The two men inside the sedan got out, joining the lookout from earlier—three Black men in total. Each kept a hand inside his clothing as they headed toward the convenience store.
Felix noted the crimson markers hovering above their heads. That wasn't right. He adjusted the dashcam, angling it toward the store.
Then he pulled on his hard-plate vest, staying seated but alert, left hand on the door handle so he could step out in an instant.
The trio closed in on the store. At the same moment, three other men emerged from the shop, laughing, with beer and cigarettes in hand, heading toward their car.
The lookout raised a hand, pointing. "That's him!"
The other two didn't say a word. They pulled pistols from inside their jackets and opened fire.
Bang-bang-bang!
Bang-bang!
A burst of gunfire dropped one of the men instantly. The station took its share of damage—glass, walls, and fuel pumps all chewed up by stray rounds.
You had to admit—starting a shootout at a gas station took a certain kind of nerve.
The victim's two companions showed no loyalty at all. Heads ducked, they sprinted for the store without a backward glance. They weren't harmless either—once inside, they drew their own guns and returned fire. The air filled with the roar of gunshots and the crash of shattering glass.
Inside, the clerk screamed. Outside, customers abandoned their cars mid-pump and ran. Others who'd been idling after fueling up stomped the gas and fled—probably vowing never again to loiter at a gas station.
Felix ducked in the driver's seat, keyed the radio.
"Gunfight in progress at the Fernández Street gas station—two groups, six armed men exchanging fire. One down. Request immediate backup."
He drew his pistol, stepped out, using the car door for cover. On department vehicles, only the front doors and windshield had ballistic panels—the side glass wasn't armored.
"Sheriff's Department!" he called toward the combatants. "Drop your weapons! Hands up and surrender, now!"
The reply came as two sharp cracks. Glass exploded from his door window, forcing him to crouch low.
Fine. His bodycam had the footage. He'd given the command. Time to move on to the next step.
Felix rose fast, sighting in on the nearest shooter. Three quick rounds—bang, bang, bang—and the man went down. Whether or not it was the one who'd shot his window didn't matter. Every one of them was red-marked; there was no risk of hitting the wrong person.
And if by some cosmic accident the guy had been a bystander? Red meant guilty—no exceptions.
With one man down, the other two swung their muzzles toward Felix, hosing his position with fire. Bullets hammered the car until the sheet metal looked like a colander. Good thing it was a department ride—if it had been his own, it would've hurt to look at.
[Ding] Host has achieved a kill. Reward: $100. New skill unlocked — Rapid Aim Lv.1.
Skill description: Ordinary shooters take 0.3 to 0.1 seconds to identify a target, and 0.5 to 0.2 seconds to raise and aim before firing. Rapid Aim pushes beyond human limits, letting you get muzzle on target faster and more precisely for the first shot.
Perfect. Exactly what he needed.
Crouching, Felix slid toward the front bumper. When the incoming fire thinned, he leaned out. Before, he'd have needed to search for a target. Now, his eyes swept once and locked—someone hiding behind a pump had left a foot sticking out. His arm swung without hesitation; the gun barked three times. Then he pulled back into cover. The whole motion was fluid—peek, fire, retract—and the man collapsed.
Shooting the upper half of the pump was safe—just electronics and a display, no serious risk of igniting fuel. The bottom, with the tanks and valves, was another matter entirely.
[Ding] Host has achieved a kill. Reward: $100. New skill unlocked — Rapid Fire Lv.1.
Skill description: To survive complex combat scenarios, military and police units developed methods for fast, precise engagement—blending instinctive fire, reflex shooting, and assault drills. This is a custom synthesis designed for the host.
Felix tested the movement in his head. Recognition clicked. Mozambique drill. Not just about speed on the range—this was built for ambushes and close fights.
He felt the surge of focus. Killing really was the fastest way to level up. Sure, you could train these skills, but without months or years of reps, you'd never get close. Here, it took minutes.
Two kills later, the sedan crew was down to one. The pair inside the store kept up their blind fire, but now they were flanked, pressure mounting.
The last man broke. He turned and sprinted for the car parked just outside—Felix dropped him with two shots.
The store's two gunmen weren't loyal, but they were bold. Seeing their rivals down, they charged out, finishing the wounded man with several more rounds.
Felix stared. Stealing my kill? Really?
He rose, put three rounds into one and two into the other. Both went down hard.
[Ding] Host has achieved a kill. Reward: $100. New skill unlocked — Danger Sense Lv.1.
Skill description: An upgraded sixth sense—"the cicada knows before the wind." The system will mark in red anyone intending harm to the host. Even if obscured by buildings, distance, or unseen snipers, the host will feel a subconscious warning.
Huh. One of them still clung to life.
Felix walked toward him, muzzle low, debating whether to finish the job.
Sirens cut through the night, swelling fast. He glanced at his bodycam, grimaced, and decided against it. Backing off, he returned to the patrol car.
He didn't check the wounded man—last thing he needed was some sly bastard hiding a final shot.
Seven or eight patrol units rolled up in a staggered line, officers taking cover behind doors, rifles leveled.
Felix spotted the long guns immediately and cursed under his breath. Raising his badge, he shouted, "Sheriff's Department! Felix! Hold your fire—friendly here. All shooters are down."
"Slowly put the gun on the ground, kick it aside, then turn away with your hands up. No sudden moves, pal—you get it," a sergeant called.
No problem. They weren't making him lie down; in the dark, that would've been risky. Standing and turning kept him visible—made it harder for anyone to guess when backup might close in, and impossible to time an ambush.