Translated by Tianic, edited by LtBeefy
For an editable text of this chapter, click here.
The bright moon was up high while people were busy working on the dock. There were three yachts parked on the tracks where cargos were being carefully loaded off. Westley found one of his targets by the tracks a fat, bald guy with a massive belly who called himself ‘the King’. Word had it that he was addicted to women. Westley felt happy for the women who would be sleeping with him in the future; it wouldn’t be a pleasant thing screwing with a person who weighed over 100 kilograms.
The King was talking to two middle-aged guys, both of whom looked like drug suppliers.
“They must be tired of life, dealing powder in our territory.” Rat whispered.
“500% of benefits will drive anyone crazy.” Westley was a trained agent, and this craziness was nothing new to him. He told Rat, “Tell them to get in position and wait for my orders.”
My subordinates took out their weapons and spread out, crawling. They took up vantage points, split into teams of attacking, covering, and supporting. Westley felt very proud of looking at their skilled movements.
These guys were handpicked and trained by Westley himself. They were equipped with the best weaponry and communications gear. It had cost an average of 200 bullets per person per day doing marksman training in the basement. The government certainly was not paying for this, but Westley considered the money worthwhile spending. Because rigorous training would lead to incredible outcomes. Let alone a pack of gangsters; his men could triumph over a team of FBI special forces easily.
Rat handed a rifle over to Westley. Lips pressed, Westley double-checked his weapon. Meanwhile, in his ears, he heard the sound of other teams testing their communication system.
“Squad 1 test, over.”
“Squad 2 copy, over.”
When the five squads finished testing, Rat nodded, “Ready, boss.”
Westley tightened the recorder on his throat, sent his commands out.
“All units, confirm entry direction.”
“All teams, entering attack position, confirm.”
“Cover team, confirm your position.”
“Support team, confirm your position.”
With the confirmations by the squad leaders, Westley knew they were ready and waiting for his signal.
Rifle in hand, with the gunstock firmly on his right shoulder and his face gently on the cheek pad, Westley slowly adjusted the scope until the center of the cross was right on the King’s large brain. Numbers on the laser meter changed and stood at 400m; this was the distance for a rifle to yield its maximum destructive power.
Everybody who was watching this knew, what it would be like to be shot by an assault rifle at such a distance. Looking at his animated face, Westley knew the King was thrilled. This much powder, if successfully sold, he could be spending life without having to work for at least ten years.
“Smooth, his skin, I wonder how did he keep it?” Talking to himself, Westley turned the safety off.
A tool he was, Westley didn’t mind being a unique tool with characters.
He pulled the trigger; a lovely fire erupted from the other end, a loud gunshot sound spread in the silent night. The body of the rifle shook lightly while a warm shell fell to the ground.
In the scope, blood burst out from the King’s forehead, His body shook twice and fell to the ground.
As he fired, the squad leaders immediately gave the command to attack. The Support team, with semi-automatic rifles, started shooting; the covering team, with grenades and smoke bombs, had them explode into the crowd; the main assault team, with night-vision goggles, started their attack on the docking station under cover of smoke.
After a series of shootings, the screams of the drug dealers came from everywhere. Confronted with Westley’s standard attack tactic, their counterattack seemed pretty powerless. The scattered firing sounds grew weaker; them dying was only a matter of time.
Jumping out of the covering spot, Westley walked towards the dock with Rat following behind.
What’s left of the drug dealers were countable, most of them were hiding inside a warehouse.
Rushing to the door, Rat shouted, “Apple!”
A grenade was tossed into the warehouse in seconds, which led to a series of explosions. Right after the blast, all Westley’s men went through the dust into the house and targeted everything that was still moving.
Shortly after, a guy wearing a black combat suit, started shooting, making the last shit out of the guy to look like a bee’s hive. After that, the sound of shooting slowed down till all that was left was a low and deep groan.
“Reporting, all units, no targets at large, no casualties.”
Meanwhile in the vessel hovering in the sky, what happened on the dock was playing on the monitor. The suited middle-aged man stared at the screen; when he saw the end of Westley’s operation, he told his deputy, “Commence operation.”
“Roger that, Sir.” the officer nodded, hesitated, and asked, “In the targeted personnel, is there anyone you want to be held alive or unharmed?”
The commander paused, then said, “No.”
The officer turned and gave the order, “Attention, all units, commence operation.”
The order was transformed into short waves. It passed through the cold and moonlight and was received by several individual antennas.
5,000 meters up, 8 gunships turned their lights off and lowered their heads. They formed an attack formation and flew towards the dock. By the aggressive sound of the propellers, pilots were observing the ground, and guns and rear weapons were on. Targets were locked.
On the ground, all the armored detachment switched to power-drive mode. Without any sound, twenty combat vehicles, covered by tanks, were driving towards the dock from three directions. All the soldiers were checking their weaponry and were ready to fire.
“Boss,” a sound was heard from Westley’s ear, “We discovered a hidden tunnel at warehouse 2.”
Not surprised, Westley replied with a lowered voice, “Clear it out, I’m on my way.”
When Westley came to the warehouse, the tunnel had been cleared. Unexpectedly, this tunnel did not lead to anywhere but instead circled deep down for over 10 meters. In the end, there was a room at about 100 square meters large. After a brief fight, the room was cleared. There was a 40 years old man who was being held in front of Westley.
He had been struggling while being held till one of the soldiers came and punched him several times and then held him by his hair towards Westley.
Westley was a little surprised. Because this very man was an international most-wanted for whom the FBI has been looking. This guy was also the King’s boss, whose head is worth 100 million dollars, his name is Monster Geek.
“Where are my manners, how could you beat up Mr. 100 Million?” Westley stopped the soldier who tried to punch Monster Geek again. He turned and looked at him, smiled, “Why did you wind up in here, Mr. 100 Million?”
“100 million?” Monster Geek burst and raised his head, his face looked very proud, “If you let me go, I’ll pay you a billion.”
“Do I look like a guy who needs money?” Westley lit up a cigarette to hid his true intentions behind the smoke, “I’m going to ask you only once, what is your business down here?”
“What I’m doing can not be understood by you mindless people,” having said that, Monster Geek realized his current situation, awkwardly added, “I… I was doing scientific experiments.”
“You? Experiments?” Westley flicked away his cigarette, “Feeling damn cold here.”
“Of course it is true, how do you think I got my name?” Monster Geek snorted, “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
“I am an honest man, so I’m going to give you another chance,” Westley swang the half-smoked cigarette in front of Monster Geek’s eyes, “In exactly 3 seconds, I’m going to stick this burning cigarette in your eyes.”
“I said, I was doing experiments,” Monster Geek insisted, “I have 3 doctorates, I am studying the secret of life!”
Westley threw the cigarette, pulled out his gun, loaded the bullets, and pointed it to Geek’s forehead.