America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

Five minutes...

In a firefight, that's enough time for a person to die dozens or even hundreds of times over.

Chen Ming picked up the butterfly knife that the thug had dropped. Footsteps came from the left and right behind the car, forming a cross-shaped encirclement.

"Get out here! I know you're behind the car!" the gunman on the right yelled.

Chen Ming didn't move. Instead, after calculating the distance accurately, he suddenly smashed the butterfly knife in his hand against the waste oil drum more than ten meters away.

"when!"

The sound instantly attracted the other party's attention, causing them to instinctively turn their gun and fire several shots.

Taking advantage of the moment when the enemy's gaze shifted away, Chen Ming sprang up from the other side of the cover, slid across the ground to avoid the stray bullet hastily fired by the gunman on the left, and then grabbed half a steel pipe from the ground and stabbed it at the gunman on the right.

The gunman on the right screamed and fell to the ground, his pistol slipping from his hand.

Chen Ming did not bend down to pick up the gun—the gunman on the left had already reacted and was rapidly moving the gun to aim at him.

The distance is too close; there's no way to avoid it.

Chen Ming grabbed the gunman from the ground and held him in front of him.

"Bang!"

A flash of light appeared.

Chen Ming felt as if his right thigh muscle had been struck by a heavy hammer, and a sharp pain spread.

But he could only grit his teeth and exert force despite the excruciating pain, smashing the human shield in his hand directly at another gunman.

The gunman on the left was knocked back by his companion and instinctively tried to back away.

But before he could regain his balance, Chen Ming had already pounced on him. With his left hand, he grabbed the other man's wrist holding the gun and twisted it outwards, taking the pistol away. At the same time, with his right hand, he delivered a fierce elbow strike straight to the other man's face.

The second gunman also lost consciousness and collapsed to the ground.

Chen Ming picked up the pistol, looked around, and after confirming that there were no other pursuers for the time being, he silently retreated back to the van, slid down against the deformed door, and gasped for breath.

"You've been shot!"

Michelle crawled out of the carriage and turned pale instantly when she saw Chen Ming's right leg, which was soaked in blood. She frantically pulled her phone out of her bag.

"I'll contact an ambulance right away..."

"There's no need for that!"

Seeing this, Chen Ming was so frightened that he quickly grabbed her wrist and forcibly put the phone back in its place.

As a medical student, he knew all too well what calling an ambulance in the United States meant—if the ambulance arrived, all the work he had done over the past month would be for nothing.

"Are you crazy? The bullet's still in your leg!" Michelle struggled.

I said it wasn't necessary.

Chen Ming tore open his trouser leg and looked down to examine the wound.

"Don't forget what I studied; I know it myself."

The wound was still bleeding, but not much.

He gently pressed his fingers around the wound a few times.

"It didn't hit any arteries, the bullet was lodged in the superficial muscle... that's nothing."

Chen Ming used the car body to stand up, limped a few meters away, and picked up the butterfly knife he had just thrown.

"What are you going to do?" Michelle stared wide-eyed as he walked back with a knife.

Chen Ming ignored her. He took out a lighter from his pocket, heated the blade, then bit the strip of shirt he had just torn off, and plopped back down on the ground.

Michelle seemed to realize something and took a half-step back in disbelief.

The next second, Chen Ming directly inserted the heated knife tip into the bloody wound.

"Oh God..."

Michelle suddenly covered her mouth.

Clang.

A brass bullet, stained with blood, was picked out.

Chen Ming spat out the strip of cloth and then skillfully tied the wound tightly to stop the bleeding.

In the distance, the sound of police sirens gradually approached.

"Okay." Chen Ming looked up at Michelle.

"Now it's your turn to decide: do we stay here and wait for the police, or do we leave?"

"Let's wait for the police... I'll handle the rest."

Michelle knew that Chen Ming asked this question out of concern for her—taking photos secretly could cause trouble in itself.

"Although I still have many questions for you, I must first say thank you."

……

Two hours later, in the Hollywood branch office's lounge.

Chen Ming sat in a comfortable folding chair, his right leg having been cleaned and bandaged again by the police station's on-site medical staff.

"Why is it you again...?"

The door to the lounge was pushed open, and a middle-aged white detective carrying a paper cup of coffee walked in.

"Officer Miller?" Chen Ming looked up, somewhat surprised to see a familiar face appear.

"Surprised? I didn't expect that I'd only just been transferred here, and you'd already gotten me into a gun-related case that woke me up in the middle of the night."

Miller pulled out the chair opposite Chen Ming and sat down, looking him up and down.

"I have to say, your luck with women is truly enviable. After you finished with that pretty girl, you immediately hooked up with a powerful reporter with a strong background... Do you know who our director just received a call from? A direct greeting from the state senator's office."

"We just bumped into each other at a bar and talked about part-time jobs. It was just bad luck that we got caught in a gang fight," Chen Ming said, making up a story without batting an eye.

"Just talking about work? In a place like The Abbey?" Miller raised an eyebrow.

"You're really bisexual, aren't you?"

Before Chen Ming could refute, Miller dropped his joking expression, his eyes gradually sharpened, and he threw a field report on the table.

"I'm not interested in romantic escapades today, but I'm very interested in something else."

Miller stared into Chen Ming's eyes.

"The on-site investigation report just came out: two severe fractures, two severe concussions, and two guys with Glocks—one had his wrist pierced by a sharp weapon, and the other's jaw was shattered into pieces..."

"Besides the gang members, there were only the two of you at the scene. That delicate, high-class reporter obviously wouldn't do something like this."

"So how did you, a medical student, manage to take down a whole bunch of armed gangsters with your bare hands? Can you tell me?"

Chen Ming leaned back in his chair and pointed to his bandaged right leg.

"Officer, I was shot. Do I need to explain why I acted in self-defense?"

"I'm not denying that you acted in self-defense; I'm asking how you did it."

Miller remained unmoved and continued to pressure Chen Ming.

"I checked your file. You have no prior military service record or formal military training. Even Navy SEALs are used to dealing with armed criminals unarmed..."

"I can't explain to my boss if you don't give me a reason."

"I know Chinese Kung Fu, is that reason enough?" Chen Ming decided to use stereotypes as a defense.

"Chinese Kung Fu?" Miller's lips twitched.

"Like Jackie Chan?"

"More or less," Chen Ming said without changing his expression.

"The junkyard is too dark. Those guys were probably on drugs and a bit mentally unstable. They were shooting at their own men... I was just lucky to dodge quickly."

"Why don't you ask my journalist friend? That's how it is."

The two stared at each other for a full five seconds.