North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws-Chapter 547 - 316_1

"Barton."

Dean paced to Barton's side, his face full of concern. "Are you alright?"

Barton looked at Dean with a vacant gaze, delayed by several seconds, before he finally managed to stammer, "Uhm... uhm uhm..."

Perhaps it was Dean's hypnosis that interrupted the mutation process.

Barton's condition was now much better than that of his previous teammate. Although there was a noticeable decline in his intelligence and his reactions were sluggish, he was still able to respond to external movements and retained a certain level of cognition; it was just as if he had lost the ability to speak...

Besides that, the most severe change in Barton's appearance was in his eyes.

His sclera had enlarged considerably, streaked with scattered blood vessels. His pupils, squeezed by the whites of his eyes, were nearly invisible, indicating that Barton now had very poor light perception. His once-agile iris had shrunk significantly.

Overall, he presented a creepy appearance with large whites and small irises.

Beyond that, the other parts of Barton's body had not shown symptoms of engorgement, so, compared to before, there wasn't much change.

This left Dean somewhat disappointed. He was somewhat concerned that Barton's condition might not allow him to proceed as he wished, but he still had to try guiding him.

"Ah... ah ah!"

Barton, unable to make a sound, started touching his throat in agitation, making sounds akin to a mute trying to speak.

"Barton..."

"Ah?"

Barton ceased his movements and once again looked at Dean with his horrifying eyes.

Dean tried to use a gentle tone and slowly snapped his fingers, softly beckoning, "Barton... do you still remember our conversation from before, Barton..."

When Barton showed signs of losing control, Dean took the chance to talk with Barton alone and used the sound of his snapping fingers to implant the idea of surveillance into Barton's already sluggish mind.

Dean didn't know if Barton would still be affected in this state. He could only try. If it was useless, then he would just have to wait for other opportunities.

...

Accompanied by the rhythmic snapping of fingers, fragments of memories appeared in Barton's dwindling consciousness from a distorted perspective. They were of a previous conversation with Dean.

A pained expression surfaced on Barton's blank face.

What did they talk about? Damn it! Why can't I remember anything!

The shattered memories became increasingly frayed, eventually leaving only the snapping sounds—not loud, but with a strong rhythm. Under the rhythm of the snapping, those fragmented remembered sounds reassembled, ultimately forming a single, endlessly repeating word: "Surveillance! Surveillance! Surveillance!"

In his mind, a voice kept resurfacing: "Surveillance!"

"Ah... ah ah!"

Barton, in pain, knelt on the deck, clutching his head and letting out a low moan, while his formerly robust body began to swell with engorgement.

THUMP.

He slammed his hand violently onto the steel deck, emitting a muffled thud.

Kaxiu watched helplessly as Barton's arm, bulging with veins, smashed right beside his head, tears uncontrollably rolling down his cheeks.

It was terrifying!

Just as he was about to lose control of his bladder, the increasingly horrific figure slowly rose from the ground, stepped over Kaxiu, and then sped up, charging towards an outside surveillance camera like a wild boar that had been provoked.

"Ah!"

Just as he was about to collide with the cabin, Barton let out a roar. His calves, now thicker and veined, pushed off the ground with force, leaping up like a cannonball. He covered a shocking seven or eight meters and viciously grabbed the surveillance camera, pulling it down with momentum.

RIP.

The sturdy surveillance camera, along with a string of cables, was ripped from the hull.

The next moment, a loud BANG erupted. Barton was still airborne when a flash and explosion at his neck sprayed a cloud of blood, brutally splitting the beast-like Barton's head from his body and splashing blood everywhere. He paid with his life for breaking the rules.

"FUCK!"

Dean cursed for show and rushed towards the scene. During his dash, his fingertips, at a speed invisible to the naked eye, produced a metal object the size of an ordinary bee. As he approached Barton's severed limb, he forcefully pressed it into the network wire dangling in mid-air, connected to the camera.

When the metal touched the network wire, an almost imperceptible stream of data fused into the ship's electronic network, transmitted through the electronic waves to a satellite above. Then, from the satellite's transmission, breaking away from that data stream, it reached other satellites. Eventually, after several relays, it arrived at a certain mansion in Los Angeles...

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Little Mike casually turned off the reminder tone coming from his wheelchair and maneuvered his smart wheelchair into the elevator. He headed to his laboratory and then, in front of a large computer screen, typed rapidly with both hands.

"Interesting frequency band."

Little Mike praised this flatly, without expression, then hacked into the backdoors of several satellites, modifying their operating programs and switching frequencies.

Once the network frequency was breached, the so-called secure network segment was as good as unprotected.

The next moment, red dots appeared on Little Mike's computer screen. These marked all the network signal locations of the Lucifer Organization!

Next, as long as he could break through their firewalls, Little Mike could freely modify and intercept information hidden in those network signals, or even reverse-hack into the opponent's base to steal secured information, moving as though entering an uninhabited land.

