Eh? You want to try the humanoid girl's iron fist too?

In the past few days, whenever Doug had a spare moment to rest, he would stand in front of the map and study it repeatedly, combining it with his previous records of his actions when he first entered New York, and slowly imprint this area in his mind.

"Doug, do you want to go?" Cecilia shooed away the mob and stepped back to Doug's side, asking, "Don't worry about this side, the three of us can handle it. But are you serious about going alone?"

"..."

"Hey, Doug. Don't be like that. We made a promise when we first met that when we're risking our lives, we can't hold back against our comrades."

She could roughly sense Doug's conflicted emotions at that moment. After briefly assessing the state of the other two members of the team, she generously suggested:

"You have 10 minutes to conduct a tactical reconnaissance. Go quickly and come back quickly. The noble squad still needs its captain to lead it, so you don't have much time."

Doug exhaled a breath of hot air. "I'll be back in time."

He glanced at the thugs who had hidden in the alleyways to spy on the group, and reminded Ser before leaving.

Celia said:

"Don't let your guard down; those bastards are probably just testing the waters. Before I leave, I plan to use the coercive powers granted to me by the SHD and Decree No. 51 for the first time."

“This is the first time I’ve heard you say something like this since we came to New York,” Cecilia said, somewhat surprised.

“An order… no, it’s more appropriate to call it an instruction,” Doug stared at the figure that was barely visible in the blizzard. “While I’m away, if any thugs are carrying lethal weapons, the noble squad must use lethal force to retaliate. Do you understand, Acting Captain?”

"Understood." Cecilia saluted. "I'll just write it down briefly, only the important parts!"

She said this every time, and the only important thing was this: almost all armed personnel who were not using IFF identification signals were the enemy.

They came from one place and went to another, scavenging for valuables and resources left behind in the city, but ultimately found nothing because everything was in chaos.

While the chaos was partly due to the tireless efforts of their colleagues, it was largely because the city lacked the necessary manpower to operate it.

Doug was very worried about Cecilia; she was always kind-hearted. In a previous mission, they had rescued a young woman who had been defiled for days from beasts. She was tall and had a graceful figure, with a small head with beautiful long hair resting on her smooth, jade-like shoulders.

Unable to endure the relentless humiliation, even after being rescued, she remained delirious, believing she had been captured by another group of thugs. She ran frantically into the street, waving her arms wildly and shouting at the other group of thugs stationed in the underground parking lot:

"Come on, fight!"

Everything was a blur in her delirious mind: everyone around her was a bastard who wanted to capture her and take her under his control.

Because of the poor woman's actions, the squad was forced to engage in another gunfight with the thugs while incomplete.

After everything had calmed down, the woman, pale-faced and trembling, squatted in the middle of the road, staring intently at the corpse not far away, then at Doug and the others, and shouted at them:

"Why are you so late? Why..."

Cecilia tried to calm her down, explaining that the situation in New York was bad, but she was safe under the protection of her own people.

But the more I tried to persuade her, the more the frenzied flames in her eyes burned.

Suddenly, she quickly looked around, rushed to the body, grabbed the filthy pistol, and darted onto the road in three strides.

"Aaaaaah!" she screamed hysterically, her voice sharp and piercing. To the members of the noble squad, her cries were nothing short of agonizing wails.

He would stand up straight one moment and bend down the next, laughing and crying at the same time, waving a pistol and jumping around in the street.

Cecilia knew that the poor woman was about to be beaten to death; she had made such a horrific noise that it attracted the other thugs. Those guys were bastards too, and they might use her as a tool for their amusement, slowly shooting her to death.

The female agent wanted to save her, and at that moment she couldn't care about anything else, so she lunged at the collapsing woman.

But the man spotted Cecilia running towards him, turned around, put down his pistol, and ran right into her.

When Cecilia saw those bulging, hate-filled, crazed eyes so close, she immediately abandoned the idea of ​​capturing them. She leaped away, grabbed the woman's left hand holding the gun, and lifted it upwards to keep the gun out of sight of the others.

Seeing this, Doug raised his gun, aiming steadily at the crazy woman.

