The rooftop was shrouded in a suffocating silence of death.
The residue of gunpowder in the air, mixed with dust and an indescribable scorched sll, irritated the nostrils.
Debris scattered among the rubble, and the splattered brains and blood silently recounted the chaos that had just ended.
Song Heping bent down and picked up the dusty observation mirror from the cold ground.
He pressed against the rough brick wall of the railing, cautiously extending the observation mirror.
In his view, about two hundred ters away, a three-story building stood abruptly surrounded by several low structures.
The building was mottled, most of its windows shattered, the dark holes resembling quiet eye sockets. The dense gunfire originated from there.
"The firefight is 200 ters away, that three-story building."
Song Heping's voice was deep and steady, as if stating an established fact. He didn't turn around, his gaze still locked on the target area through the lens.
"It's likely there are people from 1515 inside. Seems like Is and his team are in trouble."
After speaking, he gently tossed the AK-12 assault rifle on his back with a motion as fluid as breathing.
His gaze then fell on the dirt-covered SVD sniper rifle lying on the ground.
He crouched down, picked up the sniper rifle covered in dust and blood, and gently pulled the bolt.
"Click"—
A crisp tallic sound echoed exceptionally clear in the silent air.
The chamber opened, and he leaned in, inspecting carefully under the faint light—the gleaming yellow round in the chamber glinted cold, with the bore-line clean and free of copper or gri.
The gun's condition was good.
After confirming, he slowly pushed the bolt forward, the locking sound "clack" resembling the declaration that the Grim Reaper's scythe had been drawn.
He quickly found a stable support point and set up the heavy body of the SVD.
A distance of 200 ters was almost within arm's reach for a sniper like him.
No complex weather interference, no annoying crosswinds, the target building clear as a paper target in a shooting range.
He took a deep breath, his chest expanding slowly, then held it. His cheek pressed against the cold stock, and his right eye leaned into the PSO-1 optical sight.
The crosshair world instantly replaced reality.
The image in the mirror magnified, zooming in.
Shattered windows, bullet-riddled walls, a fleeting shadow at the stairway's corner...
His mind functioned like a high-speed precision computer, rapidly scanning, analyzing, filtering.
In just a few seconds, three clear targets were locked onto, seemingly bound by an invisible thread at the crosshair center.
"Three fools."
Song Heping's voice was barely audible, more like he was stating an imminent fact to himself. There was no contempt in his tone, only a cold assessnt.
The prey had fallen into the trap.
The first target: an ard militant dressed in a dark robe, wrapped in a black turban, stood at the corner of the second-floor stairway. He leaned halfway out, firing fiercely with his AK rifle at an invisible position downstairs, the muzzle flash flickering in the dim stairwell.
He was clearly engrossed in his suppression fire, entirely unaware that he had made a fatal error—positioning himself with his back to a wide-open window.
Outside the window was a relatively bright sky, his silhouette against the window fra forming an unmistakably clear, unobstructed outline.
"Position exposed, stable dynamics, backlit by a light source forming a perfect silhouette...
A textbook mistake.
This idiot was too focused on the imdiate enemy, forgetting that the real threat could co from any direction. Well, that makes it easier..."
He slightly adjusted the gun barrel, aligning the second inverted V arrow of the PSO-1's graduated reticle, representing a 200-ter distance, to the swaying black figure.
The target's heart area gently rose and fell at the crosshair's center.
Song Heping's finger pad, already pre-set on the trigger's first stage, trembled slightly. His breath had stalled entirely since that mont of aiming, his body seemingly rged with the stones beneath and steel in his hand.
The world had narrowed down to that silhouette and the crosshair intersection.
Bam—
The unique, dull, and penetrating gunshot of the SVD abruptly tore through the brief tranquility!
In the scope's view, the militant standing at the stairway corner was abruptly jolted forward!
As if smashed in the back by an invisible giant hamr.
His firing motion instantly seized, the AK rifle falling from his grasp, clattering down the stairs.
Soon after, he lost all support, sagging limply forward, leaning heavily on the cold tal stair rail, his head lolling lifelessly.
Seconds later, gravity took its toll, his body sliding slowly along the rail, eventually collapsing onto the stair steps with a "plop," curling into a motionless heap.
A dark red liquid quickly seeped across the steps beneath him.
Having taken down his first target, Song Heping's breathing remained steady, without a hint of disturbance.
He didn't bother to watch the first target's final outco, knowing it was aningless. His mind, like a precision clock, had long calculated everything.
The gun barrel shifted slightly to the lower left with minimal movent, the most precise angle.
The crosshair barely left the confines of the target building, capturing his anticipated second target—behind another similarly shattered window on the opposite side of the second floor.
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