In a daze, Jason felt a heaviness clouding his head. The searing pain in his arm quickly snapped his memory back into place—the fight, the crash into the steel beam, and how he'd only had time to wrap the seatbelt around his arm before the impact.
As his awareness returned, so did the details. The van was a wreck. His target, Avril, was gone. The Asian man who'd been fighting him earlier was still there—pinned in place. From Jason's angle, he could clearly see that one of the man's legs was caught between the beam and the vehicle, mangled and bloody.
Jason shook his head, clearing it further. He moved slightly, checking his injuries. His body was sore but nothing seemed broken. His arm, though torn up, was only a flesh wound.
With effort, Jason sat up. His vision cleared, and he saw that the Asian man—Zheng Anshun—was also conscious and moving. But he was trapped. His body was firmly stuck; there was no way he was getting out.
Temporarily neutralized, Jason ignored him. Outside, the noise of distant voices filtered in. Jason turned his head. Across the opposing lane, a number of cars had stopped. Some people were shouting, trying to confirm whether anyone was alive. A few busybodies had even stepped out and were approaching.
Then Jason's eyes narrowed—he spotted his target. Avril was lying on the ground outside, clearly thrown from the vehicle. Just as Jason assumed she was dead, she stirred, turning her head side to side before slowly sitting up.
Of course. The wicked live long.
This crash had utterly destroyed the van. None of the three had proper restraints, yet all had miraculously survived. Anyone who understood the full context might question whether God had simply lost his grip on reality.
"Are you guys okay?"
Someone spotted Jason still moving in the wreckage and called out. No one responded. The man didn't get closer—instead, he pulled out his phone to make a call.
Jason couldn't hear the whole conversation, but from the few words he caught, he gathered that the guy was calling the police. Probably reporting the accident and injuries.
Jason knew time was up. He had to end this—fast. The cops would be here any moment, and given the public gunfire earlier, they might arrive even faster than expected.
He crouched, preparing to crawl out of the mangled frame. Just then, Avril looked up and locked eyes with him. She was fully awake now.
Jason climbed forward—he was less than ten meters from her. Once outside, he could finish this mission. But as he moved, a powerful grip latched onto his leg.
He looked back—it was Zheng Anshun, his eyes burning with fury. One leg pinned, but his arms wrapped tightly around Jason's left leg.
"Let go!"
Jason growled, kicking hard at Zheng's face. Blood streamed from his nose and lips, but he didn't loosen his grip.
Jason kicked again and again, brutal blows crashing down. Zheng's injuries worsened, but his grip was like iron. His arms might as well have been someone else's—they refused to yield.
"Go! GO!!"
Zheng shouted hoarsely, over and over, not at Jason, but at Avril. He must've known his fate was sealed, but he was determined to buy her enough time to escape.
Inside the wreckage, the assault continued. Jason, like some cinematic villain, struck Zheng's face with relentless cruelty. Zheng's features were no longer recognizable. His voice grew fainter but never lost its defiance.
Outside, Avril bared her teeth, rage twisting her face. She tried crawling back to him, desperate to help. But after only a few feet, she collapsed. Something was wrong. She could only move from the waist up—her lower body had no feeling.
Zheng's voice faded. Avril could only watch as Jason kept kicking, over and over, helpless to intervene.
"No!"
Her scream was filled with fury and despair. She wanted to charge forward and die with the man trying to kill her. But her body betrayed her.
"Go… go…"
Zheng's voice dropped to a whisper. Then, in a final act of defiance, he lunged forward and bit down on Jason's leg. Jason cried out in pain and struck faster, switching from kicks to fists.
Zheng's head was already a bloody mess. Jason's blows had little effect. Then he spotted the wrench nearby—the same one Zheng had used to jam the gas pedal. It had fallen during the crash.
He grabbed it.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Zheng's skull caved in. He had stopped breathing, though his arms still clung to Jason's leg.
"Fuck!"
Jason cursed. This was the kind of enemy one had to respect—but he'd still had to kill him.
Jason looked up—just in time to meet Avril's eyes. Her gaze was icy cold. Gone was the rage; rationality had returned. Jason could see it.
He was right—Avril had cooled down. The moment Zheng's voice disappeared, she knew he was dead. Her partner, her lover, her shadow—gone. At the critical moment, he gave his life to buy her time. She swallowed the fire in her heart and buried it deep.
She focused on regaining control of her body. And, by some miracle, it worked. Sensation returned to her legs. She rolled over, sat up, and began to stand.
Back in the wreck, Jason tossed aside the wrench, now slick with red and white. He struck Zheng's jaw, finally loosening the teeth clamped around his leg. Then, one by one, he had to snap each of Zheng's fingers to pry himself free.
At last, Jason crawled out of the van wreckage—only to find Avril standing at the edge of the bridge.
She gave him one last, cold look—as if committing his face to memory—then turned and leapt without hesitation.
Jason ran forward, but all he saw was the splash—just a ripple on the river's surface. And then nothing.
He stood in silence, eyes on the water. Then he turned back and looked at the body inside the wrecked van. The mission had failed. Avril had escaped. And a river couldn't drown people like her.
In the distance, police sirens began to wail.
Jason Bourne walked toward the opposite lane.
The drivers there were paralyzed, trapped between cars, no way to run.
As Jason passed, the crowd parted instinctively, a corridor opening around him. He chose a red Ferrari. Its owner, a rich playboy, had stopped to watch the drama unfold—but now he trembled as Jason approached. After all, he'd just watched this ordinary-looking man bash in someone's skull with a wrench.
Jason gave him a single glance. The guy immediately stepped aside and handed over the keys with shaking hands.
Jason got in. He looked over at the passenger seat—there sat the playboy's girlfriend, frozen in terror. When she saw Jason glance at her, she screamed and jumped out of the car.
Jason shut the door. Ignition. The Ferrari roared to life and sped away, leaving behind a crowd too stunned to speak.
Only after the car disappeared down the road did the playboy whisper, "I… I'm calling the cops…"
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