You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

Chapter 266 Hidden Grenade in Crotch

"etc."

The gossipy man blinked at Leon in the back seat. "You mean, I have to pretend to be you and walk into that factory full of gangsters by myself?"

"right."

"You're fucking kidding me."

The chatter rose a little, and he pointed a finger at his own nose.

"I, disguised as you, walked in, and then those bastards, as soon as they saw me, started riddling me with dozens of automatic rifles?"

"Is this your rescue plan?"

Leon zipped the SR-25's holster all the way up, pulled out the matte black sniper rifle, and didn't even look up.

"They won't kill you right away."

"Oh, at least they won't kill me right away, that's so damn thoughtful."

The gossip rolled her eyes. "So what am I supposed to do inside? Be their live target practice?"

Lyon pulled back the bolt, and the metal mechanism made a crisp click, confirming that a bullet was loaded into the chamber.

"Once you go in, Tyrone will be fooled by your disguised face."

He looked up and stared at the chatterbox through the night vision goggles.

"Even if the raven's disguise can only fool about 70-80% of the situation, it will be enough in the dimly lit factory."

"When he sees Leon Vance walk in alone, his first reaction won't be to shoot. He'll be smug, then mocking, and walk right up to you to properly humiliate the cop who hung up on him earlier."

"When they've got all their attention focused on you—"

"The sentries on the perimeter have been cleared out by me and Han Ya."

Crow took over the conversation, his voice still as cold as ice. He was already rummaging through the camouflage kit in the passenger glove box, his hands never stopping.

"We will occupy the high ground and clear out the outer firing positions within half a minute, then we can break in without restraint."

The chatterbox opened his mouth, wanting to refute something, but his tactical awareness as a ranger made him swallow back the words that were about to come out.

Although this plan has thrown itself into a wolf's den, it seems logically sound.

"Fine, even if what you're saying makes sense."

He scratched the back of his head. "I can't just go in empty-handed, can I? But those bastards will definitely search me. They might find a folding knife, let alone a handgun."

"And then what? I'm just standing here, surrounded by forty or fifty gangsters with guns, unarmed, waiting for you to slowly clear the area from the outside?"

"What if some blind fool fires a burst at me first?"

Leon stared at the gossipy man for a few seconds.

Then his gaze slowly moved down from the chatterbox's face and stopped at the crotch of his combat pants, below the chatterbox's tactical vest.

The gossipy man followed his gaze and looked down at his crotch, then looked up at Leon.

"What are you looking at?"

"Your crotch."

"Of course you know you're staring at my crotch. I'm asking you, why are you staring at my crotch?"

Lyon rested the SR-25 on his lap, reached out and opened the storage compartment next to the door, inside which were several M84 rounds neatly stacked.

Stun grenades and two M67 fragmentation grenades.

He grabbed a stun grenade and shoved it into the gossipy man's hand.

"Stuff it in."

The chatterbox looked down at the heavy stun grenade in his hand, then looked up at Leon's expressionless face, and then looked down at his crotch.

The carriage was quiet for a few seconds.

"You fucking want me to stuff a stun grenade down my pants?!"

The chattering almost shattered the bulletproof glass of the GMC.

"With forty or fifty people standing in front of me, you expect me to walk in with a grenade in my crotch and chat with them nonchalantly?!"

"They won't search you very thoroughly."

"When gangsters search people, they usually touch their armpits, waist, and ankles, and at most pat their chest."

"Tyrone's eager to humiliate 'me,' but his thugs won't spend much time on your crotch."

"If they realize we've launched a surprise attack—"

"You were right in the middle of their barrage of fire, surrounded by everyone, when suddenly you pulled a stun grenade out of your crotch."

Leon shoved another grenade into the grumbling man's hand.

"Everyone in the factory will instantly lose their sight and hearing, and my bullets and Jackdaw's bullets will pass through everyone standing next to you."

The chatterbox was clutching a hand grenade and a stun grenade.

