The night was as black as ink. On a desolate road in the suburbs, the engine of the porsche 356a roared, its headlights illuminating the swirling dust and the shadows of withered trees by the roadside.
Vodka gripped the steering wheel, his palms slightly sweaty.
He secretly glanced at Gin in the passenger seat.
Big Brother had been resting with his eyes closed ever since he got in the car. The cigarette between his fingers had accumulated a long ash, but he didn't flick it off.
Vodka always felt that the atmosphere tonight was exceptionally oppressive. Big Brother's silence was even more profound than usual, carrying a premonition of an impending storm.
The car finally stopped in an open space at an abandoned factory, surrounded by desolate land where few people ventured.
"Aniki, We're here." Vodka carefully parked the car and turned off the engine.
Gin slowly opened his eyes, silently pushed open the car door, and stepped out. Vodka quickly followed him.
"Open the front trunk," Gin commanded. "Drag that rat out of it."
The porsche 356a was a two-door sports car, it didn't have a rear trunk, only a front one.
Vodka did as he was told.
When the front trunk opened, a figure with a burlap sack over his head was curled inside, his hands and feet tightly bound, whimpering in terror.
Vodka reached in and dragged the person out, throwing him heavily onto the concrete ground. The person groaned in pain.
Gin stepped forward, crouched down, and ripped off the burlap sack.
Under the car's headlights, a typical Slavic face with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes was revealed.
The person's face was filled with fear, his mouth stuffed with rags, only able to make "mm-mm" sounds.
"Aniki?" Vodka recognized the person's face and was stunned. "Isn't this Sergei, the peripheral member who just passed the assessment and joined three days ago? What did he do wrong?"
Gin didn't answer immediately. He stood up, lit a new cigarette, and slowly exhaled the smoke, as if waiting for Vodka to confess first.
Seeing that Vodka had no intention of speaking, Gin then spoke:
"According to reliable intelligence, this Sergei, his true identity is a Russian KGB agent. His purpose in infiltrating the organization was to rendezvous with an inside mole, 'Pangolin.'"
"K-KGB?!" Vodka's voice trembled. "Then, Aniki, have you... have you found that mole?"
"Hmm. According to preliminary investigations, the person this KGB agent has had the most contact with in the organization..."
Gin flicked his cigarette ash, his gaze like nails on Vodka's face. "...is you, Vodka."
Boom!
A bolt of lightning flashed through Vodka's mind, his lips trembling, almost unable to stand steady, he stammered incoherently: "A-Aniki! I... I..."
Gin looked at Vodka's terrified and flustered expression, extinguished his cigarette, and his usually cold tone sounded, for once, a little gentle,
"Don't panic, Vodka. I believe you. This is likely a misunderstanding, a trap set by the enemy, trying to sow discord between us."
Vodka suddenly looked up, somewhat incredulous. "Aniki! You believe me?!"
"Of course." Gin's voice was steady. "You are the one who has followed me the longest. I have only ever doubted your intelligence, never your loyalty."
He paused, his tone suddenly turning fierce.
"So, to clear up this misunderstanding, and to prove your innocence... I personally dealt with everyone else who knew this information. Now, the only ones left who know are you, me, and this KGB agent."
Gin slowly drew his Beretta from inside his trench coat. He didn't point it at Sergei on the ground but offered the gun's grip to Vodka.
"Take it, Vodka."
Gin's voice was like a devil's whisper,
"Personally eliminate this KGB agent. Prove your loyalty to the organization with your actions. This is the only way to clear your suspicion."
Vodka's hands trembled as he took the Beretta, pointing it at Sergei on the ground, but he hesitated to shoot.
The wind on the wasteland whimpered, kicking up dust.
Vodka's breathing became heavy, and sweat trickled down his cheeks.
"Do it, Vodka," Gin urged.
"I... I..."
Vodka's voice was tearful, unable to make up his mind.
At Gin's next urging.
Vodka suddenly closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were filled with painful tears.
His trembling gun, in the end, did not point at the KGB agent on the ground, but aimed at Gin's heart!
"I... I'm sorry, Aniki!"
Vodka's tears streamed down, and he cried out in a broken voice.
"I really was a Soviet mole before! Codename Pangolin! The KGB sent me to infiltrate, with instructions to wait for the next contact... But... but the contact never came, what came was only the news of the Moscow Red Flag falling! I... I became a rootless drifter from then on, only able to stay here, working for you, Aniki..."
He choked, his gun trembling violently:
"Aniki... all these years, I have truly followed you! You saved my life, taught me things... I've long considered this place home! But... but..."
He closed his eyes in pain,
"They found me again! The new KGB! They promised to restore my identity, to guarantee my family's safety... I have no choice... Aniki, I really didn't want to come to this point with you!"
Gin listened quietly, his face devoid of any expression, only when he heard "truly followed you" did his pupils subtly contract.
"I don't want to kill you, Aniki... I can't!"
Vodka cried out, his left hand trembling as he fumbled in his pocket for a small pink pill.
"This is a new 'forgetfulness pill' developed by Moscow. If you take it, you will only forget the memories of the past week.
When you wake up, you'll still be my good Big Brother, and I'll still be your Vodka... Let's just pretend all of this... never happened! Please, Aniki!"
Seizing the moment Gin was distracted by the forgetfulness pill, Vodka used all his strength to tackle Gin, forcing the pill into his mouth.
Almost instantly, Gin felt all the sights before his eyes begin to distort, first his beloved car, then Vodka's tear-streaked face.
Finally, his consciousness plunged into darkness... "Aniki? Aniki?"
A familiar voice sounded in his ear.
Gin suddenly opened his eyes.
Dazzling sunlight streamed through the windshield, making him squint uncomfortably.
He was sitting in the familiar passenger seat of the porsche 356a, and outside the car window was the familiar city streetscape, with vehicles flowing endlessly.
Just now... what was that? Vodka was a mole?
Gin subconsciously touched his throat, detecting nothing unusual.
He turned his head and saw Vodka gripping the steering wheel, driving attentively, his plump face still wearing that honest expression.
Was it a dream?
An incredibly real yet absurd nightmare?
Gin frowned, a surge of nameless anger rising in his heart.
Almost instinctively, he raised his hand—
Slap!
A crisp slap landed squarely on Vodka's face!
"Ah!"
Vodka was stunned by the blow, almost losing his grip on the steering wheel, and the car swerved slightly on the road.
He covered his face, looking at Gin with a wronged expression. "A-Aniki? What's wrong? Why did you slap me suddenly?"
Gin withdrew his hand, feeling much more relieved in his heart, and casually brushed it off. "There was a fly."
Vodka paused, then showed his honest smile. "Oh! Thank you, Aniki! Aniki is really so good to me! Even helping me swat flies!"
He paused, glanced at the navigation, and then said. "Aniki, we're almost at the location for the transaction with The Exaltists."