Ultimate Firepower
Chapter 517 - 496: Pain Sensation

Chapter 517: Chapter 496: Pain Sensation

Many things that seem miraculous are actually quite simple once you strip them down.

Attach a cord to the back of a door; whenever someone opens the door, it triggers a mechanism that fires several poison darts and crossbow arrows powered by compressed air. It’s extremely simple, provided you have a sense of precaution.

The most elite former agents, even after retirement, retain their unwavering confidence and decent skills, always prepared to fight at any time. So no matter when Yuri shows up, he’s bound to be detected.

Some people never manage to sleep well, not even till death—they even have to recognize they’re dreaming within their dreams.

As for Yuri being able to use the password to unlock the door, that’s simply because he knows the old man too well. As everyone knows, people tend to stick to fixed passwords to avoid forgetting them.

This might be excessive for an agent, but for an elderly man suffering from Parkinson’s disease, it’s perfectly reasonable.

The old man has Parkinson’s—his hands are just starting to tremble in the early stages, still functional enough for basic living tasks but already affecting his ability to handle a gun.

If it weren’t for his trembling hands, Yuri’s left arm would have been shot through, rather than just sustaining a bloody groove as it has now.

Yuri has been locked away for nearly twenty years, but he wasn’t sealed off completely during those years.

Ripping off a piece of cloth casually, Yuri wrapped his left arm tightly. Bleeding is permissible, so long as blood doesn’t drip all over the place.

Still, it was unavoidable that some blood got on his clothes.

Yuri thought about changing clothes, but his frame was too skinny, making it difficult for him to find something that fit. Still, a loose jacket was better than clothes soaked in blood.

Opening the wardrobe, Yuri found several ordinary jackets inside. Without much thought, he grabbed a black jacket and put it on before quietly shutting the door to the outer room behind him.

Better leave before anyone notices.

The operation went smoothly overall, but the injury left Yuri dissatisfied with his own performance. However, he was never the kind to specialize in field operations.

Having no glaring weaknesses meant that even if he had to get personally involved, Yuri didn’t need to rely on others.

Heading downstairs, the guard he’d knocked out earlier remained unconscious, which greatly pleased Yuri—it saved him unnecessary trouble.

Exiting the compound, he encountered no obstacles along the way. The ease of his departure was so unusual it made Yuri question if someone was enabling his spree of revenge.

Thinking carefully, the likelihood of covert assistance seemed slim, but the possibility of intentional information suppression appeared plausible.

But to what extent would such leniency go?

If additional protection were arranged, it would indicate an effort to prevent Yuri’s retaliation, but until that happened, Yuri had free rein to slaughter.

The events of the past needed resolution; otherwise, it would hinder future work. Yuri understood this clearly. As such, he deemed tonight his final and best opportunity.

Let him unleash his vengeance overnight, but come sunrise, it was time to stop—this must be the arrangement.

There was still a tacit understanding between Yuri and the President.

Therefore, time was of the essence.

He had to finish everything tonight.

While he had initially planned to rest after wrapping things up, realizing that after dawn he’d lose all chances forever, Yuri resolved to push through, eliminating everyone he needed to deal with, leaving no regrets.

Walking calmly out of the courtyard, encountering no interference, Yuri returned to his car and began contemplating his next target.

Some people could be forgiven—they merely needed to end their own lives. But some were entirely unforgivable.

Yuri was a man of principles.

If it was purely about business, it would remain professional, with no need to involve family members.

But back then, someone had crossed that line, and now Yuri was determined to send their entire family to meet their end—as a matter of fairness.

Driving onto the road, there weren’t many targets left for Yuri to avenge in Moscow—each one he tracked down mattered. Since his quarry enjoyed the conveniences of a big city, it likewise provided conveniences for Yuri’s revenge, eliminating the need to leave town.

Yuri felt no emotional turmoil, remaining utterly calm. The sting in his arm barely affected him. Though he hadn’t frequently endured injuries, his tolerance for pain was remarkable, and minor wounds meant little to him.

However, his bleeding arm did require attention, prompting Yuri to monitor the roadside for hospitals or 24-hour pharmacies as he drove.

A hospital was out of the question—far too troublesome.

A pharmacy would suffice, as long as it stocked wound-treatment medications and supplies.

Spotting a 24-hour pharmacy, Yuri pulled over again, got out, and stepped inside.

Moscow was a large city, yet 24-hour pharmacies were scarce. Finding one made Yuri quite pleased.

"What do you need?"

The pharmacy had two overnight attendants: a woman in her fifties and a young man in his twenties.

Looking around, Yuri noticed the pharmacy’s inventory was decent. So, he calmly said, "I need povidone-iodine, anti-inflammatory medicine, alcohol swabs, gauze, medical tape..."

