Chapter 217: The Mysterious V Returns
In the Abu Dhabi desert, inside an automated manufacturing facility.
Deckard Shaw is savoring a juicy steak with enthusiasm, but his eating manners are so crude they're hard to watch.
"Shaw, why haven't they shown up yet?" A fierce-looking black man emerges from behind equipment crates. "Did you forget to parade around under those cameras? I specifically told you to move around more in visible areas."
If Ramsey were here, she would immediately recognize this black man as the leader of the mercenary group that kidnapped her.
"You don't think I went through all this trouble—faced British warrants, chased you from the States to Abu Dhabi, then contacted you—just to con you out of a few steaks, right?" Shaw stuffed the last piece of steak into his mouth with annoyance, chewed a few times and swallowed...
"Burp~"
A massive belch emerged simultaneously with Shaw's words. The sound was so loud the entire room could hear it. The moment became painfully awkward: "Well, your steak is genuinely excellent. Tastes exactly like what I had at a high-end restaurant in London."
"That's prime Kansas beef I had specially flown in," the mercenary leader looked at the empty steak container at his feet, his eye twitching, heart bleeding. He couldn't even afford to eat these steaks himself!
In the end, he endured it. Whatever. If he could recapture Ramsey, this little steak was insignificant.
"Are you certain they'll come?"
"Absolutely. The enemy commander is Ron Lee Cooper, someone I used to work alongside," Shaw said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Just as he knows me, I know him too."
"Ron's style is predictable—once he locks onto a target, he fights to the death. He's known for his overwhelming firepower tactics and his obsession with heavy weaponry. His favorite saying is, 'Overwhelming force solves everything.'"
"However, due to treaty restrictions, the U.S. military can't conduct large-scale operations here, so airstrikes or artillery bombardments are off the table for now. I suspect he'll arm Toretto and his crew with heavy weapons, maybe even rocket launchers, then surround us and breach the perimeter..."
"BOOM BOOM BOOM..." Shaw was cut off mid-sentence by violent explosions, and he quickly dove under the table.
"What the hell is happening?!" the mercenary leader shouted into his radio from behind cover.
All he heard back was static crackling.
"We're under attack!" Shaw rolled across the floor, dodging a falling light fixture and landing beside the mercenary leader, shouting in his ear.
Shaw gritted his teeth, "Ron's here!"
"Didn't you say he'd launch a frontal assault? What's with all this bombing?" As the explosions subsided, the mercenary leader grabbed Shaw by the collar and shouted.
"How the hell should I know?" Shaw slapped his hand away, ignoring the mercenaries' weapons pointed at him. "He obviously can't deploy American forces in this region. If it's a large-scale operation, then..."
Before he could finish, a cylindrical object shattered the window and landed between them. A propane tank?
Unlike ordinary propane tanks, however, a timer fuse was attached to the top, beeping ominously.
The mercenary leader was confused. "Is that a gas tank?"
"Get down!" Shaw quickly tackled the mercenary leader to the ground.
"BOOM!" The propane tanks that flew into the factory exploded simultaneously, quickly engulfing the mercenaries in flames.
...
Outside the automated facility, Ron observed the explosion through binoculars, curling his lips in dissatisfaction: "Who authorized the timer fuses? The effect is too slow! Replace them all with impact fuses!"
Roman's expression was somewhat pained: "But we don't have many explosive shells left."
"What's in them?"
"Still propane. We haven't switched them out." Roman stole a glance at Ron's face as he spoke. It was because of him that their original explosive supply was running low, forcing them to use the original propane instead.
"Propane works fine," Ron said. Far from blaming him, Ron smiled. "Propane explodes quite nicely, and it packs a punch. How many propane tank rounds do we have left?"
"About two hundred."
"Not bad, keep firing," Ron nodded, grinning.
"Ron, have you lost your mind?!" Anonymous, wearing a V mask, yelled. "This is foreign soil. We don't have authorization for large-scale military operations here!"
"So what? Hasn't the United States done enough unauthorized things overseas?" Ron scoffed. "Besides, who says we're Americans? Don't forget who we are right now."
Ron pulled an identical V mask from his pocket, put it on, and said seriously, "We are 'V for Vendetta Abu Dhabi Division'!"
"Son of a..." Anonymous cursed uncontrollably, a string of unprintable obscenities, until he exhausted himself and pointed at the automated facility, which was already in ruins.
Just as he was cursing, five modified pickup trucks launched another five rounds of propane tank rockets. "So what now? Can't you stop? You've demolished the factory!"
"No, wait a bit longer." Ron observed through his binoculars and assessed, "Only the exterior has collapsed. The main structure hasn't taken major damage."
BOOM BOOM BOOM... The factory buildings finally collapsed.
"What about now?" Anonymous's hands were trembling.
"Not yet. Only the main structure has collapsed, but within the triangular spaces created by the collapse, there might still be enemy resistance."
BOOM BOOM BOOM... The factory ruins were almost completely leveled.
"How about now?" Anonymous dry-swallowed a nitroglycerin tablet.
"Not yet. The underground structure might not have been affected." Ron still refused to relent: "Continue firing."
"Boss, we're out of rockets," Carl reported over his shoulder with a grimace.
"Oh thank God." Anonymous finally breathed a sigh of relief.
"Damn, I should have prepared more propane tanks," Ron said disappointedly. He didn't seem to have had enough fun with the fireworks yet.
"Alright, the rest is up to you," Ron patted Anonymous's shoulder. Behind him stood a group of American soldiers, dressed in traditional Middle Eastern clothing and large turbans, disguised as local militia forces, along with a dozen excavators of various sizes.
"Although I think there may be no survivors down there, but..." Ron stared intently at the ruins: "That bastard Deckard Shaw has always been resilient. Maybe he's still breathing?"
"What if he is still alive?" Anonymous asked.
"Just dig him out and bury him properly if he's dead. Or if you think he's still useful, lock him up first. Isn't that what you always do, Mr. V?" Ron said as he took a photo of Anonymous wearing the V mask.
(End of chapter)
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