Chapter 622: Were They Really Captives?

Tap-tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap.

Before the smoke cleared, Zhang Su rolled over and began returning fire—there was no time to waste; the others had already picked up their weapons.

The explosion's force wasn't insignificant, but it caused little damage to the immensely sturdy railway bridge—only a few concrete beams were shattered. Zhang Su advanced toward them while firing, undeterred even as bullets cracked around him.

Of course, it wasn't sheer recklessness—he dared to press forward because his entire body was completely encased in armor. After pulling his cap low, almost no skin was exposed. He decided that after this mission, he'd modify his bulletproof skin into a mask, leaving just two holes for his eyes.

"Zhou Haotian, Ke Zhiyu, stay down! Everyone else, follow me!"

Zhang Su bellowed—the two temporary members had no bulletproof vests; if hit, they might die.

"Brothers, they're stunned by the blast—just one man dares to resist! Kill him!"

Skinny Monkey heard Zhang Su's shout and began yelling too, raising his hunting rifle to fire—he didn't know how to use it at all. After firing one shot, he fumbled for minutes, unable to reload…

The others weren't as useless as Skinny Monkey. They fired steadily at the figure emerging through the smoke, gritting their teeth, imagining the scene where they'd successfully counter-killed—those fine weapons would all be theirs! Flashes of gunfire crossed, but their fantasies shattered quickly. Bullets flew back and forth; the escapees' hit rate was pitiful. In a rush, twenty to thirty rounds only struck Zhang Su once, grazing his thigh—yet two of their own had already fallen.

Zhang Su felt a stinging ache in his thigh, but it was nothing. He kept calmly picking off targets when his peripheral vision caught a figure—Jú Wǔyīng, holding a pistol.

When cold weapons were impractical, Jú Wǔyīng had begun using firearms too. Boundaries were made to be broken—being too rigid was foolish.

Tap-tap, pop, pop—another Dragon Head escapee dropped dead.

"Damn it, save me a few of those!"

Zhao Dezhu pushed himself up through the ringing in his ears. Beneath him lay Yu Qing—he didn't bother helping his wife up, just sprinted forward, knowing only by eliminating the enemy could they be truly safe.

Soon after, Lu Yubó, Chen Hanzhou, Pan Guoliang, and others rose to their feet, joining the fight.

This seemingly intense gunfight was decided the moment it began. In terms of weapons, armor, and sheer personnel quality, the two sides weren't even on the same level—the outcome was utterly one-sided. Skinny Monkey led his men in a staggered retreat—each step back claimed another life. After five steps, four comrades lay dead. He finally broke.

"Brothers, fight to the end! The city stands while we stand!"

Skinny Monkey suddenly shouted the Dragon Head camp's siege oath, hurled his hunting rifle forward, then spun and fled in panic.

"You fucking bastard, Skinny Monkey—"

Tap-tap… whoosh, pop, pop, thud.

"Ahh…"

"Ugh!"

Thud-thud…

The battle lasted barely any time. The chunks of flesh hanging on the barbed wire still trembled; the stench of blood still clung to the air—yet it was over. Sixteen Dragon Head escapees eliminated. The Yanluo Legion took seven hits total.

The worst off was Zhang Ya—she alone took three bullet impacts. Aside from a burning sting, she felt nothing else—even less painful than menstrual cramps.

The value of the petrified-skin bulletproof suit kept rising.

Skinny Monkey heard the relentless gunfire behind him, the curses of falling comrades, the whistle of bullets grazing his ears—he cursed his mother for giving him only two legs and ran with his head down, sprinting as fast as he could.

But soon he couldn't run anymore.

Thud, thud-thud.

"Ahh… ahh!"

A bullet struck his popliteal fossa, shattering his knee. He collapsed forward, landing hard, knocking out two teeth against a beam, his yellow teeth flying high, streaked with blood…

"F-fuck, I'm so damn unlucky… I should've jumped down… fuck!" Skinny Monkey didn't give up—he dragged himself forward with his arms and one leg, cursing under his breath.

He thought his popliteal fossa was hit because of bad luck—but in truth, Zhang Su had ordered Tan Huajun to spare him.

Skinny Monkey ran decisively, but slowly. Tan Huajun shot him once, and he lost all mobility.

"You're all trash. Can't even handle a simple job. Fuck, you run slower than dogs—"

Skinny Monkey dragged himself forward with two arms and one leg—looking from afar, he resembled a crawling worm. His lips quivered as he gasped, his eyes filled with desperate longing for life.

"Big brother, just shoot him. What if he's got a bomb on him? Too dangerous!"

Zhao Dezhu wasn't afraid of regular bullets, but explosions terrified him—his wife constantly lectured him on their power, instilling deep respect.

"Huh…"

Zhang Su sneered: "A coward who betrays his own men? Would he have the guts to strap a bomb to himself? Zhu, you overestimate him—he's not even as insane as those absolute-justice fanatics!"

Those who had fought the Absolute Justice group on West Second Ring nodded. Skinny Monkey was merely cunning and heartless—not insane.

Creak!

Zhang Su stepped forward and planted his foot on Skinny Monkey's popliteal fossa.

"Ayya, ayya, fuck you, you son of a bitch, it hurts so much!"

Blood seeped from the wound; his entire leg twitched.

"You hid bombs on unsuspecting women, used trade as an excuse to get them close, then detonated them. Genius move—was that your idea?"

Zhang Su kept his foot on Skinny Monkey's knee, bent down, grabbed his cap, and yanked his head up.

Skinny Monkey struggled to look at Zhang Su. His mirrored sunglasses reflected his own miserable face—teeth knocked out, gums bleeding, blood dripping from his lips.

"Ahhhh…"

Skinny Monkey wept—heartbroken, tears streaming: "Big brother, spare me! We were just passing through! We never meant to harm you! Why are you killing us all?!"

"I believe you were just passing through—but the moment we met, you decided to act. Come on…"

Zhang Su flipped Skinny Monkey onto his side, gestured to his comrades to bind his hands, and asked: "Those two boys and five women—were they really your hostages?"

As he spoke, Zhang Su removed his glasses, staring directly into Skinny Monkey's eyes. He wasn't asking for his own peace of mind—he was verifying his own judgment, like checking an exam answer against the key.

For the first time, Skinny Monkey saw Zhang Su without his glasses. The scarred, healed skin beneath was meant to conceal his wounds. His eyes weren't particularly dark—just ordinary. But they filled him with the terror of staring into an abyss, wave after wave crashing over him, making his lips tremble uncontrollably.

He had no attention for anything else—if he'd looked around, he'd have seen: not just him, but everyone else was beginning to look afraid.

"Fuck, how… why do I feel cold crawling up my back? This place ain't haunted, is it?"

"Don't say that—it's still morning, why does it feel darker? Shit…"

"You're just shaken now. If it weren't for Brother Su's swift shot killing that bomb-woman, we'd all be human puzzles!"

The Yanluo Legion members were affected—fear began rising in their hearts.

Jú Wǔyīng frowned, gritted her teeth, fighting the emotional assault. She looked at Zhang Su helplessly—why use so much force on such a petty scumbag?

(End of Chapter)