"Hey, you guys..."

Outside the garage gate, two gunmen with rifles looked at the van that stopped at the door with some vigilance.

"Bang! Bang! ”

The silencer-fitted gunfire was a bit dull, and the two gunmen were shot in the head and fell to the ground without saying a word. Alejandro held his pistol in both hands, tilted slightly, and shot the three gunmen in the booth. Inserting the pistol back into its holster, he pulled an M40A3 sniper rifle from the back seat, a military version of the Remington 700 shotgun, modified with a weighted stainless steel barrel.

He climbs onto the roof of the garage, snipes at gunmen in dead spots and monitors his surroundings to spot reinforcements from the Reyes Group as soon as possible.

Broly carried his rifle and walked to the door of the garage with a big grin.

In the garage, a group of women are making drugs, and they are working in extremely harsh conditions. The Reyes Group did not buy them any labor protection equipment, hot air, toxic acid mist, choking smoke, flickering high-pressure sodium lamps, all of which were harming their health.

These women have inhaled too many toxic chemicals, their skin is horribly rough, covered with spots, their limbs are thin, their bodies are atrophied, and their expressions are somewhat demented, like walking dead.

They were prisoners of the factory, sold by Reyes from all over the world, and worked in the factory day and night. The longest of them has not been exposed to the sun for three years, and the longer one is not nothing, but it was "cleaned up" by the management because of illness.

Several gunmen supervised their work and prevented them from secretly smoking the finished product. Because of their long-term work in drug factories, almost all of them are addicted to drugs.

The remaining gunmen were in three offices at the garage, mostly wearing floral shirts, while others were shirtless and had tattoos on their arms. The air-conditioning in the office was very full, and the gunmen were playing cards with chilled whiskey and cigars in their mouths, and rolls of dollars were placed on the card table.

"Boom!"

An unrivalled force tore the office door out of the frame, and the heavy door flew into a gunman, sticking it to the wall.

Broly walked in, and the gunmen were startled and panicked when they saw someone suddenly entering.

A gunman tried to pick up a pistol on the table and shoot, but before he could pull the trigger, he was punched in the chest. There was a crackling of broken ribs, a large chunk of his chest was dented, and his internal organs were beaten into mud.

He advanced forward, punching one punch at a time, killing more than a dozen gunmen in two seconds.

Some of the quick-reacting gunmen finally drew their pistols and began to shoot, and Broly picked up his rifle and fired at them.

There was a burst of gunfire in the office, bullets whizzing through holes in desks and chairs, pierced whiskey flowing, and shards of cards and dollars flying in the air.

It didn't take long for the gunfire to fall silent.

With the sound of glass bottles being trampled on, the sound of glass rubbing against the floor tiles, Broly walked out of the office with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. There were four or five bullet holes in his clothes, and there was only one spot of blood on the skin inside, and the bullets barely penetrated the skin.

He had already experimented with rifles and pistols when firing ordinary bullets, as long as they did not hit the vital point, they would only hurt. Among the small arms, the only weapons that can threaten him are sniper rifles and machine guns with higher power.

Despite this, he tried not to get shot because it really hurt. The pain made him angry, and his combat power began to soar.

“Quién estáahí? Quién es el enemigo?”

The gunshots in the office alarmed the gunmen in the other offices, who asked in the direction of Broly.

"Bang!"

A gunman who had quietly pulled the grenade tab was suddenly shot in the head by a bullet fired from the top floor, and the grenade rolled to the ground, and the remaining gunmen rushed out of the office, and before they could run a few steps, they were shot to the ground by Broly.

He was like a hunter who hunted rabbits during the hunting season, shooting the wolf-rushing gunners, and occasionally picking up his rifle as if he were playing baseball, and beating the gunners who tried to rush up to hand-to-hand combat.

"Uninteresting."

Broly put away his rifle, a little bored. As a legendary Super Saiyan, a steady stream of new powers poured out from the depths of his body, making him even more powerful.

Dealing with such a gunner, it is no longer possible for him to feel any joy in fighting.

[Ding, congratulations to the host for being promoted to level 5 and gaining a skill point]

[Ding, 100 people are killed, the successful Saiyan people will be full of blood, the host has killed more than 100 people, and 20 revival points will be rewarded, congratulations to the host for obtaining the skill Oolong Transformation Technique]

？？？

Broly had a question mark on his face. This transformation technique with only five minutes of transformation time is really embarrassing, and he might as well add some points to exchange for Poole's transformation technique, at least there is no time limit.

Alejandro slid off the roof with a sniper rifle on his back and through a sling. He flicked open the office door with his finger and looked inside, then at the shattered corpses on the ground.

"This scene is a bit too big for me to clean up alone."

The corners of his mouth twitched, and several of his bodies were pierced by fists, and flesh and internal organs sprayed all over the ground. After hesitating for a moment, he took out an old mobile phone from his bosom and made a call.

"I'm Alejandro, a big party of eighty people, and I need you to clean up the scene." He sent the coordinates of the satellite positioning.

Alejandro explained to Broly.

"This is a group of people who specialize in cleaning up the scene for the killer, and they are very professional and very tight-mouthed."

"What about the women?" "I only kill warriors, not ordinary people," Broly said. ”

"We wore hoods, they didn't see anything, but just let them go, they would definitely die, or throw them to the Mexican police afterwards."

Alejandro hesitated for a moment before saying. Armed with a gun, he drove the frightened women into the garage's kitchen and locked the door.

They didn't have to wait long before the sound of propellers lapping in the air could be heard in the sky. A medium-sized transport plane landed on a dirt road outside the garage. More than a dozen people who were still wearing jackets on a hot day stepped out of the plane. They also carry large bags of professional tools.

"Yali, it's been a long time since you've contacted us."

An old man with gray hair but dressed in a stylish leather coat gestured to Alejandro with his hat off.

"When I'm working for the CIA, I don't have to do the cleaning work at my own expense."

Alejandro said with some pain.

"The CIA isn't as clean as we are, Ali."

The old man snapped his fingers as he spoke, signaling his men to get to work. Faced with a scene that was obviously not caused by ordinary people, their faces did not change in the slightest.

"To tell you the truth, if I was a canned man, I would have made a fortune."

He looked at the corpses all over the ground and whistled.

Scraps of meat, shards of internal organs, and broken bones were swept into body bags, bullets embedded in the walls were pinched out with tweezers, and bullet casings were swept into a heap. Fingerprints and blood stains are wiped off by spraying with a professional cleaning spray.

It didn't take long for rolls of duct-taped corpses to be loaded onto the plane.

Alejandro painedly took out two rolls of gold coins from his pocket and handed them to the old man.

"Welcome back to me next time."

The old man flicked his cigarette, accepted the gold coin, and sat into the plane in style.