Cecilia and the crazed woman fought desperately for the pistol, a struggle that lasted for several seconds. Just as the agent was about to succeed, something happened that she herself didn't know what had occurred.

The woman let go, tossing her hand into the air as if to catch something, or perhaps to celebrate. But before she could straighten her arm, she fell face-down onto the snow.

It was only when she fell that Cecilia came to her senses. The gunshot she had heard a second earlier was fired by none other than Captain Doug.

“Shit.” As she crouched down to examine the dead body, Cecilia realized that it was killed, not just injured.

The woman lay face down, her hair pitifully covering her face.

Blood flowed from his neck, soaking the ground and mingling with the dust and snow. The bullet had shattered his throat and struck his spine.

"That almost caused even bigger trouble!" The speaker was Tony Gagia, a tall man with a small mustache. He disassembled the pistol and threw it into different trash cans.

"Damn it, I'll show you what madness is all about," he repeated. "Madmen have their own way of dying, and this is a fitting end for them!"

Despite his earnest tone, a sense of guilt shone through his eyes. His words seemed merely a self-convincing attempt to convince himself that only in this way could things end.

Captain Doug remained silent. This incident had dealt him a greater blow. He had always wanted to save people and restore order to the city from chaos, and for this, he had not hesitated to kill the mobs in the streets and the workers who tried to eradicate the virus with fire.

But this time, his attempt to save someone turned into murder. He wanted to save someone—but instead killed her! What could be more…more terrifying than this?

He remained clueless about why New York had become like this until the end of the day.

All of this left him completely bewildered.

"ISAC, activation pulse."

"Pulse activated," the intelligent assistant reported, while simultaneously marking the target information acquired by the radar scan in its entirety.

……

Raphael was walking down the street when a sonic boom suddenly exploded beside her ear, causing her to lunge forward and pin her body to the ground. Then she crawled sideways and quickly squeezed behind the engine of a wrecked car parked by the roadside.

After she understood the situation, she couldn't help but curse, "Damn it."

Generally speaking, she rarely meddles in other people's business. But who told the agents' pulse to sweep over here? I, Raphael, am determined to lend a hand today!

As for who to help, it all depends on the situation; her stance is characterized by flexibility and variability.

A gang of bastards from the Wrights were chasing the poor scavenger ahead, occasionally firing a couple of shots to scare the unfortunate fellow and deriving pleasure from the power of "domination" from him.

The scavengers drew closer and closer, and Raphael felt a toothache. The riot gang's manpower seemed inexhaustible; they would harvest one batch and immediately refresh the next.

After leaving the stronghold near the quarantine zone, she experienced seven battles, large and small. If you include those bastards who beat corpses with sticks on the roadside and in alleys, the number of people she killed is estimated to be over 40.

Stealing things is one thing, killing someone is another, but using a corpse to vent one's anger is another.

With lightning speed, Raphael grabbed the scavenger's clothes and tossed him, bag and all, into a flowerbed in the nearby square. She then promptly stood up, raised her gun, and prioritized her targets according to their threat level.

Thump, thump;

She could kill an enemy with every two shots, but the effect of a surprise attack was only momentary. When arranging the order, she could only be sure that the two fastest runners would die on the spot, and the others could not.

Book 1: The World Before the Great War: Chapter 27 Abnormal Contact

Weeks of street battles and back-to-back work in city apartments, office buildings, and shopping malls have left them covered in dust and grime. Their eyes are bloodshot, and their faces are so dirty that it's hard to tell if it's sweat or snow.

The look that appeared on their faces when they saw someone step forward to fight them.

It wasn't fear or panic, but rather an unprecedented excitement and exhilaration; they seemed to be floating on air.

The other person's eyes gleamed with an unnatural light. Raphael knew it was common for these people to use drugs as a pastime, but he was still surprised, especially considering it was morning.

But even if you're crazy, as long as you keep a certain distance from irrational enemies, you can easily complete the shooting mission.

She felt no guilt in fighting these evil spirits; instead, she became even more ruthless.

