Chapter 125: Chapter 88: Motorcycle
Detan was a car thief.
A family tradition of car-stealing skills.
He had followed his alcoholic father since childhood, supposedly the most talented and nimble one.
He fell when he was twelve.
Detan infiltrated the Bolago Club, following an employer’s order, attempting to pry open a German black business sedan.
His dad got shot.
The big shot’s bodyguards broke his ribs, cut off half his hand intending to box him and toss him into the sea.
Vito Russell saved Detan.
He said then—You have siblings, you need to take responsibility like a man.
Detan doesn’t remember birthdays, Christmas, or any happy family events.
But he will never forget the full-hand engineer mechanical arm Mr. Vito paid for him to install, like a gift that helped him rise higher in the Black Gold Gang’s chop shop, even becoming the most profitable modification store in the district.
Bang—
Detan snapped out of the reverie.
He realized the rear door of the vehicle had been hooked by a claw, and the motorcycle riders were about to come up to finish him.
There were several clear bullet holes near the driver’s door.
Detan’s thigh was shot through, blood dyeing the seat red.
Mixing on the streets often means dying.
He’s told his younger siblings similar things.
Vroom, vroom, vroom!
Detan heard the motorcycles.
He gripped the submachine gun next to him, ready to fight desperately, only to find the killers on both sides slowing down and falling back.
In the rearview mirror he could see:
An Owl Town flunky on the SUV collapsed beside his gun, half his body swaying with inertia, obviously taken out, cutting off the biggest threat to the armored vehicle.
Detan breathed a sigh of relief.
Pak—
A bullet pierced through the bulletproof layer shattering the mirror.
Tunnel lights and road markings kept moving backwards, and in the webbed mirror, a supercar was catching up.
Its window flashed a flicker of fire.
Then the Owl Town’s SUV lost control, crashing into the wall beside it, hitting roadside steps, finally flipping entirely in the tunnel.
Detan found the supercar very familiar.
He remembered not long ago:
A few small-time thieves drove an Eisenberg to his store, wanting to inquire about second-hand recycling services.
The deal didn’t go through.
Detan had seen it on the news, heard it was a newcomer mercenary just arrived in the West District...
Called something?
[Mission Target Update]
[Solve Motorcycle Assassins 0/7 (Not Achieved)]
After dealing with the SUV gunman, John was immediately surrounded by several motorcycles, all stuck in his blind spots, targeting the weakest point of the sports car.
"F*ck!"
These killers in black leather jackets were professionals, different from the street thugs collecting protection fees.
They should be corporate armed forces, the main combat power escorting contraband.
John kept changing speeds, swerving the car, dodging bullets, while seeking opportunities...
He glanced at the rearview mirror, jerked the steering wheel.
The sports car swerved then quickly shifted sideways, directly crashing a motorcycle.
What John didn’t expect was:
Immediately two flunkies approached, pulling out Single-Molecule Blades and slashing the tires!
The steering wheel vibrated.
John gritted his teeth, as if taming a wild beast, skidding amidst the screeching friction sound.
Poof—
He spat out dust as he left the driver’s seat.
Silver Rider emitted thick smoke, with dozens of meters of brake marks behind it, the tunnel’s overhead panels full of red no-entry signs.
The motorcyclists had left.
They were all very professional drivers, with high driving skills and implant levels, surrounding the armored vehicle only not to damage the gear, otherwise waiting for the cops to slowly arrive would be troublesome.
John looked at his car, visibly displeased.
He surveyed the surroundings:
No vehicles passing after the stop, except... the motorcycle he flipped over lying in the distance.
Screech—
The tire squeal blasted in the tunnel.
[Vehicle: Raqi Industry-Glaive]
John turned the motorcycle in place, twisting the throttle fully, lifting the front wheel heading to the end of the tunnel.
[Eden City-Cross-District Bridge]
A patrol drone adjusted its lens over the wide river, revealing news broadcast station logos.
In front of it was the largest three-layer transport bridge in Eden City.
On top was the inter-city railway, the roaring metro piercing the first strands of dawn, rushing toward the distant steel jungle.
The middle layer was the regular road.
White-collar workers commuting across districts could only drive daily, enduring the radio host’s jokes.
Constant horn sound.
They seemed to know a chase was unfolding beneath their feet, for drivers stuck in traffic, possibly the most entertaining morning news—only a river of blood in this f*cking city can offset their grievance of getting up early for work.
The closer drivers cursed openly.
They knew what gang warfare looked like, not wanting bullet scratches on their loaned cars, much less dying amidst a street racing gang brawl.
The bottom layer connected to Sakura Cross Street’s tunnel.
Detan drove the armored vehicle.
The cargo hold was full of contraband materials.
The motorcyclists were ready to board, needing only seconds to take out the driver.
Vroom—
The assassins couldn’t help turning back hearing the noise.
John drove the Glaive speeding over.
Two assassins communicated, simultaneously ejecting straight Single-Molecule Blades from their arms, then lowering their speed, resembling a guillotine on the road, seizing the chance to start slashing!