I'm just a… Patrolman Second Class in the Gotham Police Department, not a superhero.
If I run into trouble, why wouldn't I call for backup? Should I take this on myself?
The moment he closed the car door, the tearing scream of fabric and the thudding sound of metal being hammered rang out from all directions, rattling the van.
But the bulk of the bullets were concentrated on the Crown Vic motorcade behind them.
"Shit! We're in trouble!"
The Chevrolet was hit by the Suburban just as it crossed the intersection.
After the collision, it had spun past the junction and was leaning against the building on the left.
The Suburban was stalled in the middle of the road, perfectly blocking the path of the Crown Vics and their line of sight.
"Can the car still drive?"
He looked back at Wilson, only to find his partner unbuckling his seatbelt with a pained expression, biting down hard to keep from groaning aloud.
"Holy hell!" Jay was startled. "Did you get shot?"
He reached out to check Wilson's carotid artery, but his partner shook his head and grunted a few times, trying to say something.
A burst of bullets flew, leaving a spiderweb of cracks on the glass.
Jay ignored Wilson.
Taking advantage of the lull while the attackers reloaded, he abruptly kicked open the door, raised his AR-15, and fired several bursts at the building's upper floors to the east.
Bricks and stones flew everywhere from the corridor. One ambusher was shot through the neck and tumbled down, terrifying the others into cover.
He dove back into the van, watching the hit gunman fall to the street. The mild recoil of the semi-automatic rifle surprisingly gave him a sense of satisfaction, like hunting wild ducks.
He looked back. Wilson was still struggling to sit up.
"Do you think you'll make it? Any last words or wishes? If I survive this, I'll try to help you take care of them."
"Fuck you, I just broke a rib, I'm not dying!" Wilson cried out, grimacing. "My arm… Aaaahhhh…"
Jay abruptly pushed him back into the seat, and he screamed in pain.
Almost simultaneously, a muffled thud sounded.
A bowl-sized radial crack exploded in the already damaged windshield, and a deformed bullet was embedded in the polycarbonate layer.
"FUCK, I didn't even get to say my arm is dislocated." Wilson was drenched in sweat, desperately stifling his cries. "The radio's dead. Help me get my phone out."
Jay pulled out his phone and tossed it over, grabbing Wilson's shoulder.
"Keep your head down. There's a gunman with a bolt-action rifle aiming at your side.
Don't worry, though; that shot was aimed at me.
And an experienced sniper wouldn't force a medium-caliber rifle round through an undamaged part of bulletproof glass at an angle less than 20 degrees."
"Huh?" Wilson burrowed further under the seat at the word 'sniper.' "Can you speak English for me?"
But Jay had already jumped out of the car again, using the cold vehicle body as cover, and fired continuous bursts at the east side.
Despite the chilly wind, the accuracy of the AR-15 with a red dot sight made the shooting satisfying.
Meanwhile, the Crown Vic motorcade, after the initial panic, had stuck their cars close to the east building, and the surviving men—though suffering a few casualties—had begun to fight back.
The MP5 fire instantly suppressed the attackers upstairs, forcing them to keep their heads down.
"Is that all you got?"
He emptied one magazine and jumped back into the van.
Wilson threw down the phone, his right hand gripping the Remington 1100.
"I've notified Bob. That bastard was evasive. How about… I draw the fire, and you go take out the sniper."
"Don't be ridiculous. Using that shotgun now is suicide. The recoil will turn your chest cavity into mush."
Jay swapped out the rifle magazine, looking at the panting Wilson. "What I meant was, that guy's a rookie. He should have aimed for the center of the damaged glass. I'll go take care of him."
There was no hope of breaking the stalemate by pouring submachine gun fire at each other.
Unless both sides can manage to close the distance or calm down to take careful shots, it will just end up with one crouching while the other stands and fires recklessly, like bowing to each other repeatedly.
The location of the embedded bullet crack allowed him to roughly pinpoint the sniper's direction.
He exited the car, moved along the rear, and then had Wilson open the driver's door, using the intact side window glass to create a new, angled viewing port.
Bang!
Another shot rang out.
The side window glass instantly exploded into a bright white web of cracks.
But in that split second, he clearly saw a muzzle flash from a third-floor balcony diagonally across the street.
Following the flash, a shadowy figure was indeed lying prone next to a flower pot.
The gunman's aim was actually not bad, but he suffered from a beginner's common flaw: always trying to score a direct headshot.
He was likely a self-taught enthusiast from a street gang.
But Jay didn't have time to assess the attacker's skill. The Roman's motorcade was still pinned down in the ambush zone. If the witness died, Jay would also be in serious trouble.
"Damn it, I'm treating you like high-priority VIP!"
Jay gritted his teeth and activated his [Justice from Above] skill.
Without any flashy effects, the balcony where the enemy was hiding suddenly collapsed without warning. The sniper was caught completely off guard and plunged down.
A fall from the third floor wouldn't necessarily be fatal.
But unfortunately, his neck collided directly with the iron railing of the second-floor balcony.
After a horrifying series of impacts and cracking sounds, the sniper finally lay motionless on the ground floor, a dark red puddle rapidly spreading beneath him.
"Oh, damn…" Jay gasped, cold air rushing in. "Ugh… that's brutal."
He shook his head, trying to call Cobblepot.
But the red indicator light on the walkie-talkie, which signaled normal operation, had dimmed.
He tapped it twice, saw no hope of fixing it, and tossed it back to Wilson after returning to the van.
"I need to get the witness out. Can you handle yourself?"
"No problem, brother. I'm a seasoned veteran." Wilson managed a difficult smile. "Don't worry about me. Give me the shotgun…"
"Stop dreaming. The only thing you can use is your Glock 17." Jay thought for a moment and slung the Remington over his own shoulder.
