Russel's screams were absolutely bloodcurdling—the kind that could give someone a heart attack if they heard it in the dead of night. But in reality, the one who got shot wasn't him, but The Beard's corpse he'd propped up as a shield.
Sure, The Slick-back was currently deaf, blind, and dizzy as hell, unable to maintain his balance. But he still had a gun in his hand. And aside from not being able to shoot curved bullets, he was still plenty lethal.
Russel needed to burn through the Beretta 92F's magazine. To make it look convincing, he used The Beard's corpse to plug the bullet holes.
It wasn't about disrespect. Russell considered himself a decent guy, raised with good old-fashioned values. Before propping up Beardy's corpse, he'd consulted the man.
The Beard didn't say a word. Russell figured he was just the shy type, so he took that as a 'yes'.
Bang! Bang!
"Ahhh! It's broken... My 374-Stroke Jackhammer Arm! It's broken!"
Bang! Bang!
"Ahhhhhh—"
"My...! My...!!!"
Russel didn't care whether The Slick-back could actually hear him. His gut told him the guy could sense it. So he hid behind the pillar and screamed his lungs out, putting on the performance of a lifetime—maximum effort, maximum agony.
The Slick-back wasn't born yesterday either. After a few shots, he realized Russel was playing him and refused to fire so easily anymore.
The standard magazine for a Beretta 92F holds 15 rounds. The Slick-back was using an extended mag—20 rounds total. But thanks to Russel's interference, he now only had two bullets left.
Worst of all, in his overconfident arrogance, The Slick-back hadn't brought a spare magazine. And his old-style flintlock pistol was custom-modified for armor-piercing—massive firepower, but reloading took forever. If these last two bullets couldn't take out Russel, he'd have to go hand-to-hand.
Fighting close-quarters with an enemy while suffering the negative debuffs from a flashbang? The thought alone made The Slick-back's heart race. So these last two bullets—without absolute certainty, he wouldn't fire them. If Russel didn't come out, he'd wait it out, ideally until the debuff wore off.
Hiding behind the concrete pillar, Russel knew that the longer this dragged on, the more time The Slick-back would have to recover. Plus, his character card had a time limit—he couldn't afford to wait.
Russel shot a glance at The Bearded , who remained silent. Though he didn't speak, his meaning came through loud and clear. Russel understood perfectly. Carefully, cautiously, he propped The Bearded corpse in front of himself and stepped out from behind the pillar.
Bang!
As if sensing something, The Slick-back raised his hand and fired. The shot hit dead center in The Bearded 's chest. 9mm pistol rounds had excellent stopping power but poor penetration—the bullet lodged in The Bearded 's body.
Having equipped the Subway Cop character card, Russel knew this perfectly well. He wasn't worried about the bullet punching through and hitting him.
The Slick-back forced his eyes open. Everything was white and hazy, tears streaming uncontrollably. He could vaguely make out a gray, blurry figure approaching, but he didn't dare shoot. Fighting through the lingering dizziness, he silently calculated the distance between himself and Russel. Taking a deep breath, his heartbeat instantly exceeded 400 beats per minute.
The world slowed down in his perception. Despite his extremely poor condition, he squeezed off that final bullet. He was confident this shot would hit.
Bang!
After the gunshot, two bodies hit the ground simultaneously. Only then did The Slick-back breathe a sigh of relief. He immediately exited what he called "bullet time." Unlike the Cross father-son duo, he'd acquired this ability through training and couldn't maintain it for long—otherwise, he'd die of heart failure.
Just as The Slick-back was lamenting how close he'd come to capsizing in the gutter, a sudden gust of force struck him. His face took a heavy blow, his nose collapsed, and he fell backward onto the ground.
Russel dropped The Slick-back with a straight punch, stepped forward, and followed up with a heavy kick to his face. The nose is one of the most vulnerable parts of the human body—a heavy blow causes instant incapacitation from the pain.
Russel's two-hit combo left The Slick-back dazed. Then he kicked the gun out of his hand. This kick was a bit heavy—the Beretta 92F flew right over the railing in a deadly case of falling object syndrome.
