Cheap bullets glanced off the assassins' helmets, leaving only minor scuffs.
"F*ck!"
He cursed, then turned around and saw:
There were assassins behind him and across the crosswalk, six men in pitch-black outfits standing amidst the fleeing crowd.
They were staring at John from three directions.
Single-molecule straight blades glittering faintly popped out from the slots on their arms, their helmets gleaming slightly, with rainwater dripping from around their black leather jackets.
"この男を殺せ!"
The assassins splashed through puddles, charging forward with blades.
John heard the muffled Japanese phrase and immediately emptied his magazine at the advancing men in black.
The effect was minimal.
Not bothering to waste time reloading, he simply tossed the weapon aside.
The thing was useless.
John flipped and stepped on a trash can, agilely climbing up the steel railings on the building's exterior, then vaulting over a grid at the alley's depth.