He was silent for two seconds, then suddenly raised his head, ripped off the skull mask from his face, revealing a square-chinned face with short stubble.

"Holy shit."

He grinned, the previous agitation in his eyes disappearing, replaced by excitement.

"Do you police officers usually have such wild side? I should have gone to police academy!"

The crow, who had been silently mixing camouflage paint all along, finally turned around, glanced at him with an expression of utter disbelief, and then slapped a sticky, flesh-colored silicone onto his face.

"Shut up and sit still."

"You took a picture of me again!"

Forty minutes later.

The chatterbox zipped up Lyon's gray waterproof jacket and pulled his black baseball cap down low over his head.

The special paint and silicone filler used by the Raven altered the contours of his jaw and cheekbones. Combined with his already similar physique to Leon's, in the dim light of the rainy night, as long as he didn't speak, no one could detect any flaws.

"Check the throat microphone," Leon's voice came through the walkie-talkie.

The gossipy man patted the inside of his collar. "Got it. The crotch is a bit heavy, I'll have to walk with my feet turned outwards."

"Try to talk to people as little as possible, don't shrug when you do talk, and don't waddle like a crab when you walk. Learn my pace," Leon said.

"Jack the Raven and I have already located eight sentries on the outer perimeter. We have overlapping lines of sight and are divided into three groups targeting the same targets simultaneously."

In fact, the disguise of gossiping was completed in just twenty minutes. In the following twenty minutes, Leon and Jackdaw were not idle either.

Using the cover of the rain and abandoned boiler tanks, they advanced more than 100 meters and occupied two high points.

Lyon was on the middle steel frame of a rusty coal washing tower, while the jackdaws climbed onto an abandoned factory building on the side.

The two thoroughly identified the locations of the eight Blood Gang gunmen who were both roaming the perimeter and stationary, and completed the target assignment.

"Once you're inside, use the noise from the generators in the factory as cover to keep bombarding me with attacks."

Lyon's instructions were clear and ruthless.

"Number of people, weapon distribution, and most importantly, tell me where Talon finally took you."

"We will remain silent while clearing the perimeter. After the perimeter is cleared, we will approach the factory and open fire directly on the gangsters in your room to create chaos."

"After we open fire, take advantage of the moment when everyone's attention is diverted and pull out a grenade."

"After you detonate the stun grenade, I will rush to your position and take over the hostages."

"clear."

Dumbmouth took a deep breath, stepped out from behind the bunker, and onto the muddy road leading to the main gate of Steel Plant No. 9.

He imitated Lyon's nonchalant yet aggressive gait, swaggering towards the factory gate.

Four gangsters carrying automatic rifles immediately emerged from behind the abandoned oil drums on either side of the gate, their guns all pointed at him.

"Hands behind your head! Turn around!" a gangster with a dreadlock yelled.

The gossipy man silently raised his hands and slowly turned around.

Two thugs stepped forward and began to roughly search his body.

They touched him from under his armpits to his waist, patted his chest, and then ran his fingers down his outer thighs to his ankles.

Just as Lyon expected, this kind of street thug's body search was a stereotypical action learned from movies; no one wanted to touch a grown man's crotch.

"Clean, not even a nail clipper." The thug searching him took a step back and pressed the muzzle of his gun against the chatterbox's back.

"Let's go in!"

The gossip whistled inwardly and, with slightly splayed steps, was led into the factory.

As soon as you step through the gate, the deafening roar of the diesel generator fills your ears.

The huge factory interior space was fragmented by a few stark white searchlights.

The air was thick with the smells of engine oil, mildew, and cheap marijuana.

The chatterbox lowered its head slightly, its fingers seemingly casually resting on its collar as it pressed the microphone switch.

"We're inside." He said in a low voice, his voice blending perfectly into the noise of the generator.

"There are about twenty people scattered on the first floor, and four machine gunners on the second floor walkway."

He was shoved through the center of the factory, with gangsters on both sides staring at him as if he were dead, some even spitting at his feet.

