...
Tripoli, top floor suite of the Corinthia Hotel.
Sayif sat slumped amid chaos, like a statue losing its soul.
The shattered debris of the phone lay scattered on the carpet, like his shattered dreams of an empire.
Outside the window, the sounds of cannon fire on the city's edge seed closer, the muffled explosions intermittently making his heart clench.
Abandoned.
Completely, rcilessly abandoned.
The "allies" in England, France, and the United States who once promised him power and wealth have all now closed their doors.
He was left alone in the eye of the storm, awaiting to be crushed by Haftar and Song Heping's steel torrent.
Despair seeped like cold venom into his bones.
Just as he had lost all hope, another ultra-secret satellite phone in his pocket suddenly vibrated!
It wasn't the one he usually used, but a number known to only a few absolute confidants.
Like a drowning man clutching at the last straw, Sayif frantically pulled out the phone, the screen flashing with a heavily encrypted, untraceable number.
He answered, voice hoarse yet filled with the last trace of hope.
Could it be the French?
The Aricans?
Or the British?
Unable to openly discuss cooperation, were they going underground?
"Hello?! Who is this?!"
The other side remained silent for two seconds.
Then ca a voice he least wanted to hear clearly over the line.
"Sayif, I am Song Heping. They like to call Sang, or the 'African Ghost'."
It was Song Heping!
Sayif stiffened, his blood seemingly freezing instantly.
He opened his mouth, but no sound ca from his throat.
"Your calls to London and Paris went unanswered, didn't they?"
Song Heping's voice flowed through the ether with an understanding of all and a detached control over life and death.
"Don't waste your energy. The 'good luck' they wished you is just your final obituary."
His heart was gripped by a cold, colossal hand, nearly choking his breath.
Song Heping even knew about this!
His last struggle was completely exposed to this enemy!
"What...what do you want?"
Sayif's voice was dry, filled with uncontrollable fear and trembling despair.
This Song Heping exerted unbearably intense pressure.
"Surrender? Propose terms? Territory? Wealth? I can give you everything! As long as you..." The survival instinct made him throw out every card.
"Surrender?"
Song Heping interrupted him, his voice finally carrying a subtle, icy ridicule, as if mocking a naive child.
"Sayif, you don't have the right to surrender. If it was half a month ago, perhaps you did, but now, what do you use to negotiate surrender?"
Gentle footstep noises were faintly heard on the other side; Song Heping's voice paused a mont.
In the background, faint commands and the buzz of electronic devices were heard.
Finally, he seed to have walked to a place with a wide view.
"Hear the wind?"
Song Heping's voice sounded again, frighteningly calm.
"That's the wind outside Tripoli; now the entire city is surrounded by us, including the sea routes."
He paused, each word cold as iron nails, harshly piercing Sayif's eardrums and heart:
"You have two paths now: either commit suicide or wait for Haftar's troops to co into the city and drag you like a dead dog from the office, then execute you on the street. You choose. Perhaps you still have the right to choose a dignified death, which is your final right."
Finishing the sentence, the phone was decisively hung up.
The busy tone echoed in his ears, like the Grim Reaper's death knell.
Gripping the already disconnected satellite phone, Sayif sat rigid in the luxurious yet cold chair.
Outside, Tripoli's night had fully descended, the firelight at the city's edge reddening half the sky, the rumble of cannon fire seeming closer.
The room was dead silent except for his heavy and despairing breaths, like an old, worn-out bellows.
Offer a sacrifice...
Offer a sacrifice...
These two words echoed repeatedly in his empty mind, shattering his last shred of fantasy.
He gently pulled open the drawer; inside was a gold-plated Beretta 92F pistol.
This gun had been found years ago in Colonel Ka's office drawer.
Holding the gun, a vision of Colonel Ka suddenly appeared before his eyes.
"Hehehe... hahaha... hahahaha!"
He suddenly laughed wantonly, laughing until a tear slipped from the corner of his eye.
Laughing to the end, Sayif violently pulled the slide, chambering a round, opened his mouth, grabbed the pistol like a ravenous child grabbing a lollipop, and stuffed it into his mouth.
Bang—
After a gunshot, the wall behind him was stained crimson.
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