Chapter 120 Editing Techniques

"Na-Naranja?!"

Polpo exclaimed.

The driver and bodyguard in the front row also reacted instantly.

They subconsciously wanted to point their guns at Narancia , but no matter how fast these ordinary people were, they could not be faster than Narancia's Aerosmith.

The seemingly harmless "toy plane" just turned its nose slightly, and before the two men drew their guns, it shot a dazzling flame at their heads.

The powerful micro-bullets easily shattered the car window glass and blasted a row of black bloody holes in the heads of the two guys.

The flying glass and the spraying blood mist splashed onto Polpo's fat face.

Before Polpo's sluggish and bloated body could react, Narancia controlled his stand and pointed the gun firmly at him.

Looking at Aerosmith who was almost pointing the muzzle of the gun at his fat face, a thin layer of sweat immediately broke out on Polpo's fleshy forehead.

He looked at the surveillance video of Narancia leaning on Bucciarati, and then looked at the Narancia in front of him who was pointing the gun of the stand-in at him:

"How is it possible...you...you are clearly there!"

At this moment, time seemed to freeze.

Naranja stared at Polpo and explained in a cold tone:

"It's just a shell."

"That's a dummy that Giorno cloned using my blood. It doesn't have a soul at all, and it doesn't even have a complete human structure. It only has a shell that looks like me."

"And my real body had already escaped by hiding in the sewer through the zipper opened on the ground by my steel chain fingers."

"Clone? A dummy?"

Polpo was confused: "Is this possible?"

There was no way. Giorno himself had just unlocked the ability to create humans not long ago, so of course he couldn't grasp this key information.

However, no matter how absurd the truth is, Polpo now has to face the cold reality.

But like all the villains who died with their eyes wide open, he tried desperately to figure out what had just happened:

“No…that’s not right!”

"I have clearly thought of everything in advance... At such a long distance, even if you really escaped the surveillance area, you would not be able to find me!"

Polpo knew very well that the range of Naranja 's Aerosmith was only 50 meters, and its detection range for sensing carbon dioxide concentration was no more than 100 meters.

He had clearly maintained a safe distance of a full kilometer in advance, so why was Narancia able to find this place accurately in the first place?

"Mr. Polpo."

"You are really stupid..."

For once, Naranja showed a mocking smile that crushed others with his IQ:

"Has your brain degenerated because you've been in jail for so long?"

"Look at the car you're sitting on... a giant Hummer with such a large displacement is very, very un-environmentally friendly."

"I can smell the amount of carbon dioxide this car emits when it's on the road!"

Polpo's expression froze for a moment.

He hadn't been out for many years and had even forgotten how unique his car was.

The nearby neighborhoods had long been deserted due to the previous "biological attack", and there were almost no other cars passing by on the streets.

The exhaust gas left by his giant Hummer was very powerful, and the carbon dioxide was like the icy mist on a winter morning, floating on the road for a long time without dissipating.

"It turned out to be like this..."

Beads of sweat dotted Polpo's fat face.

At this moment, his Black Sabbath was still confronting Bucciarati and others one kilometer away.

It was too late for him to call back his stand-in to protect him. He could only face Aerosmith with his stand-in by his side, weak and helpless like a lamb to be slaughtered.

But Polpo is, after all, a gangster who has experienced countless storms.

Although he was caught off guard by these successive changes, he quickly shook off his instinctive panic:

"Narancia, your performance is indeed unexpected."

"But don't forget..."

He adjusted his breathing slightly, and his voice gradually became calm, indifferent and implicitly threatening.

If you just listen to the tone, others might think that Polpo is the one who has the upper hand:

"Those old guys are still in my hands!"

"Haha... just to be on the safe side, I've already told my subordinates about this."

"If they don't get a call from me in ten minutes, they'll just send those useless old guys straight to heaven."

"That is to say..." Polpo moved his huge head towards Aerosmith's gun as if to provoke him: "If you kill me now, those old guys will die with me!"

"you?!"

Narancia’s body trembled.

He seemed to have never expected that Polpo would be so insidious and shameless, and even his body was shaking with anger.

"What, do you still want to kill me?"

Polpo took the initiative and made concessions at the right time:

"Narancia, make your choice!"

"Should you kill me to vent your anger, or let me go and save those old guys?"

"I…"

Narancia clenched his fists tightly, and after hesitating for a long time, he asked with difficulty:

"Polpo, what you mean is... as long as I release you, you will keep your promise and release those people as well?"

"That's right."

Polpo took out his cell phone and said very seriously:

"As long as you let me leave here, I will call and release him immediately."

There was a hint of urgency in his tone, as if he was urging the confused Narancia to make a decision quickly.

Naranja's decision was:

"Mr. Polpo, you can go now."

"ha?"

Polpo was slightly stunned.

The next moment, a dazzling flame burst out before his eyes.

Dense bullets came towards him like a strong wind.

Polpo's huge body, as big as a hill, trembled violently, and soon he collapsed powerlessly in a pool of blood.

"W-why?"

"You...you...don't want to kill those old guys?"

Polpo said with his eyes wide open.

However, he did not live to see the answer revealed.

Narancia just glanced at Polpo casually, opened the car door as if nothing had happened, and picked up the mobile phone from his body.

Then he dialed Bucciarati's cell phone number.

The cell phone was a disposable one that Bucciarati had hidden in the getaway car, so there was no need to worry about it being located and eavesdropped on for the time being.

After learning that Polpo was dead, Bucciarati and others immediately left the bridgehead and rushed here.

"Naranja!"

Bucciarati didn't even bother to look at Polpo's body. As soon as they met, he asked anxiously:

"Did you get Polpo's cell phone?"

"I got it." Naranja shook the blood-stained phone: "The call records are still on it. Click replay to contact the subordinates responsible for the kidnapping."

"Very good, what about the 'material'?"

"We have collected the 'materials', so there will definitely be enough."

"That's good."

Bucciarati breathed a sigh of relief, and then cast his expectant gaze towards Abbacchio.

Abbacchio stepped forward without delay and replayed Polpo's words before his death in a melancholy blues:

“…”

"Will you kill me to vent your anger, or let me go and save those old guys?"

"That's right."

"As long as you let me leave here, I will call and release him immediately."

After some preparation...

Abbazi took Polpo's phone and dialed the number, then put the phone to Melancholy Blues' mouth.

Soon, the call was connected:

"Boss Polpo, what instructions do you have?"

Melancholy Blues instantly adjusted the "playback progress" and cut out two words from Polpo's words "I'll call and release him right away";

"Let him go."

"Hmm?" The subordinates confirmed with a little doubt: "Boss, are you just going to let him go like this?"

Melancholy Blues pulls the progress bar again.

It was like a B-station UP host who was good at making ghost videos. It cut out a few words from what Polpo said and finally put them together into a fluent and complete sentence:

"That's right."

"Let go of... those old guys."

"yes!"

The number was Polbo's and the voice was Polbo's.

Although Mr. Polpo's tone was a bit strange, the subordinates on the other end of the phone did not dare to question the orders of the gangster boss:

"We'll let him go now."

The phone was hung up.

Melancholy Blues stopped replaying, and the innocent citizen on the other end of the phone was set free.

Only then did Bucciarati feel like turning his attention to Polpo.

"Those innocent elderly people shouldn't have been dragged into this."

Looking at his deceased former boss, there was no trace of regret in Bucciarati's eyes:

"Mr. Polpo."