"They're leading me to the very back," the gossip continued to report.

"Third floor, past the workshop—ahead is a separate room with glass, like the former supervisor's office."

"Received." Leon's voice came through the earpiece.

"Prepare to engage the enemy. Jackdaw, targets 1 and 2, synchronize."

Middle layer of the coal washing tower.

Lyon knelt on one knee on the slippery steel plate, his fully equipped SR-25 semi-automatic sniper rifle propped up against the edge of the railing.

The peak aiming state brought by 20 points of Willpower is fully activated.

At that very moment, the pale blue light at the edge of the retina began to flicker without warning.

[System Notification: Area Annihilation Mission Triggered - Blood Gang's End]

Mission Objective: Rescue the hostages and physically eliminate the remaining leaders of the West District Blood Gang.

[Mission Reward: 4000 Justice Points.]

Lyon had no time to pay attention to the system that was trying to make its presence known at this moment. In his vision, the raindrops seemed to slow down their fall, turning into countless fine silver lines.

Through the Leupold high-powered scope, two Blood Gang sentries were clearly visible below the water tower and on top of the container in the distance.

The brain instantly completes the trajectory calculations for wind speed, humidity, and distance.

"3, 2, 1, fire."

"Pfft! Pfft!"

One shot was from Lyon, the other from Jackdaw; the two muffled gunshots, suppressed by silencers, almost overlapped.

The gangsters below the water tower had just bent down to light a cigarette when they were struck on the head. They fell backward violently, their brains and blood splattering onto the red brick wall.

The container targets that Jackdaw was in charge of also collapsed simultaneously.

"Targets 3, 4, 5, cross cover." Without pausing, Leon's crosshair had already shifted to the abandoned boiler area on the right.

There were three gangsters standing in a triangle formation; if any one of them fell, it would immediately alert the other two.

"I'll take care of the two on the left," Leon said calmly.

Just as the crow moved its gun muzzle to the rightmost target atop the factory building, it said, "Roger that, I—"

Before the crow could utter the word "prepare," Leon's gun had already fired.

"Pfft! Pfft!"

In Lyon's hands, the SR-25 fired at a rate of rapid fire like an assault rifle.

The first bullet precisely pierced the eye socket of the gangster on the left, and the second bullet, in less than half a second, directly blew off the skull of the gangster in the middle.

The two bodies fell into the floodwater almost simultaneously.

Before the crow could even be shocked, it instinctively pulled the trigger, killing the gangster on the far right who had just reacted and was trying to turn around.

The crow raised its eyes from behind the scope and glanced in the direction of Leon.

It's a ghost story.

This was the first thought that popped into the crow's mind.

As a former Navy SEAL marksman, he knew very well how much time it would take to re-aim and adjust his breathing after two consecutive accurate headshots in the dark, rainy night.

But Leon didn't adjust at all; he was like a programmed killing machine, with bullets flying straight for the target's vitals.

Even if this guy took away my usual gun and I'm using my spare now, the difference in killing efficiency is still terrifyingly large.

"Targets 6, 7, 8, the factory back door." Leon's orders gave Raven no chance to catch his breath. "Two for me, one for you. Open fire."

"Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!"

Three more corpses lay silently in the mud.

At this point, the eight hidden sentries outside the factory, which had been out of sight of the main force, were completely cleared out in less than forty seconds.

No one had a chance to raise the alarm, and no one realized that death was approaching.

Leon stood up from the steel frame, lowered the muzzle of the SR-25, held the gun in one hand, and pressed the throat microphone with the other.

"The perimeter has been cleared."

"Crow, approaching the factory, chattering, get ready to pry up the mine."

Passing through the roaring diesel generators and crisscrossing steel beams, we arrived at a glass partition deep inside the third floor of the factory.

This used to be the director's office at the steel plant.

The gossipy man was shoved hard from behind and stumbled into the office.

He steadied himself and raised his head.

The air in the office was so stuffy it was suffocating, a mixture of cheap cigars and the smell of sweat.

