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Ron's custom case was made from military-grade materials and remained unscathed by the explosion. Ron placed his Glock pistol and holster back into the empty slot in the case, then, with ceremonial precision, withdrew a holster containing a revolver and attached it to his belt.
With a fluid motion, Ron drew his pistol, then holstered it, then drew it again. He repeated this sequence three times, finally caressing the revolver in his palm with satisfaction, like a true enthusiast.
If an experienced gunfighter witnessed Ron's movements, they'd be amazed to discover that Ron's draw speed was twice as fast as when he used the Glock!
What would surprise a professional even more was the revolver in Ron's hand: a Smith & Wesson Model 500.
One of the most legendary handguns ever made, famous for its massive caliber. This beast fires .50 caliber Magnum rounds (12.7mm). Due to the sheer size of the ammunition, while a typical revolver holds six rounds, the Smith & Wesson Model 500 can only chamber five.
Of course, with great power comes tremendous recoil. Normally, it's reserved for big game hunting, but Ron's was special. It was the only system-certified legendary weapon he'd acquired in over twenty years!
In Ron's eyes, the gun glowed with a distinctive orange aura.
"Wild Bill's Smith & Wesson Model 500 revolver, the final sidearm of legendary gunslinger Wild Bill Hickok, packs incredible stopping power. Wild Bill's custom modifications have dramatically reduced recoil, allowing for comfortable one-handed operation!"
The gun came from Ron's childhood neighbor, a retired Marine who had taught him marksmanship.
The old Marine was Bill Hickok—named after the famous gunslinger. Locals said he was once a decorated war hero, but by the time Ron knew him, he was an elderly man who could barely walk.
Despite his mobility issues, his marksmanship remained razor-sharp. Ron, a military enthusiast whose dreams of becoming a real warrior were crushed by strict gun laws in his previous life, frequently visited the old man to learn weapons handling. As a result, Bill treated him like his own grandson and even specified in his will that his prized pistol would go to Ron.
Besides the pistol, Ron also gained a second skill from the system after earning Bill's respect for his marksmanship: Gunslinger.
"Gunslinger (Passive): Drawing upon the marksmanship legacy of legendary Wild West shooters, this skill doubles accuracy, doubles rate of fire, and doubles draw speed when wielding a revolver (a cowboy's ultimate weapon of choice)."
Most intriguingly, Ron discovered that this passive skill didn't just enhance pistols, but seemed to work on all cylinder-based weapons.
Like the M32 grenade launcher Ron had pulled from the case...
It was already late at night. After calling Toretto to confirm that he and Andy were safe, Ron finally made his way to the warehouse near the community center in East LA and observed from a shadowy alley.
Several Latino gang members were casually playing poker outside the warehouse, each carrying a submachine gun, looking formidable. The dim light emanating from inside the warehouse suggested more were present. It seemed the biker had been telling the truth—this was their headquarters.
Ron climbed onto the roof of the convenience store across from the warehouse and dumped his backpack onto the ground. Eighteen grenades spilled out, which combined with the six already loaded in his M32, gave him twenty-four total. Carrying all that weight would be exhausting for most people, but for Ron, who was basically a human machine, it was nothing.
Satisfied, Ron arranged the grenades in three neat rows on the ground. He then flipped open the scope cover on his M32, braced the stock against his shoulder, and aimed at the three gang members. The distance was considerable, forcing Ron to adjust his elevation twice. Then, with a gentle squeeze, he pulled the trigger.
With a soft, distinctive "thunk," the grenade struck one of the thugs and exploded with a thunderous bang, turning him into red mist. The blast sent the other two gang members flying, their survival questionable.
Panicked shouts echoed from the warehouse. A large group of gang members poured out, looking around frantically, unable to identify the source of the attack.
On the rooftop, Ron licked his lips quietly. What a bunch of amateurs, completely lacking military training. They couldn't even manage basic combat dispersal. They were all clustered together, practically begging Ron to serve them up a grenade platter.
How could Ron pass up such an opportunity? With another gentle squeeze, he sent a second grenade into the crowd of thugs.
"Boom!" The grenade detonated among them, taking down three more gang members.
The surviving thugs finally learned their lesson. About a dozen immediately scattered, each finding cover and firing blindly at any location they thought might harbor a sniper. Chaotic gunfire erupted everywhere.
However, none of them spotted Ron's position on the rooftop. Without hesitation, Ron emptied his remaining four grenades with rapid-fire precision, blasting three more thugs from their hiding spots.
