CH-17

The sudden sound startled everyone inside Curry's freezer, freezing them in their tracks.

The imposing Russian Ross and the Warehouse's manager exchanged cautious glances, trying to confirm each other's identity.

The Russian Ross was quicker to react and raised his gun at the iron gate while demanding, "Who goes there?"

"Just a passerby," came a voice from beyond the iron gate.

A passerby? The Russian Ross couldn't believe such a claim. He locked his gaze on the gate, asking again, "Who are you?"

This place was reserved for the transaction between the two parties. Anyone else showing up here had to be a third party, which was highly unusual.

Others in the room realized the same and followed suit, pointing their guns at the intruder. They were ready to pull the trigger if this unknown person dared to enter.

"Just a passerby. Can we all sit down and talk?" The voice outside pleaded.

"Talk? Get the hell out if you don't want to die!" someone shouted.

The squealing sound of metal grinding against metal followed as the iron door, unlocked just moments ago, slowly swung open.

In walked a figure, calmly greeting everyone in the Warehouse with a smile. All eyes were drawn to him, particularly the C4 bombs strapped to his jacket, blinking with a menacing red light and a continuous beeping sound that sent chills through everyone's spine.

Sweat formed on foreheads, and fingers trembled on triggers. No one dared to take the risk of testing whether the bomb was real.

Who was this guy, and where had he come from?

After a brief silence, the Russian Ross gang leader, with a furious expression, took a step forward and pointed his gun at the intruder, demanding, "Who are you, and what do you want?"

But the man didn't rush to respond. Instead, he strolled into the Warehouse, closed and locked the iron door behind him, effectively trapping himself and everyone else with Curry.

It was clear now that the bomb was indeed real. Panic swept through the room.

The Warehouse manager whispered, "Is this guy an enemy of the Russian Ross gang?"

The Russian Ross gang leader glared at him. "I don't know him. Isn't he your enemy?"

"I don't know..."

The man in charge of the Warehouse reluctantly admitted that he didn't have any information on the intruder. At this point, their main concern was ensuring that the man with the bomb didn't exceed a heart rate of 120, or they'd all face a catastrophic end.

Surrounded by the two gangs, the man sat down at a metal table with the gang members, creating the illusion of three different gangs negotiating.

Unbeknownst to outsiders, he had everyone in the room hostage with a bomb.

The Warehouse manager handed him a cup of coffee, trying to reason, "Brother, could you perhaps disarm the bomb? We could discuss things more reasonably. A heart rate limit of 120 is a bit too low. If you get even slightly excited, we'll all be gone."

The Russian Ross leader nodded in agreement with the suggestion.

But the man slammed the table and stood up, the bomb's red light flashing wildly and the beeping quickening.

Panicked, the gang members dropped the pork they were holding and cowered on the floor with their heads covered. The two leaders, more experienced, resisted the urge to hide and reassured the man.

"Stay calm, take deep breaths. We were just making suggestions," the Warehouse manager stammered, his legs trembling.

The Russian Ross leader chimed in, "Yes, we're not challenging your design."

With a sheepish grin, the man scratched his head, returned to his seat, and the beeping became steady again.

Relieved, the Russian Ross leader and the Warehouse manager let out a collective sigh of relief.

But their relief was short-lived, as they were now fully aware of the bomb's capabilities. If the man's heart rate exceeded 120, they would all meet a fiery end.