His fingers were tapping incessantly on the counter due to extreme nervousness, making an irritating tapping sound.
"Hurry, please, hurry..."
Wesley muttered under his breath, his eyes darting around, as if every speck of dust around him was mocking him.
However, in Alice's field of vision, the heart inside Wesley's frail chest was beating at a terrifying frequency.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The sound was like a beating drum.
It was over two hundred beats per minute, and it was still soaring.
For an ordinary person, this heart rate would have already caused blood vessels to burst and shock.
In Wesley's body, this overloaded heartbeat was like a V8 engine with its speed limiter forcibly removed, frantically pumping massive amounts of adrenaline, pushing his senses into an overload state known as "bullet time."
He could hear the buzzing of a fly's wings several meters away, see every trajectory of dust floating in the sunset, and smell every molecule of the cheap perfume on the middle-aged woman next to him.
This overload made him panic, made him feel like he was going crazy, so he desperately needed that bottle of strong sedative that would turn him back into a loser.
"It's clearly a top-tier F1 racing engine, yet it's being driven like a broken-down tractor." Alice shook her head lightly with a hint of pity in her eyes.
Just then.
Ding-dong.
The automatic sensor door slid open again.
A tall woman in a beige trench coat walked in.
She wore large sunglasses, her aura as elegant as a cheetah, appearing out of place in this pharmacy full of housewives and old people.
Fox, who had attempted to assassinate Alice.
Arrived right on schedule.
And less than ten meters behind Fox, another man wearing a baseball cap and an old jacket followed her in.
This man, who looked like a homeless person, had a pair of eyes as sharp as a hawk's.
It was the top assassin defined as a traitor by The Fraternity, nicknamed Cross, and also Wesley's biological father.
Of course, at this moment, Wesley didn't know his biological father was still alive, and that he was Cross.
At this time, Wesley was still stuttering and arguing with the somewhat hard-of-hearing pharmacist at the counter about his prescription.
"My anxiety is about to kick in. I really need this medicine, please, I beg you..."
Fox walked straight to Wesley's side.
She didn't look at him, but picked up a gossip magazine from the shelf, and while seemingly flipping through it casually, she said faintly.
"This medicine won't cure your illness, Wesley."
"Because you aren't sick. Your heart beats four hundred times a minute. That's not a panic attack; it's your gift."
Wesley was startled, jerking his head around like a frightened rabbit, almost knocking over the gum rack next to him: "Who are you? How do you know my name?"
"Who I am doesn't matter."
Fox took off her sunglasses, revealing a pair of highly aggressive eyes, her gaze fixed on the man in the baseball cap approaching from the side.
"What matters is, if you don't come with me now, after that man over there draws his gun, your head will explode like a watermelon."
Wesley looked confused, following her gaze: "What, who?"
At that very instant.
Cross noticed Fox's gaze.
As the only man in this World who could make Fox feel troubled, he immediately realized he had been exposed and drew a custom M1911.
"Get down!"
Fox barked a sharp command, grabbing the back of Wesley's head and slamming his face into the ground as if he were an unruly dog.
Bang!
A gunshot tore through the pharmacy's soft background music.
"Ahhhh!"
The pharmacy instantly turned into a battlefield of slaughter; screams erupted one after another, and customers fled in all directions like headless flies.
Shattered glass poured down like a torrential rain.
On the shelf directly behind where Wesley had just been standing, a large family-sized bottle of shampoo instantly exploded, white viscous liquid splattering everywhere like brains splattered on the ground.
The medicine bottles that were hit burst open, and colorful capsules and white powder rose and dispersed into the air.
The lights began to flicker wildly due to the damaged circuits; in the intermittent dimness and brightness, one could only see two top-tier assassins playing a game of the God of Death amidst the chaos, their trajectories weaving together.
Wesley collapsed to the ground, clutching his head, screaming, begging for mercy, and even cursing.
Amidst the chaos, only the shadow in the personal care section remained quiet.
Alice was still standing there.
Like a ghost drifting outside the script, she quietly watched this scene.
Kato Megumi's "passerby aura" was practically a divine skill at this moment; the panicked crowd even subconsciously steered clear of her.
"Although I've seen the movie, it's still different seeing it in person."
Alice narrowed her eyes, watching Cross's marksmanship, which was precise to the extreme.
"It's unscientific, but it's truly beautiful."
At this moment, Fox had entered a state of complete berserk.
Holding her gun with one hand, she didn't look for cover, but instead strode forward into the rain of bullets.
The Fraternity secret technique: Curve Shooting.
Her wrist twitched at an extremely high frequency; every time she pulled the trigger, the muzzle would whip out an afterimage.
The moment the bullet left the chamber, it was imbued with tremendous lateral acceleration.
Swish— Swish—
The bullets drew eerie arcs in the air, perfectly bypassing the shelves blocking the way, heading straight for Cross's forehead and heart.
A faint red light flashed in Alice's eyes as the dynamic vision of [Chisato Nishikigi] was fully activated.
In her eyes, the trajectory of every bullet was clearly visible.
"Get up, don't sit there crying like a woman."
Fox yanked up Wesley, who had been so scared on the ground that he had wet his pants, and dragged him toward the back exit with one hand clutching his collar.
While retreating, she still had to divert her attention to suppress Cross, who was as difficult to deal with as a ghost.
Cross's marksmanship was even more seasoned; he barely moved, and every shot hit the weak points of the cover on Fox's path, forcing her to change direction in a sorry state time and time again.
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