Film and Television: My Cheat Code is AI

Time flies, and several days have passed since Liao Jiangqun was arrested. During this period, the busiest thing for the Sixth Team has been the case of Cui Yongli. They have been following him for almost half a month, and although the clues have been broken several times, they have finally picked them up again and finally figured out his activity pattern.

That afternoon, Yang Zhen, Ding Jian, and Zhang Yang squatted opposite the entrance of an old residential area. The car was parked under a sycamore tree by the roadside, the engine was off, the windows were rolled down halfway, and all three of them were focused on the entrance to the residential area.

A black Santana pulled up in a temporary parking space in the residential area. A man in his early forties, wearing a dark gray jacket and sunglasses, got out of the back seat. Ding Jian raised his binoculars and whispered, "It's Cui Yongli."

Yang Zhen stubbed out his cigarette, his gaze fixed on the windshield: "Keep an eye on him. Don't move yet, see who he's meeting."

Cui Yongli lit a cigarette at the entrance of the residential complex, glanced around, took two steps towards the gate, and then stopped, as if waiting for someone. About two minutes later, two people descended the external staircase of the shops along the street next to the gate. The second floor of those shops housed a beauty salon and a real estate agency. The staircase was a welded iron frame, leading directly down to the sidewalk, bypassing the main gate. The first man was short, just over 1.7 meters, wearing a dark baseball cap pulled low, obscuring most of his face, and a dark blue work jacket, his hands in his pockets. The second man was taller, more robust, with a full beard, a canvas bag slung over his shoulder, and his right hand still in his pocket. The two descended the steps one by one, their strides synchronized, their steps firm and steady, each foot landing firmly before the next. The iron staircase echoed with a uniform metallic sound, unhurried and completely different from the relaxed rhythm of ordinary people descending stairs.

Zhang Yang leaned out from the passenger seat, his gaze sweeping over the waistlines of the two men, his pupils contracting slightly: "Brother Yang, look at those two, something's fishy."

Deep Blue's voice echoed in my mind.

[Two targets, body analysis in progress. The individual in front is approximately 1.72 meters tall, wearing a dark baseball cap with the brim pulled low, obscuring facial recognition. While walking, his shoulders remain level, without the normal arm swinging motion for balance seen when descending stairs. His right arm is stiff and close to his side, while his left arm swings slightly, indicating he is right-handed. He is carrying a hard object under his right armpit or at his waist. The individual behind is approximately 1.82 meters tall, with a full beard, carrying a canvas bag over his shoulder. His right hand remains in his pocket throughout. There is an unusual fold in the clothing on the right side of his waist, with a right-angled protrusion approximately 12-15 centimeters in size, matching the outline of a firearm grip. Both individuals have consistent strides and a stable cadence, landing on the forefoot first followed by the entire foot, matching the behavior patterns of trained personnel. Their left and right observation frequencies are symmetrical, indicating they are conducting a tactical environmental scan. They are not ordinary passersby, but professional gunmen.] A Jinbei van with its engine running was parked downstairs at the shop. Someone was in the driver's seat, and the back door was open. Danger! Danger! Danger!

The words had barely left his lips when the short man in the baseball cap pulled his right hand from his work jacket, a metallic glint in the air—a black Star, a replica of a Type 54 pistol. Almost simultaneously, the man with the thick beard drew his weapon, pulling a black pistol of the same model from his canvas bag with his left hand. Gripping it with both hands, muzzle lowered, their positions slightly shifted, the two forming a cross-cover angle, both pointing their guns at Cui Yongli, who was standing at the entrance of the residential complex.

Hearing the noise, Cui Yongli turned around, and the cigarette in his mouth fell out.

He didn't have time to make a second reaction.

"Bang!"

The shot from the baseball cap hit him squarely between the eyebrows. Cui Yongli's head jerked back, his sunglasses flew off, bounced twice on the ground, and shattered. His body continued to fall backward.

"Bang!"

The second shot from the bearded man landed on the left side of the chest, directly at the heart. A small black hole appeared in the gray jacket, the dark red spreading visibly. Cui Yongli slammed onto the concrete ground at the entrance of the residential area, kicking up a cloud of dust. One of his legs twitched involuntarily twice before going still. The entire process, from drawing the gun to firing, took less than three seconds.

"Quick!" Yang Zhen pushed open the car door, already holding a Type 64 pistol in his hand. He pulled the slide with his right hand, released it, and the sound of metal clashing was crisp and clean as the bullet was chambered.

Zhang Yang pulled his Type 54 pistol from the glove compartment in the passenger seat, slided it back up with his right hand, and released it with a "click," the first bullet going into the chamber. He and Ding Jian got out of the car almost simultaneously from their respective doors.

