I work as a sorcerer in the US, and my side hustle is building Gundams.

The burly policeman seemed to have a slightly stronger will to live. Even though Vincent was writhing on the ground in pain, he could still grit his teeth and keep pointing his gun at Lynn.

Having a gun pointed at you feels terrible, and the other person's face is contorted in pain; he could shoot you in the head at any moment.

So Lynn wisely raised his hands and shouted, "Don't shoot, I'll stop right now!" Then he slowly squatted down and put his hands behind his head.

"bump!"

Just then, Mike, who had been shot down by Vincent, somehow stood up and suddenly delivered a powerful left front kick to the shoulder of the burly policeman!

"Fuxk, Fuxk you! Do you all have a death wish?"

This completely enraged Geller!

He gritted his teeth and endured the intense pain, staggered to his feet, and raised his hand to fire at Mike again.

Suddenly, he felt his hands go limp. The intense pain and weakness caused him to lower his gun in an instant, and he fired two shots but missed the target!

[Curse of Weakness]!

He was briefly distracted, giving Lynn an immediate opportunity to unleash his warlock skills!

At the same time, I cast Corruption on both the opponent and Vincent, resuming the cooldown cycle!

"Aaaaaaah!"

An even more intense pain surged through Geller's body. This time, he was in so much pain that he couldn't even lift his gun. Like a dog that had been beaten to a pulp, he collapsed on all fours on the ground!

[Health -10],

[Health -10],

[Health -10],

……

The red damage numbers jumped out from the two corrupt police officers every three seconds.

Their health bars had already been displayed; Vincent had 105 health points, and Geller had 110.

The Corruption spell deals 40 damage every 12 seconds, and after 24 seconds, both of them were left with only a small amount of health.

This series of skill attacks cost Lynn 90 mana points. He currently has 17 intelligence points, which means he still has enough mana to cast 4 more Corruption spells.

He was debating whether to finish them off with another blow each, to completely eliminate these two corrupt cops and future threats.

Suddenly, they saw Mike, who had just given the big policeman a role, spitting blood and falling straight backward.

"Mike!"

Lynn exclaimed in surprise, ignoring the two corrupt police officers lying on the ground foaming at the mouth and convulsing, and stepped over them to squat down next to Mike.

Just as I was about to ask him what was wrong, I suddenly noticed the gunshot wound in the middle of his chest, from which blood was constantly flowing.

"The short guy's shot didn't hit his heart; he probably used his last bit of strength to save me..."

He placed his hand under the other person's nostrils and felt only a very faint airflow.

Mike is about to collapse!

"No, Mike, you can't die!"

An immense fear instantly enveloped Lynn!

In the past few days since he transmigrated, this strong man, who was like an older brother to him, has been taking care of and helping him. He has long been used to the warmth between friends.

Moreover, during my "entrepreneurial" process, the other party helped me a lot and became my de facto right-hand man!

He lay helplessly on the ground, blood gushing from the bullet hole in his chest, his face already losing all color!

"No, this can't be! What... what can I do to save him?"

Lynn was as anxious as an ant on a hot pan, frantically thinking of a solution.

"Oh right, didn't I find that skill on Jennifer yesterday? [Surgery], and I even upgraded it to level 2!"

"[Surgical Skills] lv2, activate!"

Lynn silently recited the instructions, and instantly, a flood of first aid-related experience appeared in his mind!

A dark red stain, a mixture of arterial and venous blood, was rapidly spreading across Mike's plaid shirt, extending towards the hem and collar.

"You can't lie flat like that!"

Lynn grabbed his shoulder and completely ripped open the zipper of his leather jacket with her left hand.

The bullet struck about two finger-widths to the right of the center of the sternum, without the pulsating, pump-like bleeding typical of heart injuries.

But when Mike inhaled, the wound made a slight hissing sound, like air being drawn from a crack.

This is an open pneumothorax.

Mike's face had a grayish-white sheen, a typical sign of simultaneous blood loss and oxygen deprivation.

Lynn positioned him in a semi-reclining position on his right side, with the injured side facing down. Then she picked up the old T-shirt that she had changed out of yesterday, washed, and dried on the back of the chair with a small heater. She also reached into Mike's waist and found a folding fruit knife.

There was still a third of the whiskey left in the bottle the two of them had drunk yesterday. He bit open the cap, poured the liquid onto the blade, rubbed it in his palm as a rough disinfection, and then splashed the rest of the whiskey onto his T-shirt.

He tore off a palm-sized piece of cloth, wrung it until it was half-dry, and pressed it firmly against the wound.

There was no medical tape, no Vaseline gauze, but Lynn knew how to make a valve.

He tore three strips of cloth from another T-shirt and tightly bound the top and sides of the wet dressing to Mike's chest, leaving the bottom edge completely loose without any fixation.

When you inhale, the damp cloth soaked in whiskey will stick tightly to the wound, blocking out the outside air.

When you exhale, the gas and blood accumulated in your chest cavity will be squeezed out from the side under the dressing that is not fixed. This is a one-way valve, an emergency treatment method clearly written in surgery textbooks.

Mike suddenly coughed violently, and then the veins on both sides of his neck bulged up like inflating balloons, making the entire external jugular vein clearly visible and throbbing like a rope!

Lynn's pupils contracted slightly—tension pneumothorax.

This is a critical condition caused by an open pneumothorax that has not been effectively drained, resulting in a continuous increase in intrathoracic pressure that compresses the heart and major blood vessels, which can lead to death within minutes!

Without hesitation, he placed his left index and middle fingers on the intercostal space below the second rib on Mike's right side, specifically three finger-widths to the right of the sternal angle, at the upper edge of the rib.

Lynn hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and took the fruit knife, stabbing it in at an angle downwards.

The moment the blade pierced through the skin, subcutaneous fat, and intercostal muscles, a stream of air mixed with fine blood foam hissed out from beside the blade with a sharp, long sound, like a tire suddenly deflating after someone stepped on the valve.

Mike's upper body arched back sharply, like a fully drawn bow, then relaxed completely, letting out a long breath.

His lips changed from bluish-purple back to pale white, which was still bad, but much better than the deathly color they had just shown.

"Don't move, the gas has been released."

Lynn used the knife handle to wedge the wound to prevent it from closing on its own, and then tore a strip of cloth to fix the knife handle to the skin.