CHAPTER 483: USEFUL INFORMATION

Passed out?

Sinclair narrowed his eyes, his thin lips curling into a cold smirk.

"This is just the beginning."

The bluish-white smoke he exhaled swirled in the air before dissipating, masking the pungent scent of blood lingering in the air.

Ramsey immediately understood the unspoken command and turned to the mercenary behind him.

"Get the stimulant. Wake him up."

"Sir!"

The mercenary pulled out a bottle of dark green liquid from his vest and approached the unconscious bald man.

Uncapping the bottle, he held it beneath the man’s nostrils.

Within moments, the bald man groaned back to consciousness.

The pain, lying dormant until now, surged through him in relentless waves.

His face, momentarily peaceful, twisted into a mask of agony as he let out another bloodcurdling scream—even more harrowing than before.

The mercenary didn’t give him the chance to black out again.

Seizing the moment, he gripped the man’s jaw and forced the liquid down his throat.

"Cough... cough..."

After a violent coughing fit, the bald man swallowed the entire potion in one gulp.

A sharp, burning sensation instantly flooded his mouth.

His face twisted in agony, his entire body trembling uncontrollably.

Yet, not a single sound escaped his lips.

The scene played out like a horrifying silent film, chilling to the bone.

This man was too cruel, too terrifying!

Sinclair wasn’t human—he was a cold-blooded beast!

What should they do?

The three men slumped on the floor watched the scene unfold, their trembling growing more violent by the second.

The color drained from their faces, leaving them ashen, like corpses devoid of life.

If given the chance, they’d rather take their own lives than endure this torment.

But they knew better—the moment they were captured, they had lost all rights to control their own fates.

"My patience is wearing thin," Sinclair exhaled a slow stream of smoke. When his dark, fathomless eyes lifted to meet theirs again, they were filled with bone-chilling frost.

"If you still haven’t made up your mind, then don’t bother."

Ramsey exuded an aura so dark and oppressive it sent chills down one’s spine.

"Dispose of them together."

Dispose of them together?

How exactly—crush them underfoot or toss them into a meat grinder?

The three men froze mid-motion, their heads snapping up toward Sinclair.

The man’s sharply defined features were partially obscured by swirling cigarette smoke, leaving only the razor-sharp line of his jaw visible.

But when their eyes met his—those deep, narrow obsidian pools—an electric jolt of terror shot through them, as if their very souls teetered on the brink of annihilation.

"Understood!"

Before they could react, Ramsey was already advancing with his men.

The remaining three were hauled roughly to their feet and dragged toward the other machines.

Their pupils contracted violently, bodies trembling uncontrollably, muscles locking in sheer terror.

"W-wait—"

One of them bit down hard on his own tongue, barely managing to force out the words. "Mr. Luther... please, wait."

The other two seemed to realize what he was about to say.

Their eyes widened in alarm as they turned to stare at him.

Their lips quivered, but neither dared to speak up to stop him, silently acquiescing instead. Sinclair lifted his gaze, his cold eyes sweeping over them with detached indifference.

Ramsey and the others froze mid-movement under that piercing stare, waiting for what he would say next.

"Mr. Luther..."

The scrawny man trembled as he forced out the words, his voice shaking.

"If we tell you everything... will you... will you let us go?"

"We didn’t do anything besides tracking your movements," he added hastily, desperation creeping into his tone.

Ramsey’s expression remained unreadable.

Knowing Sinclair as well as he did, he was certain his boss would never agree—nor would he even entertain the idea of negotiating with these men.

But this time, Ramsey was wrong.

"Of course."

Sinclair crushed his cigar into the ashtray beside him, his handsome face betraying no emotion.

Sinclair’s actually going to let them go?

Ramsey couldn’t hide his surprise.

The scrawny man’s lips moved soundlessly, his entire body trembling like a leaf in the wind as he mustered the courage to voice his lingering fear.

"You..." "Please don’t lie to us."

"Don’t worry," Sinclair adjusted his posture, leaning back in his chair.

His strikingly handsome face remained impassive.

"We American value our word—far more than you E-people do."

No one else noticed the shadow lurking deep in his eyes, so dark it seemed to merge with the dim warehouse air, suffocating and oppressive.

"Besides, you don’t have a choice but to trust me."

True enough.

"We really are from the Harrison family.

Mr. Harrison—no, Harrison—ordered us to tail you and your wife and report your movements back to him," the gaunt man said, resignation flashing in his eyes.

The man quickly gathered his thoughts and continued,

"That’s all we did. We were just following orders.

Please, spare us."

Just as expected.

Sinclair toyed with the obsidian ring on his finger, the faintest smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

"Mr. Luther, I’ve told you everything I know," the thin man pleaded, his voice trembling, his eyes wide with terror as he stared at Sinclair.

"P-please... let me go."

"I always keep my word," Sinclair turned his gaze toward Ramsey, his voice cool and composed.

"Let him go."

At these words, the scrawny man’s eyes widened in disbelief before a flicker of relief washed over his face.

"Thank you—thank you, Mr. Luther!" he stammered, his voice trembling with gratitude.

The other two men also exhaled shakily, their expressions mirroring the sheer relief of someone who had narrowly escaped death.

"Yes, sir."

Though puzzled, Ramsey would never defy his boss’s orders.

Sinclair glanced at the two mercenaries restraining the thin man.

"Take him back where you found him."

The mercenaries nodded curtly before dragging the frail man out of the room.

As he was hauled away, the scrawny man couldn’t help but shoot a bewildered look back at Sinclair—why were the other two not being spared?

But he was in no position to question it.

Right now, he was barely keeping his own head above water.

Hadn’t they been promised freedom if they talked?

The remaining two men paled, their faces turning ashen.

Their bodies trembled violently, their legs so weak they looked ready to collapse at the slightest breeze.

"Mr. Luther, then we—"

"My rule is simple," The broodingly handsome man curled his lips slightly, his voice a low, husky timbre laced with lethal danger.

"Only those who provide useful information walk away."

Useful information.

The two men’s eyes flickered simultaneously as their minds raced to sift through anything of value.

"I’ll talk, I’ll talk!"

The man with deep brown hair blurted out first, as if afraid of being preempted.

"Mr. Harrison, no, Harrison," he swallowed hard before continuing, "he ordered us to report you and your wife’s movements to Thomas Junior in real time."

Thomas Junior.

*Thomas family.*

Sinclair’s fingers, idly toying with an onyx ring, paused imperceptibly.

A shadow flickered in the depths of his dark eyes.

Ramsey’s expression also sharpened with attention.

"Y-yes, that’s right," the other man chimed in eagerly, seizing the chance to corroborate.

"Harrison also told us to cooperate with Mr. Thomas’ people—though we don’t know what exactly they’re planning yet."