Chapter 182 Holy crap, what does mission failure even mean?
"Pfft! Pfft!"
Two soft, silenced gunshots rang out.
Two bloody holes instantly appeared between the fat man's eyebrows and throat, and he fell backward.
The man with the dreadlocks and another henchman heard the commotion and immediately turned around.
"Fuck! There's someone behind us!"
The man with the dreadlocks roared and pulled the trigger on his MAC-10. Seeing this, another henchman opened fire as well.
Deafening gunshots rang out in the confined space, bullets hitting the washing machine and the walls, sparks flying everywhere.
The instant Eva fired, she performed a tactical roll and hid behind a row of washing machines.
She listened calmly to the sound of bullets hitting the metal casing, silently calculating the magazine capacity of the enemy's submachine gun.
"Click".
The sound of an empty trading account being idle could be heard.
Eva instantly peeked half her body out from behind cover and opened fire with her Glock.
"Pfft! Pfft!"
The thug who was reloading had his kneecaps shattered by two shots and screamed as he knelt on the ground.
Immediately afterwards, Eva stood up, moved the gun barrel horizontally, and locked onto the right leg of the dreadlocked man who was about to run away.
"puff!"
The bullet pierced his calf, and the dreadlocked man screamed as he collapsed onto the ground littered with shards of glass.
In less than ten seconds, two of the four armed gang members were killed and two were injured.
Eva stepped out of the shadows expressionlessly and walked up to the filthy-braided man who was groaning in pain on the ground.
She raised her foot, clad in a tactical boot, and stomped heavily on his bullet-struck calf.
"Ugh—! You stinky..." !
The man with the filthy braid was in so much pain that his face was covered in snot and tears, and he cursed loudly.
Eva didn't want to waste words with him, so she shoved the silencer gun muzzle directly into his mouth.
The gruff man's cursing instantly turned into terrified sobs, his eyes wide open.
"I'll only ask once."
Eva's voice was colder than the rain in Seattle:
"Where's Old Tooth? And what's this Darrell and Lamar thing you guys are talking about?"
The man with the dreadlocks completely broke down as he tasted the metallic flavor and the strong gunpowder in his mouth.
He blinked frantically, tears mingling with the rain as they streamed down his face.
Eva pulled the gun back an inch, giving him space to speak.
"I...I don't know where Old Tooth went!"
The man with the dreadlocks trembled and spoke rapidly, his words slurred:
"I heard Marcus is dead, and now everything's in chaos!"
"Darrell said the boss is only seriously injured and wants us to have a meeting at the strip club tomorrow night. Boss Lamar doesn't believe him and is preparing to fight them there tomorrow night!"
"Boss Lamar is now telling us to take this opportunity to wipe out all the brothels around Darrell. Old Ya's been falsifying Darrell's accounts; he's definitely hiding!"
After hearing this, a hint of annoyance flashed in Eva's gray-blue eyes.
She had planned everything, but she never expected that after finally making it to a West Coast city, she would stumble into a powder keg of a gangster on the verge of exploding.
Without Old Tooth's fake passport, she would never have been able to leave the port of Seattle; those East Coast assassins would have followed her scent sooner or later.
"Where is the strip club, and what's it called?" Eva asked coldly.
"In...on Block 8...the Pink Swan..."
As soon as the man with the dreadlocks finished speaking, Eva pulled the trigger without hesitation.
"puff."
A burst of blood erupted from the back of his head, the dreadlocked man's body twitched twice, and then remained completely still.
Eva turned her head, glanced at the thug who had passed out from the pain of his shattered knees, walked over and fired a final shot.
She tucked the pistol back into her waistband, picked up the tattered windbreaker from the ground, put it back on, zipped it up, and covered the blood-soaked bandages inside.
Now that Lao Ya is working for that guy named Darrell, in order to get her passport, she has no choice but to go to that so-called strip club tomorrow night and talk to the gang leader in person.
……
"Holy crap, what do you mean by mission failure?!"
A Ford Explorer screeched to a halt at the corner of 15th Avenue, its tires screeching as they spun across the wet pavement.
Lyon sat in the driver's seat, staring at the semi-transparent system prompt box that popped up on his retina, and his eye twitched involuntarily.
Just two minutes earlier, he was driving aimlessly through the streets of the West End, on guard against the possible street brawls that might erupt at any moment after Marcus's death.
Just then, a burst of gunfire rang out from a secluded alley a few blocks away.
Immediately afterwards, the system surprisingly popped up an urgent mission with a reward of 500 Justice Points: [Stop the attack on civilian shops by gang thugs].
Lyon immediately sensed an opportunity and, without hesitation, floored the gas pedal and sped the car toward the sound of gunfire.
As soon as they drove to the alley entrance, the Ford Explorer's massive body couldn't squeeze in because the intersection was piled with trash cans.
He could only push open the car door and prepare to get out and rush in on foot.
