Dual Transmigration: American Prison, Surviving to a Fantasy Development Stage

Six special forces soldiers entered the first floor and started shooting at anyone they saw, leaving no survivors.

A helicopter hovered on the rooftop, and six more people slid down ropes from it.

Four smoke grenades were thrown in simultaneously from the stairwell and the window.

Acrid white smoke instantly filled the entire room.

Then the special forces soldier on the rooftop grabbed the rope and jumped in through the window.

White smoke billowed, choking Zhao Gang, who coughed violently, tears and snot streaming down his face.

I can't see anything clearly.

All I heard was a flurry of short, rapid gunshots.

Da da da, da da da—

Each sound was extremely close to him, so close that he could feel the air vibrations caused by the bullets flying past.

Zhao Gang was so frightened that he closed his eyes tightly and trembled like a leaf.

I felt like my heart was about to jump out of my throat, and my mind went completely blank.

The gunshots came and went quickly, lasting only a dozen seconds.

The entire villa fell silent again.

All that remained was the piercing beeping of the smoke alarm and the occasional "clear" confirmation command.

As the smoke gradually dissipated, Zhao Gang cautiously opened his eyes.

Six figures dressed in black combat uniforms were seen standing in the room.

However, those figures were clearly not the two people who had been guarding him earlier.

The two robbers guarding him were riddled with bullets.

A middle-aged man in a Philippine National Police uniform was standing on a pile of spent bullet casings.

He strode up the stairs, a broad smile on his face, and walked up to Zhao Gang, personally untying the tightly bound rope from his wrists.

"Mr. Zhao, I'm sorry to have startled you."

We are extremely sorry that such a thing happened in our jurisdiction; it was a dereliction of duty on our part.

His face was covered in layers of smiles, as if Zhao Gang were his long-lost brother.

Zhao Gang stared blankly at the bureau chief who was bowing and scraping to him, his mind buzzing.

For a moment, I couldn't react.

He was tied up for two whole days, beaten several times, and shocked with electric shocks several times.

Both their mental and physical states are under extreme stress.

The contrast between what I saw and what I saw was just too great.

Just minutes before, he was being threatened with having his fingers cut off by two tattooed, burly men wielding stun guns.

Now a police chief is personally untying him and apologizing to him.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but his throat was too dry to make a sound.

Before Zhao Gang could even organize his thoughts, the bureau chief, while speaking, personally draped a bathrobe over Zhao Gang's shoulders:

"There were eight thugs in the entire villa, and they were all shot dead on the spot."

Not a single one escaped.

Mr. Zhao, this is your passport. We found it in the safe downstairs.

And your luggage—your phone, wallet, credit cards—everything is there. Please check it.

Zhao Gang took the passport, flipped through it to confirm it was his, and then unzipped the backpack to look inside.

The phone was still there even though it was out of battery, and there was an extra $10 in cash in the wallet, which was clearly not his.

He secretly breathed a sigh of relief, but then an even bigger question arose.

When did the officials here become so friendly?

Not only were special forces dispatched to rescue him, but the bureau chief also personally untied him and apologized. This treatment was even better than that of a diplomat.

Suddenly, a thought flashed through his mind.

Could it be that Lin Feng pulled some strings?

He suddenly recalled his phone call with Lin Feng earlier.

"Alright, I'll try to find some connections."

At the time, he thought Lin Feng would at most find a middleman from the Overseas Chinese Chamber of Commerce to help mediate.

Unexpectedly, they directly brought up the police chief.

They even mobilized special forces.

What level has his childhood friend, with whom he grew up, reached now?

Holy crap, that's awesome.

Zhao Gang couldn't help but ask, his voice still a little hoarse:

"Who sent you to rescue me?"

The bureau chief smiled so much his eyes narrowed into slits, and leaned closer. "They're from the military."

To be precise, the order came directly from the US military base in the Philippines; we were only responsible for cooperating with the operation.

Mr. Zhao, you must have a lot of influence. I've been in this position for eight years.

This is the first time I've seen the US military mobilize a special operations team specifically to rescue a civilian.

Zhao Gang was so shocked that he couldn't close his mouth for a long time.

Unexpectedly, Lin Feng was able to contact the Philippine military—no, the US military base in the Philippines.

This is no longer at the level of "knowing a few people"; this is at the level of being able to mobilize armed forces in any corner of the world.

"I see, thank you very much."

Zhao Gang mechanically thanked him, but his heart was in turmoil.

He suddenly realized that he knew far too little about Lin Feng. What kind of person had he become?

"No need to thank us. It's all because we didn't do our job well that Mr. Zhao suffered such a great injustice."

"Please come with us quickly. An ambulance has been arranged outside, and the medical team will give you a full medical check-up."

The bureau chief attentively supported Zhao Gang's arm, carefully helping him walk towards the stairwell.

Zhao Gang nodded, his mind still a mess.

I followed the bureau chief downstairs with slightly unsteady steps.

He felt that it all happened too fast and too unreal, like a bizarre dream.

As he approached the entrance to the villa's first floor, the glaring sunlight made him squint.

Several police cars and two military Humvees were parked outside.

Fully armed military and police personnel were setting up a cordon around the villa; the scene was bigger than a Hollywood blockbuster.

Just as Zhao Gang bent down to get into the police car that the bureau chief had arranged,

Suddenly, an anxious shout came from behind—

"Mr. Zhao! Mr. Zhao! Save me! Please, please save me!"

Zhao Gang turned around and looked.

A ragged, blood-covered Chinese man was being held down on the ground by two heavily armed Filipino soldiers.

With his face pressed against the scorching cement floor, his body struggled and writhed desperately like a dehydrated fish.

The two soldiers' knees were pressing down on his lower back and the back of his neck, respectively.

The force was so great that he could barely breathe.

But he still desperately tilted his head back and shouted with all his might in Zhao Gang's direction, his voice hoarse and desperate.

Zhao Gang knows this person.

They were all kidnapped by the same kidnapping gang and were waiting for their families to send ransom to buy their freedom.

The two were locked in the same room last night. The man huddled in the corner and whispered a few words to Zhao Gang.

They inquired about each other's situations.

Zhao Gang remembered that his surname was Zhou, and he was a hardware business owner in Jiangsu Province.

It's said that some people from the Philippines wanted to buy goods and came to investigate the market, but they were targeted as soon as they got off the plane.

Even worse off than Zhao Gang, he has been detained for five days, and the ransom has increased from 50 to 100 million US dollars. His family is selling their house to raise money.

Zhao Gang quickly said to the bureau chief:

"Oh, by the way, that person is also my friend; we're together."

He was also a victim of this group's kidnapping; he wasn't a bad person.