The security guard at the entrance of the community was so frightened that he squatted inside the guard booth. Two middle-aged women who had just returned from grocery shopping screamed and ran into the green belt next to them. After the two gunmen finished shooting, they did not hesitate. The shorter one put the gun in his arms, and the two of them turned around and rushed towards the Jinbei van parked on the side of the road.

Yang Zhenchong was at the forefront, gripping his gun with both hands, the muzzle slightly lowered, and shouted, "Don't move! Police!"

Ding Jian flanked from the right, shouting, "Police!"

The bearded man had already run to the back door of the van, his hand on the door frame, ready to get in. Hearing someone call from behind, he turned around and glanced back. Without hesitation, Yang Zhen pressed the crosshair against the man's back, near his heart, and pulled the trigger.

"Bang!"

The Type 64 had a crisper sound, less recoil, and less muzzle jump. The bullet hit the back of the bearded man, who staggered forward a step, but immediately regained his balance as if he had been pushed, without even stopping. Yang Zhen's heart sank. This was a bulletproof vest, not an ordinary soft vest, but one that could withstand lead-core bullets; it was at least the kind with steel plates sandwiched between them.

Without turning his head, the bearded man haphazardly fired a shot behind him. The bullet struck a lamppost on the sidewalk two meters to Yang Zhen's left, scraping off a patch of white paint. Yang Zhen instinctively shifted his weight to the side, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zhang Yang had already slipped past him to his right rear.

Zhang Yang stood still, gun raised with both hands, the muzzle aimed at the bearded man's calf. The Type 54 pistol had great recoil, so he pressed his wrists down in advance, the sights locked on the target who was leaning against the car door and leaping upwards, the middle of his calf, the thickest part of the muscle. If he couldn't penetrate the bulletproof vest, he would aim for the lower body. He held his breath and pulled the trigger.

"Bang!"

The gunshots of the Type 54 were much muffled and deeper than those of the Type 64. A ball of orange-red flame spewed from the muzzle. The bullet hit, and a burst of blood erupted from the bearded man's left calf, instantly staining a large area of ​​his trouser leg red.

The man let out a muffled groan, his left leg buckled and he hit the ground with one knee. The gun in his hand almost slipped from his grasp and hit the car door frame, but the short man in the back seat of the van, wearing a baseball cap, grabbed him by the back of his collar and dragged him inside. The van's engine roared, spewing black smoke from the exhaust pipe, and the wheels left a ring of charred tire marks on the spot.

The two men had already jumped into the seats, the van door slammed shut, the engine roared to life, and the tires screeched against the road, emitting a puff of blue smoke. In the instant the van lurched forward, Zhang Yang had already gripped his gun firmly again, his second sight locked onto the van's right rear wheel, and pulled the trigger.

"Bang!"

The bullet struck the rear fender, sparks flew, and a dent appeared in the metal. But the tire continued to spin at high speed, and the Jinbei van roared as it rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

Yang Zhen took two steps and watched the taillights disappear around the corner. He panted heavily, pointed the gun down, turned off the safety, and looked down. Every half meter on the sidewalk, there was a pool of blood, stretching from where the Jinbei van was parked all the way to the corner, standing out starkly against the gray-white paving stones.

Zhang Yang also put away his gun, got up and ran over, bending down to look at the bloodstains on the ground. The blood droplets were spaced far apart, spraying out in a pattern, indicating that the bullet had wounded the deep muscles of his calf. The leg muscles had been repeatedly contracting while running, making it impossible to stop the bleeding.

"We won't go far," Zhang Yang said.

Yang Zhen took out his phone from his pocket, dialed three numbers, and squatted down. He wiped his finger on the bloodstain, looked at it, and said to the person on the other end of the line, "Command center, this is Yang Zhen from Team Six. We've encountered a gunfight here. Requesting full area control. There's a white Jinbei van, license plate 京A57243, with two armed suspects inside. One of them has been shot in the left calf and needs immediate medical attention. Monitor all hospitals and clinics in each team. Report immediately if anyone with a gunshot wound goes to the hospital."

He hung up the phone and dialed the team's number again: "Old Zheng, Cui Yongli is dead, and the two gunmen escaped. Call the technical department and forensic doctor to come and cordon off the scene. The killers had bulletproof vests, were armed, and were very professional. We'll follow the blood trail and stay in touch."

Zhang Yang grabbed a few bottles of mineral water from the nearby convenience store. Yang Zhen unscrewed one, took a big gulp, and poured the rest directly onto his face. He wiped it off and said, "Sorry, if my shot had been a little lower..."

Zhang Yang unscrewed his water bottle and took a swig, saying, "His bulletproof vest is below his waist. Unless you shoot his groin, that's a very difficult spot to aim. He can't run away, so he needs to get his leg wound treated somewhere."

Yang Zhen tossed the empty bottle into the trash can, drew his pistol from his waist, reloaded it, and nodded to Ding Jian and Zhang Yang: "Let's go, follow the trail of blood."