Sparks splattered in the room.
The densely packed pipes above John's head were punched with holes one after another.
He seemed oblivious, calmly unloaded the magazine, replaced, cocked, and fired, new metallic shells clattered onto the ground.
The enemies were reduced to pools of blood.
They were almost all shot above the shoulders, depending on the strength of their subdermal armor and implants, taking different numbers of bullets, but without exception, dying in the gunfight.
John, armed with a high-grade prosthetic body, loaded with a new military chip, paired with a top-modified kinetic energy rifle, was formidable in small-scale terrain battles.
But he still had to remain cautious:
He had no subdermal armor, any scratch or bullet hit needed potion for emergency, and surgery afterwards to remove the bullet.
The exiles grit their teeth until they're about to shatter.
John maneuvered around, picking off enemies one by one inside the buildings.