Behind Russel, the bearded corpse was pinning down Goggles corpse. That's right—Russel had walked out with two corpses while crouching. He was just taking advantage of The Slick-back being blind and deaf.
The Slick-back screamed, his cry filled with fury, like a dying beast preparing its final counterattack. Russel didn't dare get close. He turned, picked up the assault rifle from the ground, and swung it like a club into the side of The Slick-back's face.
Blood and flesh mangled, several bloody teeth flew out. The Slick-back collapsed, crawling and rolling forward to get away. Reaching the concrete railing, he shakily stood up and drew the old flintlock pistol from his waistband.
A flintlock without a loaded ball was basically just a fancy stick. Russel swung the rifle again, knocking the flintlock away.
The Slick-back was strong, but Russel was no weakling either. Both guns flew from their hands.
The next second, The Slick-back roared, opened his eyes—mixed with blood and tears—and lunged at Russel. The pain suppressed his dizzy head. Though he still couldn't hear, his vision had recovered somewhat. At least he could make out Russel's position now.
With the Subway Cop character card equipped, Russel's combat abilities had skyrocketed. The grappling and combat techniques he'd learned at the police academy were nothing compared to the Delta Force's military combat system designed for lethal efficiency. Though his physical stats hadn't improved, his combat effectiveness had definitely jumped up a tier.
The Slick-back's vision was still blurry, and his reactions were sluggish. Russel's nimble footwork dodged him repeatedly, landing more brutal strikes. Finally, a kick to the temple left him leaning against the concrete railing just to keep his balance.
The Slick-back knew if he didn't do something now, today would be his end. Enduring the tearing pain in his heart, he entered bullet time for the third time.
Thump-thump-thump!
Adrenaline surged, his heartbeat went crazy, and The Slick-back's vision gradually cleared. Though things still swayed a bit, it wasn't a major problem anymore.
Racing against time, The Slick-back didn't waste breath on trash talk. He stomped the ground, his form whirling out like a tornado, kicking up dust, and swung his right fist toward Russel's temple.
In bullet time, The Slick-back's speed, strength, and neural reflexes reached absurd levels. Relying on his sixth sense, Russel raised his arm to block, only to be sent flying by the punch.
His blocking arm stung with pain. Mid-air, Russel curled his body, instinctively protecting his vulnerable vital points. That reflex saved him again as The Slick-back's follow-up kick slammed him into the ground.
It hurt like hell—muscles and tissues suffered multiple contusions—but no broken bones or torn tendons.
Watching The Slick-back's side kick coming at him, Russel didn't retreat but advanced, diving into The Slick-back's embrace and driving his elbow into his heart.
[Ding! User has broken through mental limits. INT+1. Current attribute: 10 (9+1)]
Russel didn't hear the system notification. He only knew his reaction speed had gotten faster, and his ability to predict attacks had become more precise. His speed and strength couldn't match The Slick-back's, but by predicting his moves, he could dodge the killing blows one step ahead.
The elbow strike to The Slick-back's heart, through sheer coincidence, forced him out of bullet time. The Slick-back staggered back two steps, his face showing not just pain but disbelief.
"You... could you also..."
Russel didn't care what The Slick-back was saying. After his elbow strike pushed the guy back, his momentum had stopped. Having used too much force, his foot slipped and his body pitched forward. Russel didn't try to regain his balance. Instead, he went with the falling motion and launched an unexpected attack.
His target: the space between The Slick-back's legs. No shame in it—this wasn't a sparring match, this was a fight to the death. Naturally, you aim for the kill zones.
Stop! Elbow time!
Russel drove his elbow forward, and immediately... The Slick-back was caught completely off guard by this despicable, shameless, and downright sleazy street-fighting move. His eyes bulged. Watching him collapse to his knees in a pigeon-toed stance, legs clamped together, made it clear that even pissing would be difficult for him from now on.
A light blow causes excruciating pain and instant collapse. A heavy one? Unbearable agony and immediate death.
Having taken that hit, The Slick-back's eyes were now unfocused, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth, making unconscious whimpering sounds.
Russel had zero sympathy for him. He circled behind, hooked his arm around the guy's neck, and twisted hard.
"Crack." The Slick-back collapsed to the ground. Aside from his limbs twitching, there was no other movement...
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