Little Mike had performed such actions countless times and was intimately familiar with the process.

With every keystroke of his hands, an image of a cruise ship quickly appeared on the computer screen before Little Mike.

In the image, a familiar figure stood in front of a pile of bloody limbs, looking forlorn.

"Dean, Subject Number 37."

Little Mike looked at the annotation on the data and, following this information, started searching for related information within the Lucifer Organization.

Subject Number 37... Neural induction device... Electronic remote-controlled bomb... Hormone Stimulating Agent... Huh?

A light shone in Little Mike's eyes.

It seemed he had an unexpected find.

He casually typed a few strokes, fabricated a fake response, took control of the collar around Subject Number 37's neck, picked up a microphone, and said in a cold voice, "Dean."

...

Dean stood before Barton's corpse, pretentiously examining it for a while before turning to walk back with a grave expression.

He began to ponder whether there were any mistakes in the operation he had just conducted. The signal invader... In the moment of contact, he had used the miraculous properties of Subspace to retrieve it, and with his physique as a cover, the Lucifer Organization's side shouldn't have had time to notice. Moreover, he was constantly utilizing the enveloping power of Subspace. If a sense of danger came to him, Dean could instantly sever the connection between the devices inside and outside his body and the external world, avoiding death from the electronic bomb on his neck. This was also why he had previously allowed the other party to install an electronic collar on his neck with confidence. But for now, it seemed that the people from the Lucifer Organization hadn't noticed his subtle actions.

The commotion caused by Barton had attracted the attention of Black Widow and others. However, they only glanced over once before no longer focusing on Dean's side. People from the freighter were rowing a small boat, approaching the cruise ship. They were only hoping to get some food and survive for now.

Dean glanced at Kaxiu wriggling on the deck, thinking about how to pull out a satellite phone from Subspace to contact Little Mike.

Just then, a familiar voice came from the collar around his neck, "Dean."

Dean was startled by Little Mike's voice.

He pursed his lips, his abdominal cavity undulated, and he made a distorted voice, "Little Mike, have you breached successfully?"

"Yes, Dean, you haven't opened your mouth. How can you make a sound?"

"It's ventriloquism, a little trick," Dean stretched lazily and sat down on the ground.

"That's a very interesting trick. However, I've used a fake image to block the surveillance around you and the neural sensors inside your body, so you don't need to worry about those observers seeing you open your mouth."

Upon hearing this, Dean was overjoyed.

Little Mike, that's badass! This guy is practically a mutation among the human population, frighteningly talented!

Dean truly relaxed.

He twisted his neck and rubbed his hands together. "The observers you mentioned, are they the researchers from Lucifer?"

"Yes."

Little Mike, while continuing to break into the various encrypted information of the Lucifer Organization's base, replied, "They seem to be researching a kind of hormone-inducing agent, and you and the people on that freighter are the subjects of this experiment. Oh, by the way, I just breached the satellite nearby and found that there's a CIA agent on the cruise ship you're on."

Hearing this, Dean raised an eyebrow. "Are you referring to the woman with the spider tattoo on her face?"

"Yes, there are signals constantly being sent from her body to the satellites passing overhead. I took a quick look and found a group of CIA agents who are also monitoring the Lucifer Organization. They..."

Suddenly, Little Mike's voice cut off.

Dean's expression changed slightly.

Damn, Little Mike hadn't suddenly fallen ill, had he? He was still hoping Little Mike would tell him the location of the Lucifer Organization's island base! Considering they were conducting such inhumane experiments, Dean believed the Lucifer Organization's base wouldn't be too far from the cruise ship he was on; only that proximity could reduce the chance of accidents! But this all hinged on Little Mike being alright. If Little Mike really had an issue, then not only would it be difficult for Dean to carry on with his plans, but Little Mike's breach would definitely be exposed, and things would undoubtedly turn into a mess.

"Phew!"

Dean exhaled a breath of stale air and quietly called out to Little Mike.

...

「Los Angeles.」

Little Mike looked at all the information he had retrieved expressionlessly, scrolling down and replaying it repeatedly. The torrent of data, which ordinary people couldn't even see clearly, seemed to be characters branded into his mind. In just a few seconds, he had reviewed it twice.

Nothing! There was no detailed recipe for the Hormone Stimulating Agent among all the penetrated data!

He closed the data, tapped the microphone, and with a rare ripple in his voice, said, "Dean, I hope you can do me a favor."

Hearing Little Mike's voice again, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. "Go ahead!"

"The Lucifer Organization's base is located over a hundred nautical miles north of your position. I hope that in the future, you can help me go to that base and steal the formula for that Hormone Stimulating Agent."

In Little Mike's calculations, this operation likely involved Dean looking to leverage official power to strike at the Lucifer Organization. So he only hoped that Dean would help him get what he needed in subsequent actions.