"Wolf, prep the grenades!"
The moment Lin Yang plummeted into the secret room, the three men reacted swiftly.
But the secret room's floor snapped shut again.
Steering Wheel hesitated not. CQB (Close Quarters Battle) in enclosed spaces was high-risk—especially a basement with an entrance controlled by the enemy, making it a deathtrap to defend. The optimal solution was to clear the area with grenades. Luckily, their mission was assassination, not hostage rescue. Hostage scenarios in such setups were far trickier.
As for Lin Yang, the man who'd triggered the trap, Steering Wheel didn't think he had a prayer.
"Bang-bang-bang!"
Steering Wheel fired three rounds, punching a hole in the secret room's floor.
Wolf, kneeling, fumbled for a grenade.
"Wait, wait—don't throw it!" Lin Yang's desperate shout echoed up from below.
Wolf froze, glancing at Steering Wheel.
"Fuck me?!"
Steering Wheel gaped, stunned.
The Glock 17 Wolf had given Lin Yang had a familiar report. But the gunfire from below hadn't been just the Glock—there were other weapons. That meant the enemy was armed.
Lin Yang had tumbled down unprepared. In their eyes, he was already dead. The Glock fire was just panic shooting on his way down—hence the sudden silence.
For him to speak now? A miracle. Even trained operatives would've died in that fall.
"Suspicions of a trap?" Reaper asked, clutching his submachine gun.
"Still throw it, boss?" Wolf's finger hovered over the grenade pin, poised to drop it into the hole. One order, and the room would be reduced to shrapnel.
"Don't throw it—please don't!" Lin Yang hurried to explain. "The target you're looking for is here. I killed him. Your mission's done."
He'd rather die in an ambush than get blown to bits by them.
"Wait, we need to find the switch."
The secret room wasn't large. Lin Yang quickly located the control panel, reopening the floor. He dragged the four headshot corpses—now beyond recognition—into view above.
Steering Wheel, Wolf, and Reaper eyed the scene warily, then descended.
"Holy shit," Wolf breathed, inspecting the bodies. "All four got one shot to the forehead. At close range, that's child's play for us… but taking them all out in a freefall? Even pros can't pull that off. Not human."
"Just pulled the trigger, switched targets, and… that's it." Lin Yang fumbled for words.
The truth was, as he'd tumbled, his mind had pinged—a system, crude and new, with one skill: Bullet Time.
Consuming 20 stamina per second, flooding his body with adrenaline, sharpening his senses and reflexes to superhuman levels. It sounded mundane, but in practice? Five seconds of bullet-dodging, reality-slowing superhuman performance.
He'd only just realized it existed.
"Confirmed. Target eliminated." Steering Wheel verified the corpse, snapped a photo, and exhaled.
Mission accomplished. Now, the new problem: what to do with Lin Yang.
Lin Yang caught Steering Wheel's gaze and tensed.
"Boss, how to handle him?" Wolf murmured. Reaper shifted position, subtly flanking Lin Yang.
The three formed a loose triangle around him.
Lin Yang's throat went dry. They'd helped complete the mission—but would they let him live? His stamina was drained; he couldn't even guarantee Bullet Time would activate again. And these men were professionals. If it came to a fight, even if he took them down, there was still Hawk outside.
"I helped you finish the job. And I won't sell you out." Lin Yang locked eyes with Steering Wheel, choosing his words carefully. "Also, I'm Chinese. These are Japanese. You know how that goes—I'd happily kill them. I swear, I won't betray you."
"Interesting point," Wolf interjected. He knew a thing or two about Sino-Japanese relations. "He's got a point."
"I believe you won't betray us," Steering Wheel said, voice colder. "But if the Inagawa-kai tracks you down? That's out of your hands. I trust the dead more than I trust promises."
Lin Yang glanced at Ono's corpse. The Inagawa-kai's reach was real. He needed a solution—fast.
As a Chinese citizen, steeped in five thousand years of history, he knew every problem had a precedent.
"I'll kill him. You film it. That way, you've got leverage. I'll never betray you." Lin Yang nodded at Ono's body, invoking an ancient ritual of sworn loyalty.
"Because you're Chinese," Steering Wheel clarified. Kill a Japanese here, flee to China—no consequences.
"Chinese law applies extraterritorially. Killing him here is still a crime."
"Fair enough. That works." Steering Wheel exchanged a glance with the others, then raised his phone, filming Lin Yang. "Start."
Earlier, he'd fired on four men in a heartbeat. Now, he had to shoot a defenseless Ono.
Lin Yang took a breath. Ono, though clueless to the conversation, saw the gun and knelt, begging pathetically.
"Mountains and rivers divide us, but heaven sees our grudge!" Lin Yang thought of his grandfather's words, pulling the trigger without hesitation.
Debts must be repaid. Let this be the first interest.
"Bang-bang-bang!" Two shots to the body, one to the head. Ono stilled, lifeless.
Steering Wheel lowered his phone. "Hawk's reporting movement. We're two minutes over schedule. Evacuate now."