Chapter 127: Gathering Information
In November, darkness falls quickly in Moscow. Even before evening, the sky is overcast, and the continuous heavy snowfall adds to the atmosphere, creating a sense of silence and desolation.
Nazi forces had previously reached the vicinity of Moscow, causing significant damage to the city and surrounding areas.
Although the situation has eased considerably, people are still struggling to recover from the trauma of war.
The Horn Bar is located in a somewhat remote town. Before the war, the town wasn't very large, nor was its population numerous.
However, its remote location ironically allowed it to survive the war relatively unscathed.
Agent One drove into the town. The streets were deserted, with only a few ordinary residents hurrying by, but they all showed wariness upon seeing Mason's military vehicle.
The Horn Bar was in the town center.
Unlike the quiet streets, Mason could hear the noise emanating from the bar even from several meters away.
It seemed that only at times like this could people numb themselves with alcohol.
"No outsiders or dogs allowed!"
A crooked sign hung above the bar entrance, clearly written in English.
"Looks like a really unwelcoming place." Without hesitation, Mason muttered and pushed open the bar door.
"Hey, fill my glass!"
"Let's go again, I refuse to believe I can't win this time!"
The noise and shouts rushed in as the door opened.
A blast of cold air swept in, and everyone looked up at the entrance. When they saw Mason, the room suddenly fell silent.
"You're not welcome here, get out!" A burly man with a full beard, around 50 years old, behind the bar, said to Mason while wiping glasses.
Mason looked nothing like a typical Russian, both in his clothes and appearance.
While Agent One was indeed Russian, he excelled at combat operations, but tasks requiring social interaction were not his forte.
Mason ignored the crowd's hostile stares and sat down at the bar.
"I'm just here to ask some questions, I'll leave when I'm done," he said, pulling out a few bills and gently pushing them across the counter.
The burly man wiping the glasses, who appeared to be the bar owner, didn't even glance at the money on Mason's table.
"You're not welcome here. I'll say it again, strangers, please leave!" He stopped what he was doing and glared at Mason.
Mason pulled out a thick wad of cash and placed it on the table.
To be honest, these people were all victims of war, and he tried to get the answers he wanted through peaceful means.
"Take your money and get out!"
Mason frowned slightly; he sensed something was wrong. The owner's hostility towards him went beyond the norm.
The wad of cash on his table was worth several thousand US dollars, enough to buy the entire bar. In this day and age, no one would refuse such a large sum of money over a simple dispute.
This couldn't be explained away with simple xenophobia.
Mason didn't move.
"I just want to ask a few questions. Answer them and the money is yours."
"Kid, can't you understand plain English?!"
A burly man with yellow teeth and greasy hair slapped Mason on the shoulder from behind. His hands were covered in grime, and he wiped them on Mason's clothes as he spoke.
"If you don't leave, I'll beat you to a pulp!!" the burly man said, making a move to grab Mason's collar with his other hand.
Mason's expression turned cold, and an invisible aura of menace filled the entire room. The burly man felt as if he had been thrown naked into a blizzard, and he couldn't help but shiver, his movements slowing down.
"Agent One!"
Before Mason could even lift a finger, Agent One, standing beside him, stretched out his massive hand, grabbed the burly man by the hair, lifted him up, and then hurled him away.
"CRASH!"
Agent One's strength was monstrous. The burly man he threw was like a projectile, smashing through tables and chairs and clearing a large section of the crowded bar.
The crowd was stunned for a moment, then someone shouted, "They dare to hurt us! Everyone, attack and take them down!"
A group of people swarmed forward, surrounding Mason and Agent One. Mason didn't even turn his head, but just stared at the bar owner behind the counter and said softly,
"Agent One, restrain yourself, don't kill anyone!"
"Yes, sir!"
Agent One snorted coldly and engaged. He was an elite soldier in the military, and after being enhanced by Dr. Zola, he was far beyond human limits.
How could these ordinary town toughs compare to him? In less than a minute, he had beaten them all down, and he wasn't even injured, not even a drop of sweat on his forehead.
"Stop!"
Looking at the destroyed bar, the owner shouted loudly, but Mason seemed not to hear anything, his fingers lightly tapping on the bar counter.
A dangerous glint flashed in the bar owner's eyes. He reached down and pulled a double-barreled shotgun from under the bar.
Before he could even aim, he felt his hands go light. When he came to his senses, he found the shotgun had somehow ended up in the hands of the young man across the bar.
The young man's eyes held a cold, mocking glint. Without any apparent effort, he twisted the steel barrel with both hands, bending it into a twisted knot with a metallic screech!
"CLANG!"
Mason threw the shotgun onto the bar, coldly staring at the bar owner.
"Do you think you can survive with your neck twisted like that?"
"Or do you think your neck is harder than steel!"
The bar owner's eyelids twitched wildly, and he felt a warm sensation in his groin, accidentally wetting himself in fear.
"Now, I'll ask questions, you answer."
"Any problems?"
The bar owner shook his head frantically, terrified that if he answered too slowly, the man would twist his head off his shoulders.
That was a double-barreled shotgun made of steel, yet this young man had twisted it into scrap metal so casually.
He now even felt that beneath the seemingly calm exterior of the young man opposite him lurked a ferocious predator.
A moment later, Mason turned up his collar and strode out. Behind him lay the wrecked bar and the wounded lying on the ground.
Mason frowned; the bar owner seemed completely unaware of anything about Issa Gregory.
After Mason's analysis, the bar owner was highly unlikely to be lying. He raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips.
"Chekov, it seems you're hiding something."
Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a figure in the shadows at the end of the street.
Mason, who had been planning to leave, suddenly changed his mind.
"Agent One, secure the vehicle and come with me."
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