Chapter 166 has ended.

This is your treasure trove of urban novels.

The pungent smell of gunpowder and the blinding afterimages of white light still lingered in the living room on the first floor.

The power of the M84 stun grenade is amplified to the maximum extent in a closed room.

The bodyguard "Pliers" was closest to the explosion point.

His massive body lay on the corridor floor leading to the back door, his eyes closed, a trickle of blood seeping from his ear canals, his brain's motor nerve center completely short-circuited.

One hand was still groping helplessly on the ground for the fallen automatic rifle, his fingers twitching as he tried to lift the muzzle, but he couldn't muster any strength.

The other bodyguard, "Bones," fared slightly better. He was positioned near the front window of the living room, a few meters from the detonation point.

He was hiding behind an overturned armchair, his legs swaying like noodles.

He gritted his teeth, held the gun, and shakily aimed it at the kicked-down back door.

He tried to find the enemy's shadow in that blind white field of vision, but his body tilted to one side uncontrollably.

As for Marcus, he had received absolutely no tactical training and had no experience in defending against stun grenades.

He was hiding behind the three-seater sofa in the center of the living room. The moment the stun grenade detonated, he was instantly hit.

This isn't a video game where flashbangs can be deflected without causing damage.

The mixture of magnesium powder and ammonium nitrate inside the M84 stun grenade not only produces a bright light and a loud bang when it detonates, but also explodes into shrapnel. Although it is just an added bonus, it is more than enough to injure an unsuspecting ordinary person.

Marcus's retinas were not only burned white by the intense light, but he was also struck on the arm by shrapnel from the exploding metal casing, leaving several bloody cuts.

At this moment, Marcus was curled up behind the sofa like a shrimp, his hands tightly covering his bleeding ears, his mouth open, and he was dry heaving violently onto the floor.

He vomited up all the acid in his stomach and his dinner, and his sanity completely collapsed.

Just as the three people on the first floor were being blown to their deaths,

The room on the second floor.

With the sound of shattering glass, Lyon completed a forward roll on the wooden floor, which allowed him to dissipate the impact.

With the boost of 20 points of agility, he instantly stood up and immediately assumed a half-kneeling position.

He quickly raised the MP7 submachine gun equipped with a silencer in his hand, and the muzzle followed the red dot in the holographic sight, scanning the room rapidly.

This is a simple bedroom.

An old mattress without a frame lay against the wall, the window was sealed tightly with wide duct tape, and several empty water bottles and cigarette butts were scattered on the floor.

The room was empty.

Once he was sure it was safe, Leon immediately got up, kicked open the half-closed bedroom door, and pointed his gun at the hallway outside.

The second-floor corridor was also empty and dimly lit.

There were two closed wooden doors on either side of the corridor, which, judging from the layout, should be a bathroom and another guest bedroom.

However, Lyon no longer needed to kick down doors one by one to search.

Because coming from the direction of the solid wood staircase leading up from the first floor, came violent retching sounds and painful gasps.

Someone was blown up by that M84 stun grenade.

In real-world close-quarters combat indoors, turning your head or closing your eyes is extremely ineffective when faced with a stun grenade that rolls directly into the room.

This is why there were such loud vomiting sounds coming from downstairs.

Leon lowered his gun and charged down the corridor toward the stairwell.

His tactical boots clicked on the wooden stairs as he quickly descended the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

As soon as he reached the landing on the stairs, the entire view of the first-floor living room came into view.

The number of people matched the information provided by Carlos perfectly: three people.

The most ingenious thing is their positioning.

The three men—the bodyguard slumped on the floor, the bodyguard swaying as he held his gun, and Marcus vomiting behind the sofa—were all facing the back door, staring intently at it.

Lyon came down the stairs from the second floor.

This position was exactly behind all of them.

From Lyon's perspective, the single sofa, the large three-seater fabric sofa, and the bunker originally used to protect against fire from the front and rear doors were completely meaningless decorations.

