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

"Chloe, open the door."

Lyon shook the water off his gloves, pulled a CQBR assault rifle out of the car, and cocked it. The sound of the bullet being chambered was particularly crisp in the rain.

He glanced at the closed, graffiti-covered metal fire door.

Compared to facing those fully armed, highly skilled retired mercenaries in the abandoned buildings and industrial areas, Leon felt a sense of relief when facing these street gang thugs who couldn't even hold a gun steadily.

And most importantly, he had to be the first to rush in.

If he waits until the fight inside is over before going in to finish things off, his participation rate during the system's settlement will be pitifully low, and his 4000 justice points will be significantly reduced.

Upon hearing the command, Chloe's bright blue eyes lit up instantly.

She skillfully opened the side pocket of her tactical vest, took out a piece of grayish-white C4 plastic explosive that looked like putty, and quickly kneaded it with both hands before walking towards the metal door.

"Wait a moment."

Leon's eyes twitched as he looked at the C4 in her hand, which was about half the size of a brick.

"This time, we'll only blow up the door locks and hinges."

Lyon stared into Chloe's eyes, his tone becoming more emphatical, "This building absolutely cannot collapse again, do you hear me?"

Chloe paused for a moment while kneading C4.

"Oh……"

Her shoulders slumped visibly, and her once excited eyes dimmed, like a little girl whose beloved toy had been confiscated.

Chloe pursed her lips, tore off two coin-sized pieces from the C4, and stuck them on the top and bottom hinges of the metal door, and also stuck a small piece on the door lock.

She inserted the detonator, pulled out the fuse, and quickly retreated behind Leon.

"Fire in the hole (prepare for a bomb)."

She let out a weak shout and pressed the detonator in her hand.

"boom--!"

Extremely precise directional blasting.

With a dull tearing sound, the heavy metal fire door, along with the broken bricks of its frame, was slammed into the warehouse corridor on the first floor of the club by the enormous impact, making a loud thud on the dusty tiles.

Before the smoke and dust had even cleared, Leon, rifle in hand, was the first to step into the corridor, crossing the deformed metal door.

Simon followed closely behind, his CQBR assault rifle steadily pointing forward.

Chloe and Ward followed from the left and right, their guns quickly locking onto blind spots on either side of the corridor where people might be hiding.

The four men formed a standard indoor assault formation, their military boots making a scraping sound as they stepped on the broken glass.

At this moment, the deafening sound of automatic weapons firing in the dance floor on the first floor and the corridor on the second floor of the club suddenly stopped.

The muffled thud of the back door being blown up, though not as loud as the explosion of an unfinished building, still reverberated violently in the relatively enclosed club.

Immediately afterwards, the increasingly intense, almost ear-piercing sirens of police sirens finally pierced through the rain and reached the ears of the bloodthirsty gangsters.

Behind the cover of the dance floor on the first floor.

Lamar was panting heavily, his eyes bloodshot from inhaling an excessive amount of inferior enhancement agent, and he had taken off his flashy hoodie because he felt too hot.

He was shirtless, his chest heaving with rapid breathing, his hand gripping a submachine gun with an empty magazine.

Second floor corridor.

Darrell lay sprawled behind a corpse, his face smeared with blood and brains of unknown origin. He had been shot in the left shoulder by some unknown brat, and his abdomen was still throbbing with pain.

The two groups stopped shooting in unison due to the sudden explosion and sirens.

After a brief silence, Darrell's roar came from the second floor.

"Lamar! Are you on drugs and your brain is full of shit?!"

Darrell's voice, distorted by extreme anger and despair, echoed through the empty club.

"You brought so many people to storm the front! You've attracted half the cops in Seattle! Do you want us all to die in this lousy strip club?!"

Darrell is really on the verge of a breakdown.

Marcus, the boss, is dead. He also has a blood feud with that madman Leon. Just now, a mysterious and twisted female assassin appeared and almost killed him.

Now look what's happened, Lamar, that mad dog, has even attracted the police.

Fuck you, Darrell!

Lamar roared back from the first floor without backing down, his voice filled with frenzied excitement.

"You think I don't know what kind of shit you've planted on the second floor?! You want to use me as a stepping stone to climb to the top? Keep dreaming!"

Lamar suddenly leaned out and spat a mouthful of bloody saliva towards the second floor.

"You old fogies are hogging the best territory, and you won't even buy a few new guns for your men! What, are the newbies destined to sit on the streets selling cheap stuff and collecting dust?"

Lamar laughed maniacally, slapping the micro-cup in his hand violently.

"I'm here to shuffle the deck today! So what if the cops are here? We'll all go down together! Even if I die, I'll drag all you old bastards down with me!"

"You complete idiot!"

Darrell was trembling with rage upstairs. "You think the cops are here to arrest people? Those guys outside are mad dogs! They'll riddle us all with bullets!"

Before that, Lao Tzu first