Chapter 385 - 357 Victory Day

Two minutes earlier.

"Ha! The locals are impressive, yeah? Go eat shit!"

A Colby Mule sped down the road, its occupant in the back seat looked thrilled, turning around and flipping off the Six Street Gang left trailing behind!

Just then...

Boom—

A motorcycle shot out from behind the vehicle like a rocket and sped towards the battlefield!

The finger-flipping person looked confused, "What the hell was that? Did you see it?"

"Seems like... a rocket?" The driver stopped grinning, puzzled:

Was that supposed to be in the city?

But soon, they knew exactly what it was!

Boom—

A second motorcycle burst from the street corner, bending at almost zero degrees...

One must say, from a normal person’s perspective, the trajectory of the second motorcycle was more normal; at least it was clear to see.

But such speed, on such a rainy night, it was outright impossible to maintain that turning radius—it would take a true zero-degree bend to make that turn possible.

Unless something gave the motorcycle a push to provide the centripetal force...

Boom!

The motorcycle suddenly burst into huge flames, the bike was pushed so strongly it even leapt up, quickly returning to normal—

"It’s a damn motorcycle!"

The engine roared, the motorcycle instantly caught up with the 70-mph truck, raindrops squeezing through the shattered window of the Colby Mule, along with Jack’s cold stare:

The raindrops swiftly slid off his helmet, the so-called cold gaze originating from the red indicator lights of his eye sensors.

The red lights appeared glaring and dangerous in the rainy night—

Because no one could ignore the terrifying armor on this big guy!

The steel-clad knight raised a huge fist, the two mercenaries on the truck raised their guns in horror, "Shit! They have personal armor!"

The driver braked while aiming the gun: aiming was a professional skill, braking was an instinctual reaction!

Bang!

The mercenaries’ powerful guns doubled in their hands, but the bullets only slightly deformed the armor on Jack’s body...

No meaningful damage was caused!

On Jack’s side, 12 rounds of 14mm Shellless Bullets fired in two bursts, all rounds were discharged within one second, wreaking havoc in the confined space of the small truck.

The collision of metals sparked a frenzy of sparks, the already battered doors and windshield shattered instantly!

The vehicle spun out of control in an emergency brake!

Screech—

The grating noise echoed through the streets, Jack annoyed, shook his head: his Prosthetics weren’t designed for extreme reactions, and it was hard for him to adjust and shoot at such braking speeds.

The motorcycle decelerated quickly, Jack glanced at his hand: he still had to play to his strengths.

With the driver’s efforts, the Colby Mule, after a miraculous 360-degree spin, got back on track.

The feeling of escaping death wasn’t even savored when the car suddenly sunk—

This sinking sent their hearts plummeting to the depths:

The guy was on the roof!

Bang!

The second shooting, Jack discharged another 12 rounds from his other hand, the bullets piercing through the vehicle, breaking the chassis, the vehicle sparking massively on the road.

The driver was smashed to bits by the bullets on the spot, the co-driver escaped narrowly, but his heart was overtaken by fear:

What should he do?

Bang!

The massive fist smashed through the roof, the heat-loaded fist deformed his face upon impact.

His alloy skull prevented his bones from being completely fractured by the punch, but the deformed skull mashed his brain into pulp.

After delivering the punch, Jack jumped back onto the motorcycle...

Boom!

The car exploded just as he leapt away.

V caught up with Jack over the exploding car.

"Wuhu! That was exhilarating!"

V boldly let go of the motorcycle handles, loudly expressing his emotions.

Jack wanted to let loose too, but his gear didn’t allow him much movement.

So, he pragmatically leaned over, placing both arms on the motorcycle’s side interfaces to reload.

"Haha!" V, after releasing his emotions, turned back to Jack and said, "Do you know what expression those outsiders had when they saw this equipment?

They looked like they had never seen the world, I was afraid their next question would be: how can you do such a thing, shooting in the streets?"

