In the U.S., gun ownership isn't exactly rare.
There are roughly 270 million firearms in civilian hands — almost one for every person.
That kind of unchecked proliferation leads to frequent shootings.
Every year, about 30,000 people die from gunfire, and over 100,000 are shot.
Half of those deaths are suicides.
On average, nearly a hundred people die from bullets every day.
One after another, Johnny Tran's crew pulled up their shirts, yanking pistols from their waistbands, surrounding Leon with a dozen dark muzzles.
Johnny sneered, regaining his swagger now that his boys had their weapons aimed:
"Trash. Let me spell it out for you — let go of me, or you're a dead man."
To him, a gun was victory. Point a weapon, win by default.
Leon narrowed his eyes. His gaze dropped to Johnny's waistline — the bulge there wasn't fat. It was a pistol.
In a blur, Leon's hand shot forward.
He ripped the gun free and pressed the barrel to Johnny's temple, dragging him back against the car and pinning him like a hostage.
"Move, and your boss dies," Leon said coldly.
The sudden reversal stunned Johnny's crew.
They'd expected him to cower or surrender — not seize the upper hand.
The standoff froze in place.
Johnny himself trembled, face pale. The muzzle at his head drained all his bravado.
"H-hey, brother, let's talk this out," he stammered, his voice cracking.
Just moments ago he'd been all arrogance and fire.
Now his knees buckled, and he collapsed, hands raised high.
Leon's eyes filled with contempt.
So this is the big bad Johnny Tran? The guy who wanted to challenge Dom Toretto? Pathetic.
Seeing their boss kneeling and sniveling, Johnny's lieutenants looked around at each other in shock.
The man they'd followed, feared on the streets, reduced to a coward groveling on the pavement.
If word of this got out… his reputation was finished.
"Think kneeling saves you?" Leon's lips curled.
Without hesitation, he squeezed the trigger.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Gunfire ripped through the air. Screams followed.
One after another, five of Johnny's men collapsed, clutching shattered shoulders.
Leon's marksmanship was razor-sharp now — over level 100 in firearms skill.
At this range, he couldn't miss.
The surviving crew writhed on the ground, howling.
Johnny's face turned chalk white.
His body convulsed, the stench of urine filling the air as he lost control completely.
Leon kicked him hard in the back, sending him sprawling.
Then he pivoted, firing mercilessly at the still-breathing thugs.
Each bullet punched through a forehead.
Blood spattered the pavement.
In under a minute, six men lay dead.
The street erupted in chaos — bystanders screaming, cars running red lights to flee, people scattering in terror.
Johnny broke down completely, sobbing into the concrete, snot and tears mixing with the blood around him.
"This," Leon said icily, "is the price of crossing me. Tell the Devil in hell I sent you."
He pulled the trigger again.
The first shot shattered Johnny's arm, making him scream and writhe in agony.
Blood gushed, soaking his clothes.
Leon's chest heaved with dark satisfaction.
This thug had strutted and barked at him minutes ago. Now he was nothing but a broken animal.
Finally, as sirens wailed in the distance — the wailing of LAPD units rushing in — Leon leveled the pistol at Johnny's head.
"Even the cops can't save you now."
CRACK.
The bullet tore through Johnny Tran's skull.
The feared gang leader from The Fast and the Furious… snuffed out in a heartbeat.
Leon tossed the gun aside, calm as ever.
He slid into the driver's seat of the Silver Marauder, fired it up, and floored the throttle.
The car spun in a perfect drift, tires screaming, before blasting out of the city and toward the wilderness.
Out here, there were no cameras, no ID checkpoints, no digital trail.
To the system, he was a ghost.
Untraceable. Untouchable.
A smirk tugged his lips as he veered off-road, the Silver Marauder kicking up dust across the desert flats.
…
An hour later, Elena finally arrived at the city's entrance — only to find the streets locked down, traffic choking at a standstill.
"What happened here?" she muttered, frowning as her car crawled forward.