What the hell is the "kill line" when you're in America?

Catherine stood guard beside the sofa.

Mike curled up like an abandoned child.

His body stopped trembling.

His eyes were just empty and unfocused.

Li Ang stood by the window, watching the occasional police car drive by below.

The flashing red and blue police lights illuminated his profile in shifting light.

He took out his phone, the light from the screen illuminating his calm face.

He sent Victor a message.

There is only one address and one time.

"I'm going out for a bit," Li Ang said, putting on his coat.

Catherine looked up, her eyes full of pleading.

"Take good care of him," Li Ang said emotionlessly. "He'll be alright."

Li Ang opened the door and went out.

It shut out the fear and helplessness of mortals behind the door.

……

An abandoned railway shunting yard in the south of the city.

Victor leaned against a rusty truck, an unlit cigar dangling from his mouth.

He arrived half an hour earlier than the agreed time.

He couldn't understand why he was being so obedient.

Perhaps it was out of fear.

The man entered his life silently, like a ghost.

Then he turned his life upside down.

A black Dodge drove up from a distance and stopped not far away.

Li Ang got out of the car.

He "borrowed" the car from the street.

"Where's the stuff?" Li Ang walked up to Victor.

Victor didn't say anything, but took out a long, hard-sided gun case from his pocket and handed it over.

Li Ang took it and opened it.

A silver-gray pistol lay quietly in the black sponge padding.

Its lines are smooth and elegant, and the gun body gleams with the unique cold luster of metal.

Beretta 92FS.

An elegant weapon from Italy, once the standard-issue pistol of the American military.

Li Ang picked it up.

The gun is heavy, weighing over a kilogram, giving it a substantial feel in the hand.

He gripped the gun handle, the cold touch coming from his palm.

As if by instinct, my index finger rested on the outside of the trigger guard.

He pulled the sleeve with incredibly smooth movements.

"Click".

The crisp sound of the machinery was particularly jarring in the empty shunting yard.

The chamber opens and then closes.

“Brand new,” Victor said from the side. “It took me a lot of effort to get this clean one.”

"Nine-millimeter Parabellum ammunition, magazine capacity of fifteen rounds."

"Four spare magazines and one hundred rounds of ammunition are included."

Victor pointed to several other slots in the gun case.

Li Ang ignored him, simply removing the magazine and reinstalling it.

Then, he raised his gun and assumed a standard aiming posture.

His arm was steady, and the muzzle of the gun did not shake at all.

At that moment, he seemed to become one with the weapon.

Victor watched his actions, his expression becoming somewhat complicated.

This man was no ordinary homeless person.

His gun-holding posture was more standard and professional than that of his seasoned gun-wielding subordinates who had been handling guns for over a decade.

"How much?" Li Ang asked, putting down his gun.

"It's free," Victor shook his head. "The matter you asked me to investigate has yielded some results."

"Marcus, the head of the Nine Blocks Street Wolves, a fat man who made his fortune through drug trafficking and loan sharking."

"He's gotten into trouble recently, fighting with the gangs in the west of the city over territory, and has lost quite a few people."

Victor paused for a moment, then continued, "As for the other two people you mentioned, I'm still investigating them."

"Professional hitmen are hard to find. They're like water ghosts; they pull off a job and disappear without a trace."

"But don't worry, as long as they're still in Seattle, I'll definitely be able to dig them out."

"Very good." Li Ang put the gun and magazine back into the gun case.

"I need a place to practice my skills."

"Practice?" Victor was stunned. "You still need to practice?"

He thought Li Ang was joking.

"I need to familiarize myself with it." Li Ang patted the gun case in his hand.

Victor remained silent for a moment.

"Come with me."

……

Victor led Li Ang to an abandoned quarry on the outskirts of the city.

This place is desolate and uninhabited, with mountains riddled with holes and scattered boulders everywhere.

It was an excellent place to dispose of corpses and test firearms.

Victor took a case of empty beer bottles out of his trunk.

He arranged six of them in a row on a large rock in the distance.

"Fifty meters," Victor estimated the distance. "Want to give it a try?"

He handed Li Ang a loaded Beretta of the same model.

Li Ang did not answer.

"You go first."

Victor glanced at him but did not refuse.

He walked to the firing position, his feet shoulder-width apart, and his body leaning slightly forward.

He raised his gun and aimed, the whole action completed in one smooth motion.

Without the slightest hesitation.

"Bang!"

Gunshots rang out.

Fifty meters away, the leftmost beer bottle shattered instantly.

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Without pausing, Victor fired the remaining five bullets in one go.

All six beer bottles were smashed.

The shards of glass glittered in the afterglow of the setting sun.

He put down his gun, which was still emitting wisps of smoke.

He turned to look at Li Ang, a hint of smugness in his eyes.

This marksmanship was honed over more than a decade of experience amidst gunfire.

It is the foundation of his life.

Li Ang looked at him quietly, his face expressionless.

"Did you see it clearly?" Victor asked.

Li Ang nodded.

He stepped forward and took the scalding hot pistol from Victor's hand.

He did not fire immediately.

He just stood there with his eyes closed.

In his mind's eye, every detail of Victor's actions was slowed down, dissected, and reconstructed infinitely.

The rhythm of breathing, the exertion of muscles, the stability of the wrist, and the change in force when pulling the trigger.

The power of [Martial Arts Profound] was brought to its fullest potential at this moment.

He quickly fused Victor's skills with the fighting instincts imprinted deep within his soul.

Then, he opened his eyes.

Victor rearranged the six beer bottles.

Li Ang raised his gun.

Same posture, same angle.

But Victor keenly sensed that something was different.

Li Ang's aura has changed.

If Victor was like a cheetah waiting for its chance to strike, then...

At this moment, Li Ang is like a lifeless, stubborn rock.

"Bang!"

First shot.

The leftmost bottle is broken.

"Bang!"

The second shot.

The bottle on the far right is broken.

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Li Ang's firing rhythm quickened, and the gunshots rang out in rapid succession.

The remaining four bottles shattered almost simultaneously in an instant.

Victor's eyes widened.

The smugness and smugness on his face had vanished, replaced by disbelief and shock.

He just hit them one by one from left to right in order.

Li Ang's firing sequence was completely chaotic and disjointed.

This means that Li Ang needs to relock onto the target every time he fires.

This is several times more difficult than sequential shooting.

What terrified him even more was that Li Ang's rate of fire was at least twice as fast as his.

This goes beyond the realm of skill.

That's talent.

It's the kind of talent that can make even the most skilled marksmen who have trained for years despair.

"you……"

Victor's throat was dry, and he couldn't utter a single word.

Li Ang lowered his gun.

"This gun is not bad," he commented casually.

He removed the empty magazine and replaced it with a new one, the movements so practiced it seemed like he had done it a million times.

Victor looked at him, his palms starting to sweat.

He suddenly realized that cooperating with this man might be both the worst and the best decision he had ever made.