Chapter 126: Chapter 88: Motorcycle_2
John ducked his head low.
He adjusted his direction to create distance, dodging the crossfire, and felt something whiz right over his head.
The bridge’s railing had a new gash carved into it.
John drew his revolver to shoot, but he couldn’t find a suitable angle.
Sword strikes were coming simultaneously from both sides.
A moment of inattention, and he’d lose an arm or a leg.
Clenching his teeth, John smashed the butt of his gun into one assailant’s helmet, catching a glimpse of an Eastern person’s face, the curses they roared from within echoing out clearly.
[Kuso... F*ck (Japanese)]
Before John could strike again, someone beside him slashed his arm.
He moved in close, blocking a blade with his Vodka revolver, then swung around to fire!
BAM!
A bullet lodged in the assassin’s chest.
The vehicle flipped uncontrollably, crashing into a wreck.
John holstered his revolver, dodged another swipe by sheer reflex, grabbed the person’s wrist, and jammed the knife into the motorcycle’s grip, locking it in place.
The assassin couldn’t move.
He let out a futile, furious roar, but was helpless, knowing any sudden move would send the vehicle spiraling out of control.
John, however, drew his gun again.
BAM!
John took out two assassins, and by now the convoy had left the bridge, heading towards the city.
Detan seized the opportunity to exit the highway early.
The roads narrowed considerably, reducing the threat of motorcycles getting too close, though posing a larger challenge for the close-quarters combat John was engaged in.
Two assassins slowed to close in on John.
The other two clung together; one abandoned his bike and leapt onto his companion’s seat, turning around and pulling out a kinetic submachine gun from inside his jacket, immediately pulling the trigger.
"F*ck!"
John ducked his head, seized the moment, and sped onto the overpass, diverging from the armored van.
However, the motorcycle assassins were unwilling to let him go.
They even decided to temporarily forgo the armored van, determined to deal with this pesky guy first.
John tried to rev up and escape.
However, since everyone’s vehicles and driving skills were similar, he couldn’t pull away in a short time.
The pursuers kept shooting.
John felt bullets hitting his back repeatedly, even with the bulletproof vest and subdermal armor, causing him to grit his teeth against the pain.
He came to a screeching halt, skidding to a stop, pressing his body flat to the ground, his ankle slightly brushing the ground, tearing the synthetic leather.
The two motorcycles sped past.
Two sharp monomolecular blades sliced past his side.
John propped up his body and bike, shooting at the one who lagged behind, the aiming time too brief, with the first bullet hitting the bulletproof glass without penetrating.
This motorcycle too went by.
John failed to hit anyone, swiftly lifting his bike to leave, only to hear a succession of screeching brakes from behind.
The enemy turned back in pursuit.
Soon enough, they were side-to-side with John again.
The assassins furiously swung their blades, slicing through his leather jacket and leaving a bleeding gash on his back.
Once again, a blade came at him!
Seizing the right moment, John let go of the handlebars, his entire body reclining back on the motorcycle.
The proximity was too close.
The assassin’s blade accidentally injured his own comrade on the other side.
Maintaining his reclined position, John drew his gun, firing a bullet that drilled through his opponent’s ribcage into their chest.
Both motorcycles spun out of control.
John was pinned in the middle.
He tried to grab the handlebars again, but his ride was completely out of control, bouncing violently in a death wobble before crashing into the overpass railing, hurling him out.
He’s done for.
The thought flickered through John’s mind.
He felt his body tumbling through the air, centrifugal force gripping his heart, the fear of falling from a height filling every pore.
BAM!
John crashed into the bustling street, landing square on a large freight truck.
As he rolled across the roof, he drew his dagger, stabbing chaotically.
SCREECH—
The high-grade alloy weapon pierced through the truck’s roof.
By some stroke of luck, John managed to maintain his grip and didn’t get flung onto the road, where he’d have faced certain death by being run over.
With great effort, he climbed up, and upon recognizing the LOGO, let out a self-deprecating laugh.
It’s a small world.
It was a damn Tiebang Logistics delivery truck.
John ran to the cab, smashing the passenger-side window, flipping inside, and used his weapon to ensure the frightened driver "calmed down."
From the road came the blaring of police sirens.