Then, without hesitation, Leon's finger pulled the trigger of the MP7 submachine gun.

A faint flash of light appeared at the muzzle, and the integrated silencer emitted a series of muffled and rapid "puff puff puff" sounds.

The red dot of the holographic sight was first placed on the back of the swaying bodyguard's head.

At extremely close range, a 4.6mm bullet instantly shattered his skull.

The bodyguard's head exploded like a ripe watermelon, with red and white brain matter and bone fragments spraying out in a fan shape onto the wallpaper opposite.

He didn't even let out a scream before his massive body collapsed straight against the back of the armchair.

After the first headshot, Leon's index finger didn't even release the trigger.

The bullets in the chamber continued to pour out in full-auto mode, the brass cartridge cases pelting the wooden stairs like raindrops, making a crisp impact sound.

Leon leaped down the last few steps, his tactical boots landing heavily, and with terrifying momentum, he pressed directly behind the three-seater sofa.

"who……"

Marcus, who was vomiting behind the sofa, had his hearing completely destroyed by the stun grenade and could not hear the faint gunshots of the silenced weapon. He could only vaguely feel heavy footsteps behind him and instinctively wanted to turn his head.

But before he could turn around, Leon's left leg had already kicked out with a whoosh of wind.

The thick, sturdy soles of the tactical boots left a deep imprint on Marcus's back.

With a muffled crack, accompanied by the sensation of bones breaking, Marcus let out a scream: "Ah—!"

He was kicked forward by the enormous force, his face slamming heavily into the puddle of acid and filth he had just vomited, and he curled up in pain.

Just as he kicked Marcus to the ground, Leon's arms remained as steady as a rock, forcibly turning the gun muzzle under the recoil of the fully automatic fire.

A dense barrage of bullets drew a deadly line of fire through the air, completing a violent horizontal sweeping attack.

The gunfire swept directly at the second bodyguard, who was slumped on the corridor floor, trying to raise his gun.

"Puff puff puff puff!"

A series of dull thuds of bullets piercing flesh rang out.

The fully automatic barrage of bullets first struck the bodyguard's right arm, which was holding a gun. His forearm bones were instantly shattered by the bullets, and flesh and blood flew everywhere. The rifle in his hand fell to the ground.

Immediately afterwards, Leon raised the muzzle of his gun, and a series of bullets shot up his arm, tearing the edge of his bulletproof vest on his shoulder.

The last few bullets pierced the bodyguard's cheek and temple without any obstruction.

With a "thud," half of the bodyguard's skull was forcibly ripped off by a bullet, and dark red blood and cerebrospinal fluid instantly smeared the wooden floor beneath him.

Two heavily armed bodyguards, each 1.9 meters tall, were wiped out by Leon in less than three seconds.

At this moment, Marcus, who had been kicked over, finally managed to roll over halfway through his body, despite the excruciating pain.

His face was covered in blood and foul-smelling vomit, his vision still blurred by the bright light, and he could only instinctively wave his hands, letting out a desperate cry:

"No! Don't..."

Just then, Lyon's violent fully automatic firing came to an end, and an empty magazine fell to the ground with a "click".

Leon didn't go for a new magazine. Instead, using the residual momentum from the sweeping muzzle, he flipped his wrist and gripped the front of the MP7's barrel with both hands. He then used the hard plastic stock as a hammer and swung it hard at Marcus's cheek.

"Thump!"

A cracking sound echoed in the living room.

Marcus's cheekbone collapsed instantly, and two bloody molars flew out of his mouth and smashed onto the floor.

He let out a bloodcurdling scream, and half of his body crashed heavily onto the floor again.

Lyon had no intention of stopping.

He raised his right foot, clad in a heavy tactical boot, aimed it at Marcus's chest, and stomped down hard without reservation.

"Snap!"

Marcus's chest caved in visibly, broken ribs piercing his heart and lungs. A mouthful of black blood mixed with fragments of internal organs gushed from his mouth.