"There's a shooter on the roof!" A sharp-eyed gang member finally located Ron's position and sprayed automatic fire in his direction. Ron immediately ducked low. The 9mm rounds punched a line of holes in the concrete barrier in front of him, but none found their mark. The gang member's submachine gun proved useless against proper cover.
Ron broke open his launcher, ejecting six spent shells. He quickly grabbed grenades from the ground and reloaded them into the cylinder. Without even showing his head, he raised the launcher overhead, mimicking spray-and-pray tactics, and fired off another complete barrage. The thugs were thrown into chaos once again.
Without pausing, he reloaded, rolled away from behind the barrier, and popped up from a different position. The gang members were still focused on his previous location.
"Eat this!" Ron shouldered the launcher and unleashed another devastating volley. Thanks to his Gunslinger ability, his grenade launcher's rate of fire rivaled that of a machine gun. Six more small craters were blasted into the open area outside the warehouse.
"Kill him!" "He's just one guy!" "¡Pinche cabrón!"
Watching more and more of their crew get obliterated around them, the Latino gang members, enraged, fired wildly from their submachine guns at the rooftop, desperate to shred Ron to pieces and vent their fury. Two of the more agile ones even stormed the convenience store.
But Ron wasn't going to make it that easy.
The convenience store faced the street on two sides and was flanked by narrow alleys on the other two. After loading his final six grenades, Ron rappelled down from the back wall of the store's roof. The moment his feet touched ground, he heard footsteps echoing through the alley.
"What morons! Did they really think I'd stay on the roof?"
Ron was astounded by the gang members' tactical incompetence. Anyone with basic military training should understand fundamental combat movement, right?
Ron leaned around the corner, unleashing a barrage of blind fire into the dark alley. The grenades wreaked even more devastating havoc in the confined space, instantly transforming it into a living nightmare.
"Click!" With a metallic snap, the launcher was empty. Ron tossed it aside, adjusted his suit jacket, and slipped into the alley he had just "sanitized."
Meanwhile, the flanking team had just rounded the corner, and before the lead thug could process what was happening, cold steel was shoved into his gaping mouth.
"Adios!" Ron said, gently squeezing the trigger.
"BOOM!" The thug's head exploded like a watermelon, and the bullet, barely slowed, punched through the second man's skull, turning him into an equally messy casualty.
This was the devastating power of the 12.7mm round. Unlike the Glock, which required precise shot placement, firing this hand cannon was effortless. You just had to hit your target—follow-up shots were rarely necessary. Sometimes, the bullet's penetrating power even gave you a two-for-one special.
Just like that, both thugs were eliminated.
"Watch out, he's in the alley!" the gang leader screamed. None of the remaining thugs dared enter the alleyway, which Ron had turned into his personal kill zone. Instead, they fearfully aimed their weapons at the alley's exit, ready to unleash hell at the first sign of movement.
Ron had already climbed back up the drainpipe to the rooftop, peering over the concrete barrier. Four thugs remained guarding the warehouse entrance. Ron considered his options, then, for safety's sake, grabbed a brick from his backpack and hurled it into the alley.
The brick landed with a "thud," mimicking the sound of someone dropping down. The gang members immediately opened fire nervously into the alley.
Ron, however, calmly noted each thug's position, then suddenly vaulted over the barrier, leaped from the rooftop, and, feeling theatrical, shouted, "High noon!"
While airborne, Ron maintained perfect aim, rapidly acquiring four targets and firing in sequence.
"BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!" With each thunderous shot, a thug's head vaporized. All four gang members were reduced to headless corpses hitting the pavement. Silence finally returned to the warehouse.
"Whew~ This scene is way too graphic for prime time~" Ron blew the smoke from his gun barrel and sighed with mock distaste. He casually broke open the revolver cylinder and shook out all the spent shells into his palm. He examined the remaining unfired cartridge, then reloaded it along with four fresh rounds. With a decisive "click," he strode into the gang's warehouse.
He was curious to see what kind of merchandise required so much protection.
But the result disappointed Ron. The warehouse was packed with electronic equipment! Flat-screen TVs, gaming consoles, laptops—stuff that would eventually be obsoleted by smartphones and tablets, but still quite valuable in this era.
The electronics in this warehouse were worth at least a million dollars. This was probably the result of Toretto's recent heists.
(End of Chapter)
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