John saw an ECPD hovercar soar past, with police cars equipped with alloy bumpers accelerating, seeming to converge somewhere for reinforcement.
"Follow them."
He placed the revolver by his leg and ordered.
At this moment on the street.
Detan felt like his heart was just like the car—working on the edge of collapse with the utmost efficiency.
The motorcycle assassin had already vanished.
But the cops were surrounding him.
Detan bent down to look at the sky, only to see hovercars and news drones circling overhead, making him dizzy.
His thigh was numb from blood loss.
But he dared not stop the car.
Detan focused on the road ahead, and when he saw the officers setting up a barricade, he forcibly changed direction, gradually moving deeper into the city.
He was like a driver on a suicide mission.
If he were the cops.
There would be a million reasons to shoot himself dead.
Detan suddenly noticed a familiar black motorcycle on the road in the distance.
The assassins did not attempt to break through the ECPD’s encirclement.
They were following from a distance, waiting for the police to force the car to stop, and then using the Owl Town Gang’s means to retrieve the goods.
The assassins were focused on observing the road conditions.
They didn’t notice at all that a Tiebang Logistics truck was approaching not far behind them.
The passenger window rolled down.
John reached out, decisively fired a shot, and listened to the sound of collision and breaking bones and flesh beside him, as if some emotion inside him was released.
This was the only headshot he had made today.
[Contact - Oulos Grenada [Voice Call]]
[F*ck you, John, what the hell are you doing?]
"Heh heh."
John rested his hand on the window, enjoying the breeze, like a tourist out on a joyride.
"I’m adjusting my status."
[I hope your life doesn’t leave any regrets. I certainly won’t be showing up at your funeral.]
Oulos was about to hang up the phone.
John hurriedly tried to keep the other party on the line.
"Come on, do me a favor, can you get the cops to leave that truck alone?"
[What’s in the truck?]
John briefly recounted the situation.
"I’m begging you, Oulos, I have no one else to turn to, besides I’ll be working for you later, you can dock it from my pay."
[Asking me to run on credit, how interesting... I can help, but I won’t clean up the mess, be prepared to face the consequences, consider it a lesson!]
Oulos hung up the phone.
Detan was driving in a state of panic, suddenly finding that the sound of police sirens was becoming more and more distant, and the road barriers were reduced to just spikes, with all the cops avoiding him.
They even opened up a path specifically, allowing him to circle around and away from downtown.
Detan drove for another half an hour.
He arrived in the old city district and saw a young man by the roadside signaling for a ride.
The battered armored car slowly came to a stop.
A mercenary covered in wounds and with exhausted eyes opened the car door, shoved him to the passenger seat, and tossed over a healing potion.
"You... are you... John?"
Detan mustered the courage to ask.
John glanced at him without changing his expression, nodded, and slowly drove the vehicle back to Dan Street.
Jilead received them.
He took John to the club’s medical room to tend to his injuries.
Mr. Vito came to visit and brought several pieces of news.
The Owl Town Gang had already placed a bounty on John, so it’s best not to approach Sakura Cross Street lightly.
The friction between the gangs was getting more intense.
The negotiation results weren’t very promising, both Bone Shards and Jingke Heavy Industry seemed eager to resume hostilities.
John also learned why the cops left.
Oulos had spread the word that the truck was carrying radioactive materials, and the ECPD deputy commissioner didn’t want any trouble, so they cleared a path and commissioned a middleman to handle it.
They too realized they’d been tricked.
John was on the Eden City wanted list, not to the point of being unable to move, after all, every mercenary carried a criminal record, the difference being his head just became a bit more valuable.
There’s always going to be some bounty hunters tempted to take the risk.
Vito transferred some money to John.
"You’re a lifeline for the gang, both the compensation and bounty money have been wired to you, good job; I’ll get someone to retrieve your sports car, repairs on us too."
He finally handed John an authorization keycard.
"An independent apartment under the Black Gold Gang’s name, with a basement, space big enough, security level high enough, and allows a young restless one like you to have some freedom."
"Wow, Bone Shards will be watching out for me."
John said casually but still accepted the card, then lay on the hospital bed enjoying the rare quiet time.
[Mission: A Small Favor (Completed)]
[Reward: Compensation (Variable), Apartment Authorization Code (Dan Street No. 013)]