The dim lighting in the basement revealed a dozen figures standing in formation.
These were all strong and well-built men, with both Asian and Western features, dressed uniformly in black suits and shiny leather shoes, looking very much like bodyguards.
However, their calloused hands and eagle-like eyes indicated that they were indeed elite among elites.
Another unifying feature was the black cross tattoo on each of their necks.
Chilling, sinister, as if the black cross symbolized death itself.
In front of these men stood a mixed-race youth, with characteristic features of both Chinese and Western ancestry.
The youth had a Brazilian cigar in his mouth, smoking it with interest as he looked at Chen Sihai in front of him.
Chen Sihai's face was pale as a ghost, sweat the size of beans rolling down his forehead continuously. Fear and despair were evident in his eyes, his hands tightly clenched in extreme tension.
Apart from Chen Sihai, a young woman was pinned to the ground.