Lyon remained expressionless, raised his foot, and delivered two more hard kicks to the face and chest.

He stopped moving only when the body beneath his feet stopped undulating.

died.

The head of a branch of the Blood Gang's West District died in the filth he vomited.

Without Marcus, the remaining low-level gang leaders will fight tooth and nail for territory and business tomorrow, and the brutal infighting within the Blood Gang will begin immediately.

But Lyon's own affairs were already over.

He had no intention of lingering in the blood-stained living room for even a second longer.

Leon turned and stepped over the headless bodyguard's corpse on the ground, retreating straight out through the kicked-down back door and heading towards the dark backyard along the route he had come from.

……

In the garbage heaps and bushes outside the backyard.

Trey covered his mouth tightly, his whole body trembling uncontrollably.

He stared at the numbers ticking on the digital watch on his wrist.

Less than thirty seconds.

From the moment that monstrous black figure kicked open the back door and rushed in from the second floor, to the muffled "thud" of silenced gunshots and the thud of flesh hitting the ground that echoed from inside, and now to the complete silence.

It hadn't even been half a minute!

Immediately afterwards, Trey saw the man in the dark jacket carrying a short-barreled submachine gun that was still emitting a wisp of smoke, stepping on the broken wooden planks as he walked out of the back door.

too fast.

As Trey got closer, he felt that Marcus and the two heavily armed bodyguards inside wouldn't even have a chance to fire back. They were like three pigs tied to a slaughterhouse assembly line, about to be slaughtered one by one.

Trey hid behind a smelly garbage bag, swallowed hard, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

After so many years in the underworld, this was the first time he truly had the idea of ​​giving up.

What kind of life-risking money are they making?!

If I keep going like this, what if I end up making enemies with this guy someday?

But he quickly gave a bitter laugh to himself.

Washing one's hands of the trade?

How could the Mexican Sinaloa Cartel behind him let him go? If he wanted to withdraw, he would most likely end up as a few pieces of minced meat packed in black plastic bags.

Just as Trey's mind was racing and his heart was pounding.

The dark figure that was walking towards the courtyard wall suddenly stopped.

Leon tilted his head slightly, his cold eyes above the mask piercing through the night and sparse bushes, looking at Trey behind the garbage heap.

Their eyes met in the darkness.

Holy crap!

Trey's mind went blank for a moment. He gasped in fright when he was swept by that lifeless gaze, and his body instinctively shrank back.

Losing his balance, he fell backward and landed on the muddy ground with a thud. He used his hands and feet to brace himself and awkwardly shuffled back two steps.

However, Lyon only glanced at him.

They didn't raise a gun, nor did they come over to silence him.

He indifferently withdrew his gaze, pushed off with his feet, and with one hand, deftly vaulted over the courtyard wall, disappearing into the night outside without ever looking back.

"Huff... Hah... Huff..."

Trey slumped in the mud until he was sure the madman was really gone and had completely disappeared before he dared to open his mouth and gasp for breath.

Cold sweat had completely soaked through his clothes.

He scrambled to his feet, his limbs weak, and stumbled out of the grove, running wildly back to the dilapidated Honda sedan parked on the side road.

He opened the car door, climbed into the driver's seat, and locked the door tightly.

Trembler trembled as he reached into the hidden compartment under the seat, pulled out the non-smartphone he used for communication, and frantically pressed the dial button with his trembling thumb, wanting to hear the online notification sound immediately.

He pressed the button twice without any response before he suddenly came to his senses.

"Damn it!"

Trey cursed under his breath.

I completely forgot that this phone can't make calls at all; it can only be used to send encrypted text messages.

He was so anxious that he kept swearing, but he had no choice but to bring up the keyboard and type out letter by letter, sweating profusely.

Marcus is dead! He was killed by that cop!

[That guy wasn't human! He flew in through the second-floor window! In less than thirty seconds, there wasn't even a sound of gunfire coming from inside; they were all dead!]

This is too damn dangerous! I need to get out of here! Right now!