"Bullshit! What the hell was that? The client didn't say we were killing Superman! The pay isn't even enough to buy our own coffins!"
Goggles was losing it. He waved his SMG around wildly, his mental state crumbling.
It was understandable. Anyone who realized they were living in a world where "Supermen" leaped between skyscrapers and bullets curved around corners would have a hard time accepting reality.
Goggles needed time to reconstruct his worldview. But Russell had no intention of providing therapy—especially when the patient was waving a loaded gun in his face.
"Shut your trap and take cover! He hasn't left yet. Unless you want to die right now!"
Russell shoved The Beard's corpse aside and wedged himself into the corner formed by a concrete pillar and the parapet. Against an enemy who could curve bullets, this position wasn't exactly safe, but he had no other choice.
Hearing Russell's shout, Goggles snapped his mouth shut. But then, in a move that screamed "terrible teammate," he sprinted straight toward Russell's hiding spot.
Bang!
Just as Russell was about to scream at him to fuck off, his heart skipped a beat. A single gunshot rang out, and Goggles stiffened. He collapsed right next to Russell, dead before he hit the ground.
Looking at the ruined head less than a meter away, Russell's heart hammered against his ribs. The primal fear of death overrode everything else—nausea, disgust, morality. He instinctively curled into a ball, keeping his head down.
Thwip!
A bullet screamed past the top of Russell's head. The displacement of air felt warm against his scalp, sending a shiver down his spine.
System! Equip [Character Card: Temple Beast]! Now!
Russell roared the command in his mind. If not for his supernatural Sixth Sense, that last shot would have opened his skull.
As he mentally screamed, he tossed aside the useless sniper rifle and patted down his tactical vest. Nothing. Except for a single Flashbang tucked in his back belt, he was empty. Not even a sidearm.
He looked at the modified UMP45 in Goggles' dead hands. It was only a meter away. With that gun, he could fight back. But he was afraid that if he reached out a hand, he'd lose the hand.
[Alert. Card 'Temple Beast' is incompatible with current World Physics. Please select another card.]
Russell's face twisted in rage.
Incompatible?!!!
He only had three Character Cards. The strongest one was useless. What was he supposed to do? Equip The Sprinter and see if he could outrun a bullet?
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Four shots rang out in rapid succession.
Russell flinched with each one. He wasn't hit. Instead, the terrified sounds of metal shattering told him what happened. The Slick-back had shot the triggers off every weapon lying on the roof—including the sniper rifle Russell had just discarded.
The chance of survival just dropped from "Slim" to "None."
"Not bad. I rarely miss," The Slick-back called out from the other building. "You're a third-rate assassin, but your instincts are top-tier. You seem to be the leader. Maybe you know where Cross is. Tell me, and I might consider letting you go."
Thinking he had won, The Slick-back didn't rush to kill Russell. He started fishing for intel.
As he spoke, his peripheral vision caught something on the floor near the edge of the roof. A black X drawn in charcoal.
"What the fuck!"
The arrogance vanished from The Slick-back's eyes. He saw the mark and immediately retracted his foot, realizing the truth. This was an ultra-long-range assassination attempt targeting him. The shooter was using an astronomical telescope to aim from miles away, and that mark on the floor was the precise targeting point.
The predator had walked right onto another predator's menu.
The Slick-back knew there was only one man capable of this. The man who viewed him as prey. Cross. The Fraternity's deadliest assassin.
"Tell me! Where is Cross? I promise I'll let you go! I promise!" The Slick-back retreated a step, his voice dropping to a desperate growl.
Who the hell knows where Cross is... wait. Actually, I think I do.
Russell's memory of the movie plot kicked in. Cross, the rogue assassin, had spent years watching over his son from the shadows. Watching him grow up, go to school, go to work...
Russell knew Cross was likely hiding near the L-train or the subway station close to his son's apartment.
But so what?
If he told him, would The Slick-back really let him go? Don't be an idiot.
Trusting a killer's promise was like trusting a politician's campaign promise. The moment he talked, he was dead.
System! Equip [Character Card: Subway Cop]!
Russell prayed silently. Please, let the rumor be true. Let that pot-bellied middle-aged man actually be ex-Delta Force.
That was his only hope.
[User is equipping 'Character Card: Subway Cop'. Do you wish to overlay the Character Skin?]
Russell instantly recalled the Subway Cop's face: a glorious double chin and a hairline that had retreated halfway across his scalp.
"Hell no!" Russell refused instantly. "Do not overlay skin. And for future reference, default to 'No Skin' unless I say otherwise."
[Access Denied. Insufficient Privileges for default settings.]
Trash System. This is why we can't have nice things.
Russell took a deep breath, ignoring the incompetent UI. "Just equip the card! No skin!"
[Equipping 'Character Card: Subway Cop'. Duration: 300 Seconds. Countdown Start.]
As the voice faded, Russell felt the change.
He didn't feel a surge of strength like the Hulk. His STR, VIT, and INT stats remained the same. But his mind was suddenly flooded with tactical data. Muscle memory rewrote itself. He knew how to clear a room, how to breach a door, and exactly how much pressure to apply to a trigger.
In this moment, give him a gun, and he could make it sing.
"If I tell you, will you really let me go?" Russell shouted back.
As he spoke, his hand crept behind his back. He unclipped the Flashbang and gently pulled the pin.
The Slick-back smirked. "Of course. I have no reason to lie to you. Besides... you don't exactly have a choice, do you?"
Russell loosened his grip, letting the spoon drop onto his leg. He counted silently—One. Two.—then slammed the flashbang low across the floor, sending it skidding out of cover.
Clink-clatter!
"Oh fuck!"
The Slick-back didn't see Russell. He saw a metal canister rolling toward him. He cursed, turned, and sprinted for the corner of the office. Even while running, he whipped his gun around and fired two blind, curving bullets toward Russell.
BOOM!
Russell's timing was perfect.
The explosion ripped through the air. A blinding white light turned night into day, and a deafening bang shattered eardrums.
On the other side, Russell wasn't having a picnic either. The moment he threw the grenade, he dove flat onto the concrete. This saved him from the curving bullets, but the shockwave still rattled his bones.
Both men lay on the ground, groaning in pain.
Two minutes passed.
Russell was the first to stagger to his feet. He had only been hit by the shockwave; he recovered faster than the man who looked directly at the flash.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The Slick-back couldn't stand up. He dragged himself backward with one hand, while the other hand fired the Beretta relentlessly.
Russell pressed himself flat against the pillar. Bullets chipped away at the concrete inches from his face, spraying him with dust.
Even blinded and deafened, The Slick-back was firing on pure instinct, suppressing Russell's position with terrifying accuracy.
"ARGHHHH—!!!"
The sound of a bullet hitting flesh was followed by a scream full of gusto—cough—Ahem. A miserable, blood-curdling shriek.
"My leg... My leg! My record-breaking, 9.58-second sprinting legs! I'm hit!!"
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