With her characteristic composure, Raphael leaned to the side from the rear of the vehicle, revealing half of herself as she shot down the shield-wielding soldier who tried to rush up the sidewalk. Literally shield and spear, he ran over like a Viking, holding a round wooden shield and a fire axe held high in his other hand.

When he saw what Raphael was holding, a flicker of panic crossed his eyes, and the next second he couldn't hear anything anymore.

Judging from the thugs' attire—fully hooded masks, gray vests, and orange prison uniforms—they must be the gang of prisoners who escaped from prison—the Lex Gang.

After this group of scum orchestrated an organized riot at Lake Island prison, a destructive criminal organization gradually emerged. They expanded rapidly, seizing multiple police precincts and acquiring enough equipment to arm an army.

With the gradual disintegration of military and police forces, they naturally took over the area. Their goal was straightforward: to seek revenge against the government that had imprisoned them.

In practice, this means beheading everyone in uniform, especially those in police or JTF uniforms.

They will also attack scavengers if they feel it is necessary.

Raphael glanced across the street and saw another group of Lex's gang advancing along the sidewalk, using obstacles and abandoned vehicles for cover.

If they can't win a direct confrontation, they leave a small group behind while the rest spread out to the flanks to encircle the enemy under suitable conditions. This simple tactic is very suitable for the Lex Luthor gang, who have not received formal training.

If one is more determined and the person in charge of the on-site command is more intelligent, it is possible to force the enemy, who is inferior in both firepower and numbers, to move in the direction one desires.

"Terrible," Raphael remarked. He then removed the smoke grenade from his waistband and threw it forward.

The gray-green pipe lay in the middle of the road, hissing and spewing out thick yellow smoke.

Just as the heavy snow and smoke were about to completely block the streets, a gentle breeze swept across the streets, instantly dispersing most of the snow.

“Damn it,” she said.

Most of the smoke was blown away, and the group of madmen let out human-like howls at Raphael.

Forget it, it's not worth it. She sighed again in her mind, giving up the urge to throw a second smoke grenade, simply because of the wind.

At that moment, a familiar radar pulse swept across the entire street. After the electronic countermeasures system detected the signal and direction, it issued a targeted jamming signal.

“ISAC, have you noticed?” Doug Sutton said.

"Interference signal detected..." After a moment, ISAC continued, "The system is offline and will start in offline mode."

Next, the offline clone of the intelligent analysis computer read the signal scanned in an instant, re-rendered it onto the agent's AR contact lenses, and marked the location of everyone according to the pre-set parameters.

However, Doug modified the system default files, setting third-party individuals with electronic warfare jamming capabilities to neutral attributes.

There's a saying that goes, "Make as many friends as possible and as few enemies as possible." In more formal terms, it means uniting all forces that can be united to form the broadest possible united front.

The same is true now.

Doug reviewed the limited video footage and concluded that she should maintain a neutral stance—that is, only concerned with what she was supposed to do, and nothing else. If anyone tried to block her way, she wouldn't hesitate to kill them.

Now that he had witnessed the other party's actions firsthand, Doug was even more convinced of his judgment.

What's the situation now? The JTF has fallen apart due to incorrect orders and internal power struggles, most of the First Wave agents are trapped in the quarantine zone, and the forces on the Order side have fallen into an unprecedented state of weakness.

Therefore, he believes that pushing people to the opposite side was undoubtedly a grave mistake. If they could gain the other side's support, perhaps more people could be saved.

Doug Sutton first removed the sound suppressor from his M4A1, then deliberately moved to the other side of the road, parallel to "Bogey-1 (Unidentified Target)". He worried that she would mistake him for an enemy flanking from behind, given that he was holding a gun.

Bang, bang bang bang, bang bang—

Raphael heard a very rhythmic firing sound from about 3 o'clock, indicating that the shooter had an excellent understanding of the M4A1's capabilities. In his hands, the assault rifle became an extension of its abilities, rather than an unwieldy double-edged sword.

"Frindly (friendly forces)!"

"What?" Raphael shouted as he retreated while changing magazines, "Who are you?!"

"Friendly soldier, I'll cover you. See you at NONONO Japanese restaurant on Madison Avenue and 31st Street later."