The woman said nothing, but the younger man responded impatiently, "Just get yourself an emergency wound care kit."

Yuri frowned briefly and replied, "You have one? Fine. An emergency kit. Also, surgical instruments—do you have scalpels? Needles for sutures, size 4x16 curved?"

The young man glanced at Yuri, then began fetching items according to his request.

Yuri pulled money from his pocket, silently counting out the amount due before paying. Seeing that the pharmacy also had a small adjoining clinic, he changed his mind and asked, "Is the doctor not in?"

"Doctors only work during the day."

"Can I use your treatment room? I’ll pay for it."

Yuri was polite, but as the young man nodded, the woman suddenly interjected, "No. Sorry, we don’t have the key. If you need treatment, please come back tomorrow or visit a hospital."

Without another unnecessary word, Yuri pulled a gun from the back of his waist and set it on the counter. Then, he flashed his credentials momentarily and calmly said, "KGB. I need to use your treatment room. Open the door."

The woman looked completely dazed, while the young man swallowed hard and stammered, "The door’s not locked. But... the doctor really isn’t here."

"Did I say I need a doctor?"

Yuri asked irritably before gesturing with his head, "Take my supplies inside."

Yuri only took his gun with him. Entering the tiny medical room, he saw sparse equipment—just a small treatment bed, a desk, and two chairs.

"Do me a favor and unpack the supplies. The rest doesn’t concern you. What are you scared of?"

Yuri removed his jacket, then another layer beneath that. His own jacket’s sleeve was soaked in blood—clearly too much had been lost, making treatment unavoidable.

Coiling his arm, Yuri observed that while the wound was on the side of his arm, it ran deep and wide. Suturing the skin wasn’t feasible, but stitching the bleeding blood vessel was imperative.

First, cleaning the wound. The room had a sink and faucet. Yuri washed his hands under running water—not particularly meticulous, skipping additional sterilization.

Sitting on the chair, he started cleaning the wound. Since it was caused by a gunshot, contamination was minimal, making the cleansing relatively straightforward.

Watching Yuri hunch his arm, press his chin against his left hand, and use tweezers to swipe alcohol swabs over his bloodied wound, the young man abruptly turned his head away, gagging audibly, nearly vomiting.

Yuri didn’t lift his head, merely rolled his eyes and said, "Get out. Let your mother come in."

He’d already figured out it was a family-run pharmacy, operating overnight to earn extra money.

The young man didn’t leave; he just avoided watching Yuri treat the wound. Not looking seemed to settle him.

"Why aren’t you using anesthetic?"

Yuri paused momentarily, then muttered in surprise, "Oh, right... Never mind, I’m not bothered."

The young man once again stared at Yuri in wide-eyed disbelief.

Yuri finished cleansing the wound, his face steadfast, his breathing steady, his hands steady—using dry cotton swabs from a disposable tray to wipe away the blood.

Next came suturing the blood vessel—a finer operation Yuri could only complete one-handed. Anything requiring greater precision could wait for a more opportune time.

Locating the bleeding vessel, he clamped it with surgical forceps before stitching it closed using the finest needle and thread available.

In less than ten minutes, Yuri, sweating from pain yet unwavering in his hand and without a furrowed brow, finished closing the wound.

Lowering his arm, Yuri applied cotton swabs and layered gauze over the wound. Biting one end of the gauze with his teeth, he used his right hand to wrap the gauze around his arm several times before skillfully tying a tight and elegant bow.

A personal mini-surgery wasn’t exactly groundbreaking—it wasn’t a major procedure. Nothing worth mentioning, though the young man now looked deathly pale for reasons Yuri couldn’t comprehend.

"Don’t call the police. By dawn, officers will come to ask what happened; just tell them honestly."

Yuri flexed his wrist, rotated his elbow, and shook his left arm before casually saying, "Goodbye."

With nothing left to do, it was naturally time to leave. Taking roughly twenty minutes hadn’t been a waste—allowing his arm to bleed unchecked would’ve been far worse.

As he neared the pharmacy door, Yuri suddenly said, "Give me two bags of injectable glucose solution and two bags of saline solution."

The woman quickly fetched what Yuri had asked for, and he once again stuffed cash into the counter.

"It’s on the house..."

Leaving the money on the counter, picking up the bagged saline, Yuri muttered, "I’m not robbing you."

Returning to his car, Yuri started the engine and, mid-drive, grabbed one bag of glucose and tried biting it open. After considerable effort, he still failed to puncture the packaging.

Setting the glucose aside, he took out his folding knife, rubbed the blade against his pant leg, and stabbed the packaging before puncturing it cleanly.

He was thirsty, so he drank—replenishing energy with glucose solution was an excellent choice, apart from its awful taste.