Leon stood on the road, with guns in both hands, half-crouched and used the steel guardrail in front of him as a triangular bracket, and pulled the trigger.

The 9×19mm Parabellum oval lead core was slashed by the Type A bullet through the hexagonal right-handed rifling of the Glock 19 pistol, and entered the 6061T6 aluminum alloy silencer bowl of the Osprey silencer with a dull sound like rattan whipping a quilt in the night wind.

The effective range of 120 meters on paper did not prevent the bullet from crossing a distance of more than 200 meters, carrying about 500 J of muzzle kinetic energy through the head of the gangster who bound Christina's arm.

If you slow down this second countless times, you can clearly see that the brass surface of the bullet first scraped the flesh, pierced the frontal tuberosity in front of the frontal bone, chiseled the coronal slit connecting the frontal bone and the parietal bone, and finally grazed the greater occipital hole and drilled out of the scales.

The reason why the description is so detailed is to further illustrate the horror in Christina's sight - the gangsters around her didn't have time to scream, and the burly body weighing a hundred pounds shook and fell to the ground, directly being shot in the head, and the bubbling red and white brains splashed her all over her face.

Christina screamed and fainted with great bliss, while Patrick, who was holding a syringe and syringe, was not so lucky, and his trained Academ (formerly known as Blackwater-Worldwide) immediately recognized the direction and distance of the gunshot, and shouted to his men: "Don't show your head against the slope." ”

Before he could finish speaking, Patrick rolled on his side, hiding on the slope below the overgrown road, a barrage of pistol bullets hitting him just now, leaving dents in the sand.

"The person who fired the shot is still on the slope." Patrick's mind raced, sifting through the possibilities in his mind.

Who the hell would attack themselves so blindly, the other gangsters of Gotham? No way, this is the time for everyone to work together to get through the difficulties, and I have greeted them beforehand.

Batman? That's even more impossible, it's not the Dark Knight's way of doing things to kill people with headshots when they come up.

He bit his lip tightly, his fingers white from nervousness, the gunman on the slope hidden in the darkness could fire the next shot at any moment....

Patrick thought about it, and Leon stepped onto the steel railing and leaped down.

The pitch-black face was worn on his face, the transparent raincoat was shielded from the moisture from the sea breeze, and the two Glocks were quickly inserted back into his waist, and Li Ang held the armor-piercing knife in his left hand, and the one-handed axe in his right hand, kneeling heavily on the sand.

The dust was flying, and before the gangster could react, Leon had already risen and pounced, first slitting the throat of the enemy with a slender and thin armor-piercing knife, and then backhanded an axe, the sharp blade of the bird's beak-like barb-shaped axe dug deep into the other person's heavenly spirit cover, causing his body to hang like a marionette on the axe.

In an instant, blood and moonlight danced together, and death and brutality coexisted.

Li Ang surged in a sea of anger and kicked out, causing the corpse hanging from the axe to fly out sideways and slam into the sand, obscuring the view of the mafia thugs

"Shoot him!" Patrick shouted: Greeting and starting to shoot, these mafia thugs all use the VECTOR submachine gun developed and produced by the American KRISS company, using 0.45-inch Colt automatic pistol cartridges, with a delayed recoil bolt with an articulated mechanical structure, which makes the VECTOR submachine gun have a very high rate of fire and extremely low recoil.

If necessary, this submachine gun can reach a rate of fire of 1200 rounds per minute, which is equivalent to 20 rounds per second, and its metal storm can completely crush any flesh that stands in front of it into powder.

The gunfire rang out like popping beans, and the long chain of bullets hit Leon like a long river.

"Needless resistance." He sneered, his toes flicked quickly on the sand, and Hugh flew quickly, so fluttering that he climbed the steep hill to avoid the chain.

Leon stomped heavily on the rocks and turned around, the armor-piercing knife as swift as lightning, slicing countless openings in the arteries around the joints of the people, scarlet splattering the sand and gravel, and the one-handed axe sliced the slender wrists of the mafia thugs without protective gear even more brutally.

The severed limbs flew all over the sky, and in a moment, only Patrick and Leon were left standing, and the luck of the others was that their arms were severed, twisting and wriggling on the ground like worms, and letting out a miserable howl that did not resemble human voices.

In the midst of this hellish feast, Patrick rolled backwards to close the distance between him and Leon, and the submachine gun in his hand fired a single shot, and the loud sound of the gun alarmed the red-headed gull, causing it to fly away in panic.

However, Leon was a little faster than him, holding the handle of the axe in his hand, like a long whip, he simply hooked the two thugs in front of him, slightly dodged the first few bullets, and then poured the aura into his legs, his legs pierced into the mud like cast iron, and his body lay flat in mid-air, allowing the bullet to pass slightly.

When Patrick forcibly corrected the muzzle of the gun, Leon had already slapped his palm on the ground, threw his one-handed axe violently, and struck the gun in Patrick's hand with the sound of a fierce wind.

The metal parts of the submachine gun were scattered and broken, and the axe with blood still remaining in the sand was embedded in the sand, startling the insects to flee.

Patrick's palms trembled and tingled from the shock, and without hesitation, he drew his pistol from his waist and fired at Leon indiscriminately, while he himself ran forward and ran down the slope toward the kilometer.

Leon stared at his back indifferently, picked up an unclaimed submachine gun from the ground in a long time, half-crouched on the ground, pressed his shoulders and cheeks against the hilt, stared at the crosshair in the sight, and slowly aimed at Patrick in the frenzy.

Patrick, who adheres to the rules of tactics, hunched from side to side, constantly using feints in an attempt to deceive Leon's shot.

He was panting like a cow, his face was like gold paper, and his originally deep and delicate pupils were bloodshot, engraved with the desire to survive.

I can't die! I'm still young and I haven't enjoyed it enough!

Patrick was running wild on the slopes, and Leon was already far from pulling the trigger.

The gunshot rang out, and the 0.45-inch bullet scraped past Patrick's ear, leaving a deep blood mark on his earlobe.

Didn't hit! Patrick climbed the slope, and in ecstasy, he pulled the car door, sat in the driver's seat, and bent over to plug in the car keys so that his body would not be exposed in the window.

Engine ignition

With trembling toes, the Iron Lion Toni's smooth calfskin half-cut boots from Bologna, Italy, slammed on the accelerator, the engine roared, and the huge torque forced the rubber tires to scrape the concrete floor, rolling up puffs of black smoke.

The car sped away at a gallop, and Patrick laughed wildly and slapped the steering wheel, and he survived and escaped.

As Leon planned.