The three shots had just fallen, taking down the first two killers Alex had felled earlier.
By now, four fallen killers lay on the ground, unable to mount any effective counterattack.
Alex moved deliberately toward the nearest two, towering over them. His dual black barrels aimed squarely at their foreheads.
Desperation became their final expression.
Bang. Bang. Two bullets, two killers eliminated.
Alex stepped back calmly, dodging the bullets fired by the last two shooters with ease.
Shock. Confusion.
The two remaining killers, finally gathering their strength, scrambled to their feet, snatched up their guns, and fired at Alex the instant he had executed his comrades.
Yet, even though Alex didn't look their way, it was as if he had predicted every move.
"Devil!"
"Satan!"
The two were now consumed by fear, firing wildly.
Alex pivoted, sliding sideways, ducking, swaying his head—a hellish knight approaching the two men driven to madness.
When they ran out of ammo, hands pressed to the ground, desperate and retreating, Alex loomed over them.
Still above. Still two barrels.
Bang.
The shrieks of madness cut off abruptly.
The killers' eyes widened as they died in hopeless despair.
Thud. Thud. Two bodies hit the ground.
Behind him, Anna's voice rang out:
"Mr. Cross, the first wave of alley killers is down."
Alex nodded simply and continued forward, leading Anna and the eight Sisterhood operatives.
Soon, they came across two motorcycles lying on the ground… and three bodies not far away: two helmeted bounty hunters and one Hallstatt operative.
One bike was smeared with blood. Clearly, after failing to strike Alex, it had, from inertia, crashed directly into the Hallstatt operative.
The unlucky bounty hunters had then been taken out by the other shooters.
Alex didn't linger. A casual glance and he pressed forward with Anna, following the route Daniel had relayed. Turning into a left alley, they approached the end where two SUVs were parked outside a nondescript clinic.
Four killers stood by the cars, two more flanking the clinic entrance, and between them and Alex, another fifteen or sixteen killers watched anxiously at the alley intersection.
As Alex and Anna appeared, a Camorra elite opened fire immediately.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
MP5K rounds swept toward the alley.
Alex raised his hand, signaling Anna and the others to pause. Calmly, he swapped his empty magazine, reloaded, chambered a round, and gave Anna a glance.
In perfect unison, they both turned toward the motorcycles, stripped helmets from the dead, mounted the bikes, started the engines.
Vroom—vroom—vroom!
The roar of engines filled the alley. Alex and Anna exchanged a glance and then fixed their eyes on the path ahead.
With a deafening roar, the two rode side by side, barreling into the cluster of killers.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
Bullets rained down like a tide. Both riders reacted simultaneously, shifting their bikes sideways to take cover.
At the right moment, Alex released his grip, stabilizing his body with peak human reflexes, while Anna rolled skillfully on the ground.
The motorcycles, fueled by momentum, slammed into the crowd, toppling four or five killers before crashing heavily against the walls. The bikes were riddled with bullet holes, fuel spilling across the ground, splashing onto nearby enemies.
Bang! A shot from Alex's firearm hit a bike's metal frame, sparking flames that quickly ignited the spilled fuel.
The killers doused in gasoline were engulfed instantly, screams piercing the night. Those nearby scrambled helplessly, panicking and flailing as Anna and the Sisterhood surged forward.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunfire and flames intertwined; death and screams filled the alley.
Alex's eyes were cold as he looked toward the clinic entrance, gripping his dual pistols, charging through the chaos toward the SUVs and the killers stationed at the doorway.
Inside, four killers stood in the corners, guns raised, eyes locked on the door.
At the center, Santino sat on the surgical table, a doctor stitching the wounds on his face.
Sweat streamed down everyone's foreheads.
Outside, the burning motorcycles illuminated the clinic windows, the air filled with screams.
Bang! Bang! Rat-a-tat-tat!
Santino's heart raced with every gunshot. Hair bristled across his body, trembling uncontrollably. His hands clutched the table rails, eyes wide, urging the doctor incomprehensibly.
He could feel it clearly now… Death had arrived.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If you're interested, you can read advanced chapters:
pat reon .com / Samorash