Jack chuckled, "Not gonna lie, I used to be a country bumpkin myself—I never dreamed I’d be riding a beauty like this!"

"Who isn’t?" V stood up even more brazenly.

The electrostatic adhesion on her feet firmly anchored her to the seat, while the vehicle’s built-in intelligent combat system maintained stability.

Rain splattered on her face, and she spread her arms wide as if embracing the downpour—

In the dark buildings, she could see the looks in the residents’ eyes: fear, disgust, envy, adoration...

All these emotions projected onto her, but no matter their opinions, they were just ordinary people too scared to step out of their cages.

Suddenly, she remembered the street kid’s dream she always talked about:

She wanted to be the baddest in the city!

This is what the baddest deserve:

To do whatever they want!

"Wuhu! This is freedom!!!"

V spread her arms wide, the windstorm and torrential rain couldn’t topple her; instead, it was she who seemed to be embracing the rain.

Whoosh—

The wind howled.

...

"Shit..."

On Woodbine Avenue, the sergeant wiped the sweat and water off his forehead as he looked at the bullet hole next to him, scared.

The gunshot was loud, but the heavy rain prevented it from carrying over; all that people saw was a flaming barrel next to the sergeant suddenly bursting with light.

An EMP shattered all the lighting equipment onsite, and the speakers stopped too.

But the impoverished community could hardly afford the electric bills for lighting anyway: after all, they wouldn’t die without it.

So, often, various combustibles—assorted trash—were used for lighting here.

Several flaming barrels still blazed under the eaves, and people followed the light to look at the sergeant:

What now? What next?

What next?

The sergeant was asking himself too.

In a battlefield, being targeted by a sniper would of course mean you should evade, find a safe spot, and try to neutralize the enemy while ensuring your own safety.

But this was more than just a battlefield, or rather, it was a battlefield of a different kind of combat.

Alcohol clouded his mind, numbing the crisis of nearly being killed; all he could think about was how these people were dancing and singing like madmen and fools, unleashing themselves.

He thought back to decades ago when the Six Street Gang first gained control—

People would celebrate victories with all sorts of parties...

And he hadn’t lost, he was still alive, and he could still win more.

Events like this had not been held for a very long time.

Due to the EMP damage, the biometric monitor wasn’t functioning properly, so the sergeant didn’t notice his own increasingly abnormal biological indicators:

His serotonin levels were abnormally high, dopamine was synthesizing recklessly, and his cerebral cortex was entering an unusually active state...

In a daze, he saw the people who had first established the Six Street Gang with him, returning to those beginning days:

A few men, a few guns, a future of freedom and brightness.

"We..." The sergeant took a few steps forward, unnoticed by anyone, his Prosthetics were malfunctioning.

He looked at the people watching him, his face suddenly turning exceptionally flushed.

He raised his glass, his loud voice overpowering the howling wind and torrential rain!

"Let’s continue! Today... is a fucking Victory Day! Victory Day is made for upholding the Second Amendment!

Drink up, grab a gun, shoot some targets, and if there’s an idiot, blow his asshole sky high!

Dun dun dun dun..."

The sergeant, under everyone’s gaze, guzzled the tequila from the can.

You should know, with this proof of competition alcohol, just a couple of drinks would have everyone seeing stars!

"The boss is awesome!" "Long live the Second Amendment!" "Shooting is freaking exhilarating!"

No one delved into the illogic of these expressions, lost as they were in the inebriating cheers.

The alcohol numbed their brains, freeing them from the need to worry about real-world logic, fantasizing some illogical thrills.

Amidst the cheering, the sergeant finished the tequila in the can in one go, then fiercely threw the can into the sky—

Like a western gunslinger pulling out his gun from his waistband and firing!

Bang!

The can exploded in mid-air!

"Six Street Gang is the best in the world!"

Behind the sergeant, another bullet hit the wall.