A while later, kilometers away from the decaying Dust Dogs court, the atmosphere inside Blacklist's main training center, Hangar 47 for now, was completely different. It was almost 8 p.m., and the huge industrial structure was practically empty.
Jinzo was currently hidden in the thick shadow of a row of vending machines, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to control his ragged breathing.
His shirt was completely soaked with cold sweat, and his mouth was dry. Stress was a real bitch, and he was wondering more and more whether he shouldn't have just run away.
But fuck it. If he was going to be a rat, he might as well see it through to the end. Hector had demanded immediate data on Blacklist's next strategic moves, and it was up to him to steal them tonight.
