Chapter 47: Cat and Mouse
With a hundred thousand dollars promised as a reward, the remaining fifty to sixty gang members charged forward, roaring like a stampede. Of course, they were confident. Fifty or sixty people against two—if they still lost, they should just slit their own throats.
Unfortunately, the people they encountered today were no ordinary individuals.
Facing the enemy's clumsy, grand advance, Tommy remained utterly unfazed, even taking a slow, leisurely puff from his cigar. Only when the group below was within perfect killing range did he raise his rifle and pull the deadly trigger.
The HK416 spat fire like the Grim Reaper's scythe, sweeping lightly through the crowd. Dozens of enemies fell. In an instant, the massive group of fifty or sixty people was immediately reduced by more than half.
Such heavy, sudden casualties caused the Russian Gang's morale to plummet into instant chaos. The surviving thugs no longer had their previous courage; they turned and ran, desperately scrambling for any available cover. Human life was exposed as terrifyingly fragile. Teammates who had just been laughing and talking were now lying on the ground with their heads blown open. If not for the thick, metallic scent of blood filling the air, they would have thought they were in a bizarre nightmare.
Kirill, who was commanding the assault from the rear, was equally shocked. He immediately wondered if he had come to the wrong location. This was not a church shootout; this was clearly a tactical ambush executed with inhuman precision. He counted the bodies lying on the ground: there were about thirty of them, which happened to be the capacity of a standard magazine. In other words, every single shot fired by the guy on the opposite rooftop was accurate, achieving a literal one hundred percent hit rate on the soft targets. This kind of unpredictable marksmanship could no longer be simply described as terrifying; it had risen to the level of pure horror, making his scalp tingle and cold sweat trickle down his neck.
"Boss, what should we do next?" In his heart, Kirill was done fighting. The battle had just begun, and he had already lost half his men; if they continued, they would be completely wiped out. But Kirill couldn't make the decision to retreat on his own. Only his boss, Vigo Tarasov, had the right to speak.
"Take all the documents you can. As for those banknotes and gold bars, leave them all!" Inside the church, Vigo feigned a sliver of calmness in front of his surviving subordinates, wiping his sweat with a handkerchief. But his pale, bloodless face had already betrayed his inner terror.
"Damn it!" If he had known Tommy was this powerful earlier, he would have somehow gathered the one hundred million dollars even if it meant selling everything he owned, including his blood and kidneys. But now, it was too late to regret anything. With things developing to this point, the feud between the two sides was completely sealed with blood. The most urgent task was for him to escape this place as quickly as possible, get through this immediate hurdle, and then consider future matters.
"That damned little bastard!" Remembering how all of this started, Vigo violently punched the church wall, so angry his teeth felt like they would shatter. At this moment, he doubted if his son, Iosef, was truly his flesh and blood. How else could the boy have caused such a colossal, devastating disaster?
The only thing worth celebrating was that the group of subordinates who had survived the ambush had now retreated into the church's perceived safety. There were still nearly thirty people left. With the terrifying marksmanship Tommy displayed, these people alone certainly couldn't match him, but if they could use their numbers to retreat, there might still be a slim chance.
Outside the church, the closest SUV was less than a hundred meters from the main entrance. As long as he could rush through this last stretch of exposed road, he would be able to escape to freedom.
However, it was easy to think about, but incredibly difficult to execute. Kirill led two desperate charges, and each time his men became fewer and fewer, but the results were pitifully small. The furthest they got was only thirty or forty meters—not even halfway—before they left seven or eight more bodies in the street and were driven back by a hail of precise bullets.
Feinting also didn't work. While his subordinates were distracting attention at the front door, Vigo tried to sneak out the back. But as soon as he poked his head out, he suddenly heard the whistling sound of a bullet that scared him into immediately retreating back into the church. Seeing the grim expression on Kirill's face, Vigo seemed to understand something. He subconsciously reached to touch his ear, only to find nothing there but slick, warm stickiness in his hand.
"My ear... it's gone?" Vigo's face was ashen, as if he had lost a limb. He understood immediately that Tommy had intentionally spared his life, toying with him in this cruel way. Otherwise, with the other party's impossible marksmanship, he could have easily been shot in the head with one bullet, instead of just losing half an ear as he did now.
Once he understood this truth, Vigo's last vestiges of fighting spirit completely crumbled. For this operation, he had deployed almost all his best elites, and now that he had suffered so many losses, even if he could return alive, his position as boss would be severely unstable, inviting rivals to challenge him.
While the Russian Gang was disheartened and bleeding, the atmosphere on the rooftop opposite the church was quite pleasant. Witnessing Tommy Vercetti's flawless "performance" up close, Franklin was absolutely thrilled. He had never imagined such exquisite, God-like marksmanship existed in the world. This was not something a human could do; it was simply a superman.
"Alright, it's time to call it a day," Tommy said. After reloading his magazine, he decided to end this brief cat-and-mouse game. Since the score was settled and the enemy was broken, it was best to stop early. If Vigo were to foolishly call the police, things would get needlessly messy.
Tommy Vercetti tossed the HK416 behind him, and Franklin's face lit up as he immediately caught it, cradling the weapon that had wrought such carnage. The two descended from the rooftop, one after the other, and soon entered the bullet-scarred church.
At this moment, inside the church, only Vigo and his subordinate Kirill were still breathing. Seeing Tommy appear, the fiercely unwilling Kirill wanted to make one last, desperate struggle. But before he could even fully raise his weapon, a massive 12.7mm caliber bullet flew toward him, accurately hitting him between the eyebrows and blowing his entire head apart.
As expected of a weapon specifically designed for hunting, the M500 revolver's power was indeed astonishing. Tommy Vercetti had smoothly drawn the large revolver. Since it was an item obtained through a system lottery, he had the advantage of instantly manifesting the powerful M500 from his internal item bar as long as he willed it, saving him the time of physically drawing a gun and making his movements unbelievably fast. Of course, to prevent outsiders from seeing through the trick, he would still often pretend and go through the motions, except in decisive moments like this.
His thoughts returned to the reality of the bloody church. Tommy Vercetti, cigar in mouth, pressed the massive revolver against Vigo Tarasov's remaining ear, exhaled a slow puff of smoke, and spoke in a calm, lethal tone.
"Vigo Tarasov, where's my money?"
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