"I don't want you to survive a headshot only to be killed by your own stupidity. If you get a chance, retreat into the building staircase and hide." He looked at Wilson. "Hope to see you alive."
He crouched with his rifle, pressed against the Suburban's body, and peeked out through the shredded front end.
Although the Roman's men had superior gear, the enemy had the high ground on the west building, and the enemies in the east building had already moved downstairs to begin a close-quarters rush.
No one seemed to have noticed him. He steadied his breathing, actually finding time to aim carefully.
He firmly braced the rifle, the red dot settling on a gunman on the west building happily spraying fire with a Uzi and an M10, and squeezed the trigger.
After several controlled bursts, the two excited gunmen suddenly stiffened, collapsing like their bones had been removed.
The others, confused, quickly took cover behind the wall. The suppressing fire from the high ground instantly went silent.
The Roman's gunmen had already lost three men. Taking advantage of the weakened fire from the west building, the remaining men charged into the east building's stairwell.
With better equipment and desperate resolve, they engaged in a fierce gunfight in the narrow space with the ambushers on the ground floor.
Though they paid with another life, they successfully took out four or five of the enemy.
Falcone's men had secured the east building, nullifying the high-ground advantage on the west side.
Victory was only a matter of time. Jay assisted both sides of the exchange, moving and shooting behind cover on the street, and eventually slipped into the west building.
The drill-like sound of gunfire still echoed intermittently upstairs.
He deliberately quieted his steps, slowly crept up to the second floor, and suddenly darted out from the stairwell.
Three gunmen were cut down like trees by 5.56mm rounds before they could even turn around.
"That's it?"
Jay waved toward the east building.
Unexpectedly, a burst of bullets came back from the opposite side.
Then, a scream came from the stairs between the second and third floors, and a person tumbled down with a thump-thump-thump.
Holy cow! Nice shot!
He immediately fired a follow-up shot, then gave a thumbs-up to the person opposite.
Soon, the gunfire on the scene quieted down. Jay composed himself, watching his breath mist in the cold air.
He stood up and ran downstairs to the Crown Vic motorcade.
Fortunately, all three cars were armored.
They were covered in dense bullet marks and cracked glass, but few places had been completely penetrated.
Jay pulled open the first car—empty.
He pulled open the second car door, and a stench of blood, gunpowder, and stale urine rushed out.
The window was cracked open a bit.
The driver, gun in hand, was slumped over the steering wheel, a hole in his skull.
Another person was curled up under the back seat, shaking and sobbing.
"What the fuck!" He grabbed the man and dragged him out of the car. It was the unfortunate Hargrove. Looking inside, there was no one else.
A chill colder than the December air shot up from his feet to his skull, making Jay's legs feel weak.
He grabbed Hargrove by the collar and roared, "Where's Cuevas! Where's Cobblepot?!"
Without waiting for Hargrove's answer, he frantically rushed to the third car and threw open the door—it was also empty.
"Shit! Shit, shit, shit!!"
A desperate rage instantly overwhelmed him.
He didn't know what had happened, but his current situation was terrible… No, it was catastrophically terrible!
He returned to the second car, dragged Hargrove like a dead dog into the building stairwell, and immediately raised his gun at the three Falcone men hurrying down from upstairs.
"Where are Cobblepot and the witness?"
The three men instinctively raised their hands, exchanged bewildered glances, and then vehemently shook their heads.
"I don't know."
"Mr. Cobblepot… he should have been in the car behind us."
"They were in the middle car."
The four men stared wide-eyed at each other for a few seconds.
The only sounds in the stairwell were heavy breathing and the wind whistling in.
Jay lowered his gun and pointed at the one standing closest. "You, what's your name?"
"K-Kurich."
"Are all of you Mr. Falcone…'s men?"
"Yes," Kurich calmed down slightly. "We're with Mr. Victor Zsasz."
Jay nodded, the cold making his mind exceptionally clear. "Okay, Kurich, go check the casualties outside. Ignore the enemy. Just count who on our side is missing or dead. Hurry!"
Kurich hesitated, but perhaps the word "our" dispelled some of his apprehension.
He grabbed his gun and hurried out of the stairwell.
Just then, a weak, tearful voice came from the side: "They… they got out… halfway through."
Everyone snapped their heads down. It was Hargrove, who was sitting slumped on the stairs. Seeing the pairs of eyes fixed on him, he shivered, and swallowed the rest of his words.
Jay sat him down on the steps and crouched down to ask, "Tell me, when and where did they get out of the car?"
"I… I don't know exactly when," Hargrove's voice shook terribly. "It was… it was back in the commercial street."
"Commercial street?" Jay abruptly turned to the remaining gunmen. "You didn't even know they got out of the car?"
"Only Mr. Cobblepot and his bodyguard Gabe are missing. Everyone else is dead," Kurich rushed back in. "I was in the second car; they were in the first. At first, Mr. Cobblepot's car was last, but after the commercial district, it pulled up to the second position."
"What about the people in that car?"
"The driver and bodyguard in that car were Mr. Cobblepot's own elite men." Kurich shook his head. "We were all sent by Mr. Victor."
They ran?
The Penguin wouldn't dare wage war against both Fish Mooney and the Roman at the same time, and the witness was meaningless to him.
The most likely scenario was that he used the motorcade as a decoy, taking the witness himself to curry favor with the Roman and claim a reward?
You motherfucker!
Just as Jay was about to leap up and curse, the heavy roar of an engine sounded in the distance outside.
He darted out of the stairwell for a quick look, and his soul instantly scattered.
He flew back inside, screaming at the top of his lungs: "PKM! Take cover!"
——————
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