The gunshot came so abruptly, it caught him off guard.
The tall robber, still dividing the money by the truck's hood, had no time to evade before a bullet struck the back of his head, dropping him to the ground.
The shooter wasn't the young black man, but he was clearly involved.
Far from being panicked, he grinned and called out to a pile of cardboard boxes behind the door, “Austin’s finest marksman, your reputation is well deserved.”His expression did a complete 180 in an instant, contorting with disgust as the spat at the corpse.
“Ptui! Arrogant white pig, did you really think that I, Roca, would split the money with you? You’re just a tool.”
Crash!
The stack of boxes by the door collapsed, silently revealing a middle-aged black man in a baseball cap.
The underground garage was dim and visibility was poor, combined with his dark skin's natural camouflage, you'd never spot him unless you knew where to look in advance.He held an old M1911 pistol fitted with a laser sight, the very weapon that had felled the tall robber.“We agreed on a 70/30 split, right?” The young black man handed him six bundles of cash.Even though this double-cross upped his earnings from 90,000 to 140,000, his eyes couldn’t conceal the bitterness and reluctance he felt to part with the cash.If he hadn’t heard that the tall robber was a discharged Navy SEAL with solid skills, as a gang member with over a decade of experience, he wouldn’t have given up on the idea of killing him himself. Instead, he shelled out big for Austin’s top marksman to help him pull off this bank robbery turned betrayal.
The middle-aged black man's peripheral vision caught sight of the remaining tall stacks of cash on the hood, greed flashing in his eyes hidden beneath the cap's brim.
Without saying a word, he raised his gun and fired.
The bullet was fatal, hitting the target perfectly at such a close range.
"You..."
The young black man took the bullet square between the eyes, his right hand rising shakily to point at the shooter, his glaring gaze filled with both resentment and regret.Not regret for killing his partner, but for lacking the guts to double cross him alone and keep the money entirely for himself."I don't like sharing money either."The middle-aged black gunman watched the body crumple to the ground with an icy detachment, then filled the bag back up with all 19 bundles of cash, took it and headed for the garage exit.
He figured this haul would enable him to rest for quite a while.
Little did he know however, that after playing the oriole to their mantis and cicada, an old hunter still lurked behind.
As he strode triumphantly through the garage door, a noose suddenly dropped from above him and wrapped itself perfectly around his neck.
The moment the noose got underneath the neck, a massive figure gripping the rope's end leaped down from the rafters.
Tanned wheat-colored skin, short black hair, dark blue eyes, standing over 1.9 meters tall, weighing over 220 pounds.
Wasn't this the Asian mixed-race giant who'd "cowered" during the bank robbery, then tailed them on his motorcycle?
Sssh~
The noose tightened under the Asian’s plummeting weight, yanking the middle-aged black gunman off his feet and suspending him mid-air by the door.
No matter how hard the black gunman struggled, he couldn't escape the excruciating pain of suffocation.
"Watched a killer black-on-black show for free. Not only did I not have to pay for a ticket, I also got some cash at the end. If only every day was like this."
Speaking fluent Mandarin, the Asian man tied the rope to an exposed steel bar in the wall, then scooped up the fallen money bag.Eyeing the nearly twenty bundles of crisp green bills inside, he greedily grinned as he sauntered back to his Harley, twenty-odd meters away.He completely ignored the black gunman, still struggling in the air.
To him, such a life was worth less than a starving stray dog begging for food on the street. At least if it was a dog, he'd toss it half a loaf of bread.
As the Harley’s tractor-like engine roared again, the Asian man drove out of the garage’s entrance.
From the moment he took action to the moment he secured the money and left, the whole process took less than a minute.
Smooth as silk.
This bold, careful, and precise method clearly demonstrated the uniqueness of this large Asian man.
"Interesting, very interesting! I haven't seen someone this interesting in years."Almost immediately after the Asian man rode away on his motorcycle, a muscular man over 1.8 meters tall slowly emerged from the woods to the right of the garage.
Looking at the receding motorcycle in the distance, then at the gunman's body swaying in the wind, he grinned thoughtfully.
His gleaming white teeth, paired with the centipede-like scar on his right cheek, evoked a chilling, predatory feeling in anyone who looked at him.
...
Auburn Community.
In one of the few remaining white enclaves in the mostly black household dominated West Side.
The Harley driving away from Austin pulled up outside the garage of house numbered 205. The burly Asian man rolled the rattling old beast inside, but no one came out to greet him.
The place was quiet, and a mess.
On the front wall hung a poster of "The Expendables." A muscular Sylvester Stallone, striking a cool thumbs-up pose.
Next to it was a slogan, "Success is doing what others dream of doing but don't dare. The Expendables, we look forward to you joining us."
This wasn't a movie poster, it was a recruitment ad for one of America's top PMC teams, The Expendables.
"Sylvester Stallone, no, Mr. Barney Ross. I look forward to meeting you someday,"
The Asian man saluted the poster, hit the garage door button, took off his jacket, and stepped into the living room.
In this twisted, dangerous world, the only way to make a fortune quickly is to live on a knife’s edge.If he failed to join DG this time and had no chance to further develop his skills, he'd apply for a discharge and try to join The Expendables instead, becoming a legitimate modern mercenary - a PMC (Private Military Contractor).
He could earn a fortune in the open, walk down the street and spend it freely.
That had been his dream in his past life, one he never achieved before dying.
The reason for his inability to join was simple.
The only companies with the financial resources to hire PMCs were large international companies, seeking only the best and nothing short of the best.
The demands of these clients made the industry's entry level nearly impossible for ordinary people.
The minimum requirements were very high, one had to be at least at the Special Forces level, or have several years of experience as a PSC (Private Security Contractor) or have a position in a major national law enforcement agency.In his past life, he'd just been a regular army vet, one out of hundreds of thousands discharged every year, knowing nothing about real combat or even security work.
Faced with skyrocketing prices back home, he was forced to risk his life abroad as a cannon fodder mercenary.
A foreign no-name that met none of the three requirements? Companies wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole, and even freelance work would be hard to come by.
They were all afraid that someone like this would get in and cause needless trouble.
Luckily for him, he got what countless people around the world wish for but can’t have, a second chance.
0 Comments