franklin said with a smile.

"Other guns can also kill mutants? Shotguns are too easy to injure yourself," I said.

"This is the second question, why am I called a lone wolf." Franklin said with a smile.

"What do you mean?" I said.

"First, because the target shot with a shotgun will never miss. Second, because I don't want to miss." Franklin continued to laugh.

The origin of the nickname Lone Wolf, because no one dared to stand with him to shoot.

The shotgun approaching the target never misses the target, but I took Franklin's gun but missed seven full shots.

. . .

When I recovered, the child had ran out of more than twenty meters.

The fat man ran over and passed the child.

The fat man looked at me gasped and at a loss.

"Shooting, that child is a class A." I said.

The fat man stunned and shouted, "But."

"But what? He is about to run out." I shouted anxiously.

The fat man drew his pistol and fired.

Hit.

But he did not fall at all, but the child ran away.

"Have you hit?" I shouted

"Hit, but I have a signal tracking gun in my hand." The fat man said.

Looking at the fat man's figure, I don't plan to let him chase the child again.

I pointed the shotgun at the woman's head and said, "What the **** is he?"

"He is not my child, but my husband." Said the woman.

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