"What?" Michael's sudden remark left Jin Kaide a bit confused.
"Hao Zerong," Michael said calmly.
"Huh?" This time, not only was Jin Kaide a little stunned, but even Zhang Jie was.
Michael continued, "He was my client, but Emilia exposed him, and then he was killed..."
Silence... Jin Kaide: ...Suddenly... "Hahahaha!"
Jin Kaide looked at the man in front of him, and a huge sense of absurdity suddenly welled up in his heart, making him burst into laughter.
"What's so funny?"
Michael was speechless. Are you still mocking me at a time like this?
Jin Kaide rubbed his stomach, which ached from laughing, and waved his hand, "It wasn't her who exposed your client; I took out Hao Ze!"
At this point, Jin Kaide began to explain.
"At that time, I was on the rooftop, watching another target at the airport, and then I accidentally saw him. I was lucky, but he wasn't so lucky."
"Because that corrupt Asian bastard could earn me double the money. That was the most perfect shot I ever made in my assassin career, through a C-cup-sized double-paned window from 3,000 meters away."
"Hahahaha, I thought you already knew I was the one who took him out."
Looking at the smug Jin Kaide, Michael was completely dumbfounded. Countless memories surged wildly in his mind, finally converging on that single shot, the moment he saw Hao Zerong get shot in the head inside the cabin.
Everything seemed so absurd, yet everything seemed so logical.
Zhang Jie, who was beside them, couldn't help but laugh. He never expected that the final mistake of a 3A-level bodyguard was merely a fleeting glance from a professional assassin, a casual act?
If this got out, Michael's reputation would truly be ruined.
Looking at Jin Kaide, who was still laughing, he finally couldn't resist punching him right in the nose.
"Ow! Fuck! What the hell are you doing?!"
But Michael said nothing. He only now realized that the ultimate culprit who caused him to lose his job and break up with Emilia was his arch-nemesis, the very person he was supposed to protect.
God seemed to have played a huge joke on him, bringing him back to the starting point after all the twists and turns.
Michael left. He really left. At this moment, he was dazed and heartbroken.
He hadn't expected that his current downfall was all because of someone's casual act.
Broken, he went to the street and started drinking directly.
He was done. This job was absolutely impossible to do anymore.
Just as Jin Kaide and Zhang Jie walked out of the alley, Dukevich's subordinates spotted them and, without hesitation, pulled out their Pistols and opened fire.
Bang!
Fortunately, at the critical moment, Zhang Jie immediately pressed down Jin Kaide's head, dodging a shot.
"Motherfucker! Why are these people so persistent?"
Jin Kaide cursed angrily, drawing his Pistol and returning fire, and Zhang Jie naturally wasn't to be outdone.
Amsterdam's canal street was instantly engulfed by a storm of steel.
The street was in chaos: screaming pedestrians, fleeing vehicles, dodging waiters—all seemed to become the source of the pandemonium.
Michael, with an indifferent expression, seemed as if nothing concerned him. Bullets whizzed past him, but he remained unmoved.
He even mumbled some trash talk.
"I hope they really kill him. I really do."
The waiter looked at him blankly, only able to respond, "Okay, okay."
"Even if I save him again, what then? He'll just say everything was part of my plan, motherfucker!"
Behind them, Jin Kaide and Zhang Jie returned fire, constantly shooting down enemies.
Bang bang bang!
Taking down an enemy with three shots, Zhang Jie's movements were still so swift.
Jin Kaide, of course, wouldn't be outdone. He swayed left and right twice, and with two shots, directly blew two people's heads off.
Efficient!
And Michael continued to grumble, "Even if the mission is completed, he'll still say 'my actions are always faster than your plans,' motherfucker!"
"I think I'm allergic to bullets, motherfucker!"
"This bastard has completely ruined that word, motherfucker!"
Michael really didn't want to save him anymore.
He took another big gulp of alcohol and then said, "I'm a 3A-level bodyguard, you know? High above, this high!"
Thinking of this, he finally realized that he was still a bodyguard, and he couldn't abandon his mission for personal emotions.
Bullets tore through the damp air, whistling as they struck brick walls, boat hulls, and trash cans, sending sparks flying.
Dukevich's subordinates fired wildly from every corner, a spray of bullets.
"To hell with the mission!"
With that, Michael turned and walked away, pulling out his Pistol and joining the battle.
Zhang Jie pressed close to the wreckage of a bullet-riddled van. A gunman peeked out from behind a cafe door, and the muzzle of his AK flared.
Zhang Jie's glock 34 roared almost simultaneously:
Bang! Bang!
Two bullets precisely struck the upper chest of the opponent, the impact making the body jerk violently.
Followed by a third shot.
Bang!
It entered through the slightly open mouth, and the back of the head exploded with red and white.
The target collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.
Zhang Jie crouched, swiftly sliding behind a large concrete planter nearby.
Jin Kaide leaned against an overturned motorcycle. An enemy was raising his hand, about to throw a grenade.
Jin Kaide slightly raised his wrist.
Bang!
A crimson dot blossomed on the forehead.
The grenade slipped from his hand and fell back inside the window, followed by a muffled explosion, with flames and thick smoke gushing out.
Another thug yelled, rushing out from behind a car and raising his Pistol. Jin Kaide merely tilted his wrist slightly.
Bang!
The bullet passed through the gap in his bent arm, instantly piercing his forehead.
The empty casing clinked as it fell onto the wet cobblestone street.
Michael rolled to avoid a burst of gunfire, his back against the thick brick wall corner.
Behind the canal railing, an enemy exposed his shoulder, attempting to aim.
Michael raised his Pistol, gripped tightly with both hands.
Bang! Bang!
The first bullet pierced the shoulder, and the second, almost seamlessly, entered through the jaw, tearing open the entire top of the skull.
The target fell into the water.
The gunfire abruptly ceased, as if cut off by a sharp blade.
Gunsmoke swirled and settled in the narrow street.
A dozen bodies lay twisted on the street, the fatal wounds, without exception, in vital areas of the head and chest.
Brass casings rolled into the canal, clinking.
Silence descended.
Only the gurgling of the canal water, and in the distance, the siren of a police car grew from faint to strong, tearing through the rain, screaming as it approached.
The three, not far apart, exchanged glances. They all knew this was not a place to linger.
So the three once again regrouped and rushed into the underground parking lot. This time, Michael finally had time to showcase his lock-picking talent.
He pulled out tools, unzipped, pulled out more tools, picked the lock, opened the door, pulled wires, cut wires, and started the ignition—all in one fluid motion.
The three got into the car and buckled their seatbelts. This time, Michael was driving. He floored the accelerator, the tires smoking against the pavement, and then the Ford shot out.
"I told you, my lock-picking skills are still very good."
The Ford, bursting out of the basement exit, smashed through the barrier. Michael then quickly swerved the steering wheel, but it was still too late; the car crashed into a vehicle parked on the side of the road.
Bang!
Airbags deployed!
"God!!"
"Fuck!"
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