This must be the eighteenth level of hell. Zhuang Xiaodie smiled bitterly. As a killer, she had to bear so many lives. Looking back at the vivid figures falling in front of her blankly, it was natural for her to bear this now, but she was unwilling to do so. When the bullet penetrated her heart, what she saw when she raised her eyes was such a familiar face, calm, indifferent, without any expression. That was her brother! If not, with her identity and ability as a cold-blooded purple-level assassin, how could she be careless enough to let someone aim at a critical point at close range?
'Xiaodie, you shouldn't let that five-year-old boy go. ' This is the reason, and it is also the only sentence left by his own brother. The soul was separated like this, and it turned out that the killer really wanted to be ruthless and unjust.