Sanchez, sitting on the sofa, looked disheveled. He lifted his sleeve to wipe his nosebleed, took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and had just taken a puff when the person in front of him snatched it from his hand and threw it to the ground.
The sparks that splattered in the air glowed brilliantly for a brief moment, then faded away.
He stared at the cigarette butt for a while, then a fist dragged him back from his fleeting thoughts.
Clutching his face, he slumped into the sofa but quickly sat up straight again.
Someone was pulling his hair; if he didn't sit up straight, it would hurt.
"You lied, Sanchez. You told us it was August 15, but in fact, it was the wrong time."
The liaison officer looked at Sanchez with some disappointment, "I thought we could be friends, but didn't expect you to betray our friendship."
Sanchez couldn't help but laugh. He looked around at those Federation people and touched the wounds on his face, "You call this 'friend'?"
