Courtyard House: First, kill the hypocrites, leave none alive.

Singapore, a base for eagle sauce.

The command building is located at the deepest part of this military base. Its gray-white concrete walls are thick enough to withstand the frontal bombardment of heavy bombs, and its windows are as narrow as firing ports. The blast-proof glass gleams with a dull light in the sunlight.

The door was made of steel and painted a dark green, with several scratches on the paint that revealed the silvery-white metal underneath.

Two Marines stood at the door, fully armed, their rifles pointed downwards, their eyes constantly scanning their surroundings.

The corridors inside the building were wide enough for two military jeeps to drive side by side, and the floors were covered with non-slip gray tiles, reflecting the stark white light from the overhead fluorescent tubes.

The wall is painted with the English word "Quiet". There is an emergency light every few meters, with an iron lampshade that is firmly fixed to the wall.

At the end of the corridor was a double door, also made of steel and dark green.

Above the door is a bronze plaque that reads "Southern Ocean Theater Joint Command Center".

There were twice as many guards at the entrance as outside, with four men standing on either side, their pistol holsters already undone and ready to be drawn at any moment.

Inside the door was a huge conference room.

The long table stretched from one end to the other, its tabletop made of walnut wood, thick and heavy, with a lacquered surface polished like a mirror, reflecting the blurry image of everyone.

Microphones were placed at intervals on the table, their metal bases gleaming coldly.

Each seat also has a glass of purified water in front of it, with the American flag logo printed on the bottle.

Dozens of lights were embedded in the ceiling, the fluorescent tubes arranged neatly, illuminating the entire room brightly, even the half-person-high green plant in the corner had nowhere to hide.

Several huge screens hung on the wall, all of them black at the moment, like several closed eyes.

The long table was filled with people.

Those seated were all officers of colonel rank or above, their uniforms impeccably straight, their chests covered with insignia, each row representing a significant period of service.

Some had gray hair, some were middle-aged, but everyone looked equally grim.

Adrian sat at the head of the table.

He was in his early fifties, with gray hair that was meticulously combed.

He was wearing a dark gray suit, not a military uniform, but his back was straighter than those in military uniforms.

His face was expressionless, but his eyes were set deep below his brow bone, making it seem as if there was a layer between them when he looked at people, so you couldn't figure out what he was thinking.

He is the highest-ranking CIA official in Southeast Asia. Although he does not officially command the military, all military operations by the United States in Southeast Asia must first pass through him.

Brandon was sitting to his left.

He was in his forties, bald, with a fleshy face, wearing a jungle camouflage outfit with the collar unbuttoned, revealing a section of his thick neck.

He is the commander of the New Island base, overseeing several thousand people.

Carl was sitting to his right.

He was also in his forties, a bit thinner than Brandon, and his hair was shaved extremely short, almost touching his scalp.

He was wearing a dark blue naval uniform with his tie neatly tied.

He was the commander of the base in Singapore, and he also had several thousand people under his command.

Further down, sat officers of various ranks, along with several CIA agents in dark suits.

All eyes were on Adrian.

Adrian leaned back in his chair, tapped his fingers lightly on the table twice, then shifted his gaze from Brandon to Carl, from Carl to the officers, and then back again.

He spoke, his voice not loud, but in the empty conference room, every word was clear: "Two bases, the New Island base and the Singapore base, have been attacked."

His fingers paused for a moment.

The conference room was so quiet that you could hear the low hum of the air conditioning system.

"Hanker is dead, more than a dozen people are injured, and several pieces of equipment are destroyed. The attacker was a single person."

Brandon clenched his fists.

New Island Base—his base, his soldiers, his equipment.

Several thousand people, dozens of armored vehicles, and several warships were all killed by a single sniper, who then strolled around like he was at a market and left.

His face turned bright red, then purple, and finally black.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but Adrian didn't give him the chance.

Adrian's gaze shifted to his face, paused, and then looked away.

Carl sat beside him, his expression no less grim than Brandon's.

Po County Base—his base, his soldiers, his equipment.

Thousands of people were guarding the area, and one person sneaked in, blew up a car, injured people, and even cut off a CIA agent's finger. He felt very embarrassed.

Adrian picked up a report from the table, opened it, and read aloud: "Jensen's confession. The attacker's name is Chen Feng, nicknamed 'Northeasterner,' a Hong Konger from the mainland. On the night of the attack, he first infiltrated the Singapore base, cut off one of Jensen's fingers at her residence, then detonated three landmines in the parking lot, destroying three military vehicles and injuring several sentries. He then infiltrated the New Island base, shot and killed Hank with a sniper rifle outside Hank's residence, wounded two bodyguards, and escaped safely."

He closed the report and put it down.

Brandon finally couldn't take it anymore and slammed his hand on the table.

The sound exploded in the empty conference room, causing the water bottles on the table to tremble slightly.

He leaned forward, hands gripping the table, staring at Adrian, his voice booming like thunder: "One person? One person broke into my base, killed people, bombed it, and then ran away? Where are my soldiers? Where are my sentries? They're all useless!"

Carl frowned slightly, said nothing, but clenched his fist on the table until his knuckles turned white.

His soldiers didn't spot the North.

Several thousand people were guarding the two bases, but they were infiltrated and then out again.

Adrian looked at him, his face still expressionless, waiting for him to finish speaking, and for him to catch his breath before speaking, his voice as calm as if he were having a casual conversation: "Brandon, calm down."

Brandon's mouth was open, as if he wanted to say something, but when he looked into Adrian's eyes, he swallowed his words and plopped back into his chair, which creaked under his weight.

Adrian turned his gaze away from him and looked at Karl.

Carl met his gaze, paused for a moment, and then spoke, his voice much lower than Brandon's: "My base, the sentries didn't spot him. How were the mines brought in?"

The meeting room fell silent.

The officers exchanged glances, then quickly looked away.

"Alright."

Adrian spoke again, his voice not loud, but his undeniable authority silenced everyone.

His gaze shifted from Brandon to Carl, from Carl to the officers, and then from the officers to the faces of the CIA agents in dark suits. He then looked away, leaned back in his chair, and tapped his fingers twice on the table.

"I will have the CIA agents on Hong Kong Island handle this matter."

"Also, the Mad Dog Squad is disbanded. A new squad will be formed. The personnel will be transferred from within the country, all of them will be new people, people who have no prior connection to the previous squad."

Mad Dog Squad—Hank's team—has been active in Southeast Asia for over a decade, from New Island to Luzon, from Borneo to the Indochina Peninsula.

They go wherever there's money to be made, doing everything from murder and arson to kidnapping, extortion, and subversion of government.

Now that Hank is dead and the team has fallen apart, South Asia has lost a reliable black glove.

"Jansen has been transferred back to the home country."