At nine o’clock at night, Jason, Harley, and David drove to Queens, parking their car in a shadowy alley near the xican gang’s headquarters.
Harley and David got out, carrying black duffel bags loaded with guns and ammunition.
Jason walked over and reminded them, "The xican gang has two to three hundred gunn, all ard with automatic rifles. Even though your shooting skills are top-notch, the numbers are heavily against you, so be extra careful."
He pointed to a nearby high-rise and said, "I’ll be up there watching. If you run into trouble you can’t handle, call imdiately."
"Got it, boss."
"Don’t worry, honey."
Both were seasoned pros, not rookies. If they encountered a tough enemy, they wouldn’t just charge in recklessly.
After giving his instructions, Harley and David left the alley with their black bags, quickly heading toward the slums.
Once they were gone, Jason gathered energy at his feet, leaped into the air, and flew to the nearby high-rise.
After confirming the rooftop was empty, he sat on the edge, legs dangling toward the ground, pulled out a high-tech telescope, and watched the two moving swiftly, full of anticipation.
By nine, the sky was pitch black.
To save electricity, the slum residents lit red bonfires along the roads.
So idle folks sat around, drinking cheap beer and chatting sporadically.
Suddenly, a man and a woman walked into the slum’s entrance.
They wore full protective body armor, held large-caliber automatic rifles, and carried bulging black bags on their backs.
These two were clearly pri targets, but with automatic rifles in hand, the shady types around could only abandon any thoughts of robbery.
As the two walked off, soone asked curiously, "What’s going on today? Morning, noon, afternoon, and now evening—four groups have shown up, and they all look like bad news."
His companion tossed so wood into the fire and said calmly, "Don’t forget, this is the xican gang’s headquarters. No matter how many tough guys show up, it’s not surprising."
Harley and David ventured deeper, following pre-gathered intel, and soon reached the xican gang’s territory.
At that mont, several n in floral T-shirts, holding AK-47s, surrounded them.
The lead gangster barked, "Stop! Who are you?"
The two exchanged a glance, and Harley asked with a sweet smile, "Is Mr. Guzman here? We have urgent business with him."
"Looking for the boss again? Didn’t so people co by this afternoon? Why more tonight?" The lead gangster muttered, but he still asked warily, "Who are you? What do you want with the boss?"
Since he didn’t deny it, Guzman was indeed still here.
Harley and David gave faint smiles. "We’re..."
Suddenly, they raised their rifles and pulled the triggers.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The gangsters didn’t have ti to react. Blood sprayed from their foreheads as they collapsed to the ground.
The muffled gunshots echoed far in the night, alerting every xican gang mber in the area.
"Enemies!"
They rushed downstairs, guns in hand, full of aggression.
At that mont, the small-ti leaders shouted, "Calm the hell down! Rember what we learned this afternoon. Stick to the plan."
Hearing this, the gangsters cooled off and, following the instructions of those mysterious figures, took up ambush positions in the building’s corners and stairwells.
After firing, Harley and David imdiately ducked behind cover on either side.
But after waiting two full minutes, the expected swarm of xican gang mbers didn’t show.
David found it odd. By normal logic, after killing soone on xican gang turf, the next scene should be their gunn surrounding them from all directions.
Only then could the fragntation grenades in his bag co into play.
The gang would co in waves, get mowed down, realize they couldn’t win after a few rounds, and then scatter in a panicked rout—that was the standard gangster script.
But after waiting a few more minutes, it was like the gang had vanished. Not one showed up.
Harley and David beca anxious. They were outnumbered and outgunned; dragging this out was bad for them. They needed a plan.
David, bold and skilled, tested the waters by briefly exposing himself before ducking back.
The next second, a hail of bullets rained down on the spot where he’d just been.
Trouble—they were pinned down!
David’s expression turned grim.
Judging by the gunfire, the nearby buildings were already occupied by gang mbers.
But they didn’t rush out. Instead, they stayed hidden at windows and rooftops, locking down the duo’s cover positions.
"David, what do we do now?"
Harley’s voice ca through the invisible earpiece.
Though both had level-10 firearms mastery, Harley lagged far behind David in physical conditioning, combat experience, and adaptability.
On a shooting range, hitting stationary or moving targets, the gap might not be obvious. But in a life-or-death pinch like this, David’s years as a rcenary made the difference glaringly clear.
David frowned, analyzing.
The gang was holed up in the buildings. Staying outside in cover just made them sitting ducks.
They had to find a way to get inside and fight in the corridors.
David opened his bag and pulled out two smoke grenades.
Harley caught his aning, grabbed two of her own, and tossed them outside their cover.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The shots hit nothing.
Hiss!
Smoke grenades released thick white clouds, obscuring the cover and surrounding streets completely.
David didn’t move rashly. Instead, he threw a few pebbles onto the ground.
Clack! Clack!
With their vision blocked, the xican gang mbers, trained for only a few hours, grew confused.
This was beyond their playbook.
Hearing movent from the cover, they assud the targets were coming out.
Without thinking, they opened fire, unloading their magazines wildly at the cover positions.
When their clips ran dry, the gunfire stopped abruptly.
At that mont, Harley and David vaulted out of cover, donning thermal imaging goggles.
In the white fog, they each slipped into another building.
The gang mbers at the windows had just reloaded when gunfire erupted from the corridors.
"Shit!"
"Enemies got in!"
"Hide! Take them out!"
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
The corridors were pitch black, with the xican gang relying on just a dozen flashlights for light.
Harley and David, on the other hand, had bags full of weapons, ammo, and cutting-edge tech.
Their shooting skills were leagues apart, and their gear was half a century ahead.
Once Harley and David entered the buildings, it was like tigers among sheep—a completely one-sided slaughter began.
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You can read advance Chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon/GreenBlue17
500 power stones.
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