The moment my foot touched the wet asphalt, the blue task icon on my retina suddenly flashed twice and turned a blinding blood red.
[Task Status: Failed]
[Mission Settlement: Target has been completely physically eliminated. Host participation: 0%. Reward: 0 points.]
Lyon stood in the rain, looking at the bright red "0%", feeling as if his wallet had been stolen right in front of him.
"What the hell is that? Who moved so fast?"
He didn't even close the car door; he pulled a long gun out of the car and rushed into the dark, narrow back alley.
The terrifying effect of adding 20 points to the Agility attribute was fully demonstrated at this moment.
Leon's leg muscles instantly unleashed power far exceeding that of ordinary people. His tactical boots slammed into the puddles, and before the water could even splash, he had already darted more than ten meters away.
In the dim light of the rainy night, his figure moved so fast that he was almost just a blurry afterimage, accompanied by a low, tearing sound as he approached the laundromat deep in the alley where the gunshot had come from.
At the same time.
Eva had just pushed open the peeling paint on the back door of the laundromat, ready to disappear into the night.
Before her tactical boots had even touched the ground, an extremely unusual whooshing sound, mixed with the sound of footsteps wading through water, suddenly approached rapidly from the direction of the alley entrance.
too fast.
This is definitely not a speed that ordinary gangsters could achieve.
Eva's grey-blue eyes narrowed instantly, her left hand instinctively pressing against the throbbing wound in her waist, while her right hand once again drew the silenced pistol.
"What's going on? How could they catch up so fast?"
She quickly calculated in her mind.
In an attempt to shake off the pursuers from the East Coast, he wandered through the intricate alleyways of the slums for a full twenty minutes.
Aside from the local rats who grew up here and could find their way with their eyes closed, how could those outsider killers have located her so quickly?
Could it be that the Russian oligarch, just to be on the safe side, hired Seattle's top street cleaners at a high price to join the pursuit?
The footsteps grew closer, and judging from the sound, it was only one person.
Eva immediately took two steps back like a ghost, pressing her body tightly against the shadow of the rusty tin trash can next to the back door of the laundromat, her breathing becoming barely perceptible.
Less than two seconds.
A tall, handsome man in a dark leather jacket rushed into the laundromat's back doorway all by himself.
The man held a long gun in his hand, the muzzle slightly downward, maintaining a tactical ready-to-fire stance.
Using the flickering, poorly connected streetlights, Eva was able to see the other person's movements.
There was no unnecessary swaying; his lower body was terrifyingly stable. Most importantly, the transition between the extreme stillness when he stopped and the extreme movement when he was running was incredibly smooth.
"Damn it..."
Eva hid in the shadows, her eyes turning completely somber.
If a Seattle-based assassin with that speed and tactical skill had joined the pursuit network, she would be in serious trouble now.
Her finger rested lightly on the trigger, but she had no intention of ambushing the man.
She wasn't sure if there were other tactical squads supporting this man. If she opened fire now, even if she could kill him, the gunshots and the corpse would definitely attract more trouble.
What she needs most right now is that fake passport, not to fight to the death with an unknown expert.
Eva held her breath and watched as the man stepped over the shards of glass scattered on the ground and walked into the damaged roller shutter.
The room was deathly silent.
Leon turned on the tactical flashlight on his gun, the blinding white light sweeping across the ground.
The bodies of four young Black men lay scattered on the ground.
Leon took a few steps closer, crouched down, and the beam of his flashlight illuminated the face of the man with the dreadlocks.
A bloody hole between his eyebrows, the back of his head was completely blown off, brain matter and blood mixed together, splattered on the white washing machine shell next to him.
He used the barrel of his gun to pry open the collar of another dead man and saw a striking red teardrop-shaped tattoo on his neck.
"A low-level smuggler in the Blood Gang."
Lyon stood up, his flashlight beam sweeping over the other two bodies.
One was shot once in the throat and once in the forehead, with the bullet holes less than two centimeters apart, a typical variant of the "Mozambique shooting method".
Another one was shot in the knee at close range, followed by a follow-up shot.
Four people just died like that.
Moreover, judging from the distribution of spent shell casings at the scene and the posture of the deceased, the entire battle lasted no more than ten seconds from start to finish.
It's too clean.
It was so clean it looked like a one-sided massacre.
Leon frowned and turned off his tactical flashlight.
Marcus has just been killed by his own men, and the Bloods are in a state of chaos with no leader.
But he never expected that such a high-level expert would be hidden in this dilapidated laundry shop that could only collect protection money.
"Damn it..."
Leon put away his gun, looked at the corpses scattered on the ground, and his expression became somewhat solemn.
If the Blood Gang's street commanders still possessed elite assassins capable of instantly killing four militants.
If the Blood Gang's street commanders still possessed elite assassins capable of instantly killing four militants.
His original plan to have patrol officers block off the streets and reap the benefits might need to be reassessed in terms of risk.
The impending gang war seems to be more complex than he imagined.