I transmigrated and got a husband and a son!-Chapter 1202: Your life

Moose whistled as he jumped off the speedboat to the land.

"Damn!" he exclaimed as he looked around the surrounding. "I wish we were like this! Primo is the first I’d killed. I still regret leaving that time and not killing him because taking his arm is not enough to stop his mouth from running."

"Moose, we got some injured people here." Ignoring Moose’s comments, Tiger waved as he got up from his squatting position. "They’re still half alive. Go do your miracles."

"Do you think I am God?" Moose hissed before he grumpily picked up his medical bag. "I didn’t know I would come here to save lives and not take them!"

That was another point for him to hell.

Moose went to Tiger and checked the person fighting for his life. After tearing his shirt open, Moose whistled at the blood on the side of the man’s stomach.

"This looks bad," he said as he quickly put on his glove and pressed on the gunshot wound. "He’s dead."

"My colleague..." the injured man suddenly grabbed Moose’s wrist, coming in and out of consciousness. "Please look after them."

Moose frowned as he looked back at Tiger. "You sure these guys are on our side?"

"Hera said she’ll ask them to wear their bandanas in the open since the Oxley soldiers carry black handkerchiefs with them." Tiger shrugged. "These guys are wearing theirs around them while the others didn’t."

"But these are black handkerchiefs," Moose replied as he refocused on his patient. "You didn’t see them earlier, did you?"

Tiger didn’t.

"I’m a sniper. I got them on the scope," he casually lied. "And even if I’m mistaken, it doesn’t matter."

"Eh. You just got lucky."

He did.

Tiger didn’t idle with Moose and assisted him for a while. When Moose was done, he went to check on the other patients. This time, he didn’t need Tiger’s help because not everyone would make it. All Moose could do was make sure they wouldn’t die painfully.

"It’s a party in there, huh?" Tiger muttered as he gazed at the distant part of the island. "The people over there aren’t holding back in throwing their grenades." freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

"What can you expect? Hera’s there." Moose walked toward him while taking off his rubber gloves. "The question is, is she alive?"

"Joker’s not crying in my earpiece yet, so she’s probably alive and kicking some balls." Tiger glanced at the bodies lying around behind. "How many make it?"

"Just three." Moose shrugged. "The others wouldn’t make it, but they won’t feel any pain till their last breath."

"I see." Tiger rocked his head.

It wasn’t like they felt sorry for them. This was a battlefield and in a battlefield, a death shouldn’t hold anyone back. It was a lesson they all learned in different ways, but equally harsh. Even so, Tiger couldn’t help but think before Hera stepped foot in there, these people had been working together on one side.

"Feeling a little sentimental now?" Moose teased, his eyes lighting up with intrigue. "Are you about to cry now?"

"Let’s change our clothes."

"Huh?" Moose frowned. "No crying?"

Tiger glanced at him indifferently. "It’s better to see the situation first before we jump into action. Check if there’s anything that will fit you."

"My size shouldn’t be a problem, but yours is." Moose scrunched up his face. "I don’t think I saw anyone as big as you."

Even so, the two of them started searching. Moose easily found his size, but just as he mentioned, Tiger was the problem. Tiger’s physique was leaning on the wider and bulkier side.

In the end, Moose was the only one who put on a disguise while Tiger kept his attire as it was.

*

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Meanwhile, in the air...

The head of the Capeti Family stared sharply at the oversized man sitting across from him.

"Hera Cruel sent you?" he breathed out. "What does she want? Money? A vote from our family?"

Fil feigned innocence. "Your life."

"Hah!" the man snorted. "If my life is what she wanted, then you would’ve killed me instead of sitting over there to talk."

"You got me." Fig sighed. "I’m really not good at this."

Fig slipped his hand in his suit and took out a folded, almost crumpled paper. He tossed it at the man opposite him.

"We need you to write down a few things," he said while pointing at the young lad on the other seat on the private plane. "Name him heir and sign it."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because I told you."

"Hah!" The master of the family picked up the paper and opened it. His face twitched as his eyes blazed while skimming through it. "Are you out of your mind!? I will not sign this contract — even if you kill me!"

Fig would’ve shot him dead seconds ago if not for the young man around.

"Give it some thought," Fig advised leisurely. "You’d be dead anyway the second this plane lands. For once, do something as a father and not as some tyrant head of a cult family. It’s your last chance to do something for your kids for once."

"You don’t come to me and lecture me —"

"Deborah, give the kid some earplugs and a gadget to busy himself with," Fig cut him off by ordering Deborah without looking away from the man. "He might take us seriously once he starts bleeding."

Deborah nodded and turned, facing the young master. "Are you not sleepy, young master? How about some music or other movies to watch, hmm?"

The young man looked at the flight attendant, who happened to be a woman from the Reapers. At this point, everyone already heard about them, especially their boss, Hera Cruel. And right now, this entire flight was full of Reapers.

"I don’t want to be the head of the family," said the young man. "And I am not a child who screams at the sight of blood."

"My captain knows that." Deborah smiled warmly. "Even so, we don’t want to add more damage to an already beaten child. It’s pathetic. So, do you want these earplugs?"

The young man gulped before taking the earplugs from her hand. As he put them on, Deborah stayed standing on his side to block his vision.

As for Fig, he smiled as he faced the man opposite him.

"One thing I realized in children in this secret society is... it’s interesting how you all raised your children, making them think that witnessing their parent’s death is something they were prepared for," he mused. "Or was it because they’ve been so repressed for the longest time they think their parent’s death is their only salvation? Either way, it gives me enough excuse to hurt you, Mr. Capeti."