"Do you feel like you're chicken wings in an oven?" Clo swept the floor with gasoline, but suddenly he straightened up and asked all the hostages present.
A minute had passed since he hung up the phone with the police station, and during that minute, Clo hadn't been idle. He diligently brushed the oven, turning the hall into a terrifying oil barrel ready to ignite at a touch.
He wasn't in any hurry, because he knew that whether it was the police, the Terrorism Control Bureau, or the black-clad Hunter Organization, none could breach the hall quickly, and while killing him was easy, rescuing all the hostages was hard.
At least until Jiang Shu arrived, he would be safe.
Yes, Jiang Shu would definitely come.
Just a five-minute phone call could save the forty or fifty people present, and Clo couldn't think of any reason Jiang Shu would refuse.