On the iron chair directly in front of her, Mia's hands were tied behind her back, her face was pale, and her hair was soaked with cold sweat and stuck to her forehead.

When she saw the figure in a gray windbreaker and baseball cap, with the brim pulled low, walk in, her previously lifeless eyes widened instantly.

Mia's breathing quickened, and the spot in her abdomen where she had been hit was still throbbing with pain, but she couldn't care less about that right now.

Are you out of your mind?!

Mia bit her lip, her eyes instantly reddening, tears welling up in them.

How could that bastard Lyon, who treated her like a ruthless paperwork machine and relentlessly exploited her, who was calculating to the core, possibly come without a gun?

But he's right here now, how come?

Where's all that shrewdness you showed me when you tricked me into working overtime? I'm just an office worker who can be replaced at any time, and you're coming here to die for me? Are you an idiot?!

Mia cursed inwardly, but the emotion mixed with despair and absurdity gripped her heart like a hand.

"Look who this is!"

Donnie jumped up from behind his desk, a Glock in his hand, his eyes bloodshot.

"Seattle hero, you bastard who wiped us out, you've finally got what's coming to you!"

Benny stood by the window, a smug, triumphant smile on his face.

Tyrone strode up to the chatterbox, veins bulging on his neck, his eyes filled with a morbid savagery.

"Weren't you acting all high and mighty when you hung up on me? Huh?!"

Tyrone stabbed the chatterbox hard in the chest with the barrel of his gun.

"Who do you think you are? Kneel down now and lick my shoes, and maybe I'll consider breaking this woman's legs first, and then—"

"Shut up! Just shoot!!"

A furious roar, so intense it cracked, abruptly interrupted Talon's spellcasting.

Vic had initially been in a state of indifference towards the world, but as the chatter began to flow, he felt waves of inexplicable unease.

He now stood in the shadows of the office corner, his hands gripping a submachine gun tightly, his whole body trembling uncontrollably.

His eyes were fixed on the shrew, devoid of any vengeful pleasure, only filled with unfathomable fear.

Even though Leon was right in front of him, and everything seemed fine, he still felt something was off, something was wrong.

He had a feeling that Leon wouldn't come in to die like this, but now that Leon had actually come in, this sense of suspicion and the resulting palpitations reached their peak.

"Vic, what's wrong with you?" Tyrone turned around and angrily cursed, "I'm going to torture you first—"

"I'm telling you to shoot him dead!! Right now!!"

Vic's voice cracked, and he pointed at the chatterbox like a madman on the verge of a breakdown.

"You really think he'd risk his life for a woman? I thought so before, but now I don't think so anymore. He couldn't possibly be that stupid. It doesn't make sense. There's definitely something wrong."

Vic abruptly pointed his gun at the man with the broken mouth. "Once he's dead, it'll all be over. We'll throw this woman out and get out of this hellhole immediately. Let's do it!!"

The chatterbox stood still, her lips twitching violently twice through her mask.

Holy crap?

His Ranger brain, which had been steeped in Hollywood popcorn movies for years, was now in a serious malfunction.

This plot isn't right!

That's not how it is in the movie at all!

Shouldn't you all first surround me and spew nonsense for ten minutes, telling me about your tragic childhoods, then detailing your torture plans, and finally, the villain dies from talking too much?!

The gossip was roaring wildly in my mind.

Why did we jump straight to the execution?!

Tyrone was stunned by Vic's frantic, alarmed demeanor.

Although he was short-tempered, he knew that Vic had been on the streets for over twenty years and his intuition was terrifyingly accurate.

"You're lucky."

Tyrone gritted his teeth, stared into the eyes of the chattering mouth, pulled back the slide of his pistol, and put his finger on the trigger.

As Su Zui stared at the dark muzzle of the gun, his pupils suddenly contracted through the silicone mask.

Holy crap! Holy crap! Holy crap!

He roared in despair in his heart.

Why aren't those two bastards outside firing?! Get them! I'm about to mess this up!

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

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