I can't stay in this alley any longer. Time to move!
Jason stripped off the outer coat covering his bulletproof vest, approached the end of the alley, and hurled the garment into the open.
Instantly, a hailstorm of bullets shredded the decoy to tatters.
Jason inhaled deeply, grimly recognizing his potential fate. The sheer number of attackers and weapons arrayed against him was overwhelming.
As he deliberated, a second RPG whistled toward him. The explosion showered his face with debris and left his ears ringing. There was no time left! He quickly removed both heavy bulletproof vests and crouched into a sprinter's stance.
The starting signal would be the third RPG attack!
"WHOOSH!"
"BOOM!"
"NOW!"
The two bulletproof vests sailed through the air, one left and one right, but Jason himself—moving directly between them—was faster than either decoy.
Like a cheetah in full sprint, he tore through the night.
Countless rounds whizzed past him, the superheated air searing every exposed inch of skin.
His entire body tensed as he pushed his Compound Eyes ability to its absolute limit. Among the thousands of projectiles, he identified two lethal curved bullets on trajectory to intercept him.
His running form twisted unnaturally, allowing the arcing bullets to miss by millimeters.
Yet he found no relief in this small victory—the sniper rifle hadn't fired yet. With astonishing speed, he dove behind the protective bulk of a parked car. For a fleeting moment, he felt a spark of hope that this position would shield him from most firing angles.
The next instant, alarm bells screamed in his consciousness.
With preternatural focus, he sensed a specialized spiral bullet effortlessly penetrating both car doors and striking his abdomen with such velocity that evasion was impossible.
Son of a bitch!
Jason's agonized scream tore from his throat, but he understood that hesitation meant death.
Despite the searing pain, his momentum never faltered. Ahead loomed the vast floor-to-ceiling windows of an office building lobby.
"CRACK! CRACK!"
Two precisely aimed shots shattered the glass, and Jason followed immediately behind.
"CRASH!"
Glass fragments exploded around him as he leapt through the opening, landing with combat precision behind the reception desk in the lobby.
The solid marble counter provided substantial cover. Though bullets impacted its surface and sent fragments flying, the structure held firm.
With his infrared vision, Jason finally found opportunity to counterattack.
He dispatched several gunmen who rashly approached the building's entrance, their heat signatures making them perfect targets despite the darkness.
For the first time in what felt like hours, he had a moment to breathe.
David's anxious voice crackled through his earpiece: "Knight! Status report—how badly are you injured?"
Jason groaned through gritted teeth: "Don't worry. I'm not dying just yet."
David exhaled audibly. "That's a relief, but I've got more bad news."
"You've got to be kidding me. What now? Has Captain America come back from the dead to arrest me?"
"Nothing that dramatic. Your diversion plan actually worked—the NYPD has shifted their primary operation for the night from apprehending you to conducting rescue efforts. Police units surrounding your position are beginning to withdraw."
"How is that bad news?"
"Think about it. If the police leave, you lose any chance of surrendering to legitimate authorities. Everyone remaining on the scene wants you dead, not captured."
"Surrender to the police might be your only shot at survival at this point!"
Jason clenched his jaw. "Thanks so much for your concern."
"Don't mention it. Surveillance shows many gang-affiliated shooters have also pulled back. Seems Hell's Kitchen's criminal element is feeling the heat from your exposé."
"But..." David's tone darkened, "Two distinctly different operatives are approaching your position now."
Jason scanned his surroundings. His infrared vision confirmed David's warning—two red-hot figures with exceptionally fluid movements were advancing approximately thirty meters away.
One possessed powerful thighs with extraordinary leaping capability, easily clearing vehicles obstructing his path. The other appeared to wear thick tactical armor covered with miniature heat signatures—some kind of mechanized combat suit.
Jason's mind raced. These must be members of the hunting team. Georges Bartoc and Mac Gargan.
The pair split up, emerging into the lobby from opposite sides.
A female voice echoed through their communication devices: "Scorpion, Leaper—I don't have a clean sniper angle from this position. Remember your primary objective isn't to kill or defeat the target, but to maneuver him into my line of fire. Mr. X and I have our sights ready. Exercise caution—he's an exceptionally accurate marksman."
Scorpion chuckled darkly. "No matter how dangerous he is, he's been shot. I've seen his blood trail. Perhaps I can handle him myself."
"Don't underestimate him," the woman warned. "He's evaded my shooting multiple times. That's not luck—that's skill."
A middle-aged male voice joined the exchange: "I've secured an optimal firing position and stand ready to provide support."
Georges Bartoc's voice carried clear frustration: "Honestly, my concern is that after we take him down, these vultures surrounding us will try to claim the prize."
Scorpion's face twisted into a sneer. "Then we fight our way out. I'd like to see if they're truly willing to die."
The female commander's voice cut through their banter: "Focus. Deal with Hell's Butcher first, we'll handle the others afterward."
Bartoc and Scorpion exchanged glances and moved simultaneously. "Now!"
Gunshots erupted as more glass shattered.
They charged forward through the flying shards, approaching the reception desk from both flanks.
Scorpion launched a flash grenade. Bartoc, anticipating this tactic, instinctively closed his eyes the instant before detonation.
"BANG!"
As the blinding light faded, Bartoc rushed to the desk's edge—only to find a dark figure lunging directly at him! The attacker moved with impossible speed, far exceeding Bartoc's expectations. Before he could react, a cold blade plunged into his throat.
His vision filled with crimson.
Pulsing blood drained his strength as he collapsed to his knees, a numbing chill spreading throughout his body.
Witnessing his partner's fall, Scorpion had no time for shock before the blood-slicked dagger hurtled toward his face.
He jerked his head sideways, narrowly avoiding the blade—only to feel a devastating impact against his midsection.
His internal organs seemed to shift from the force, and despite his armored combat suit, he couldn't suppress a cry of pain.
Simultaneously, two vise-like arms encircled his waist with inhuman strength, producing an audible "crack" from his ribcage.
Goddamn, that hurts!
Only then did Mr. X's bullet finally arrive—but Jason had already rolled away, dragging Scorpion with him as a human shield before vanishing behind the reception desk once more.
Impossible!
Mr. X stared in disbelief at this display of superhuman speed and tactical awareness. A disturbing thought crossed his mind: Is this individual truly human? I considered myself one-in-a-million, but who—or what—am I facing?
In a distant building, Echo slammed her fist against the wall in frustration.
A single engagement and half my team is already neutralized? She urgently activated her comm link: "Scorpion, report status! Scorpion, are you still alive?"
After several tense moments, an unfamiliar voice responded between exaggerated breaths: "I'm doing quite well, actually. As for Mr. Scorpion... his protective suit was impressive, which is why I had to beat him to a pulp."
Silence hung heavy across the communication channel before Maya's response: "You're uninjured. This was a trap you orchestrated from the beginning."
"Hahaha..." Jason offered no direct confirmation. "You want the truth? If you've got the courage, stand before me and ask in person. If not, run home quickly and tell your obese father that I've made a mental note of this offense."
"You're a dead man!"