Chapter 36: The People at the Checkpoint Have Gone Mad!

Vroom! Vroom!

Three cars speeding at over 200 km/h tore through the small town. The roar of powerful engines, the sharp cracks of gunfire, and the thunder of explosions echoed throughout the streets.

No one dared to peek outside—the civilians knew all too well that the gangs were clashing again, and it was going to be another sleepless night.

Milton had already swapped in a fresh drum magazine, but the detour route was in poor condition. It was filled with sharp turns and constant bumps, making it impossible for him to land any effective shots. He tried firing a few times, but he couldn't even manage a rough aim.

"Boss!" Brandon’s panicked voice cut through the air as he glanced at the terrifying RPM on the dashboard. "There’s an alley ahead... the road is piled with debris. It’s going to be a rough ride!"

One wrong move would mean total destruction.

Suppressing the soreness in his right arm, Milton roared, "Then ram right through it!"

The next second, the sound of the bumper smashing into wooden crates and tires crushing bottles and trash filled the air. The car teetered on the edge of losing control; had the others not been holding onto him for dear life, Milton would have been thrown from the vehicle.

The violent shaking and repeated collisions caused Milton’s vision to black out for a moment—a piece of flying debris even smacked directly against his tactical helmet!

*This won't do. I need to get a vehicle with a mounted weapon platform next time... otherwise, even if I miss my shots, the sheer turbulence and collisions alone will leave me severely injured.*

Gritting his teeth against the dizziness and pain, Milton regained his focus and steadied the FN FAL in his hands.

As his vision cleared, he saw a Dodge Charger pulling up alongside them, seizing the moment Brandon was forced to slow down. The driver for the Vancamp gang seemed to have discarded their brakes entirely!

"Too close... I can't hit the driver from this angle!" Milton couldn't lower his muzzle to target the driver without risking hitting his own car. "And I can't use the grenade launcher—the distance is too short; I’d kill myself."

But Milton pulled the trigger anyway—if he couldn't hit the driver, he would take out the passengers in the back!

A dull thud of collision and a deafening burst of gunfire erupted almost simultaneously. Dozens of M80 rounds tore through the muzzle flash, turning the Dodge’s roof and the passengers inside into a sieve.

However, the enemy’s nose clipped the tail of Milton’s car, and their rear tires immediately lost traction. The tail fishtailed violently, nearly throwing Milton out again!

A "death pendulum"!

Brandon, pushed to his limit, chose to scrape against the walls. Before the pendulum swing became uncontrollable, he used the external friction to force the car to stabilize.

*Clang! Snap!*

They crushed several bags of trash, and the passenger-side door was ripped clean off.

The shaking stopped instantly. Once the vehicle steadied, Milton regained his grip on the rifle. Because of the collision, the enemy car had been knocked slightly aside, giving Milton a clear line of sight. He aimed briefly and pulled the trigger, sweeping the target with a fan of gunfire.

The passenger’s head and the driver’s left arm were instantly reduced to pulp!

Countless bullet holes appeared on the Dodge’s hood, and white steam hissed from the punctured coolant tank as the engine began to surge uncontrollably.

The enemy’s engine was ruined.

Brandon shouted again, "We're coming to the end of the alley. I’m turning left! Watch out, Boss!"

Milton immediately pressed against the right side, bracing for impact. "Received."

A second later, the Chevrolet Caprice burst out of the alley, trailing a wake of trash. The chassis scraped against the concrete curb, sending sparks flying like an arc welder into the cabin before they narrowly swung left onto the main road.

Out of the corner of his eye, Milton saw the headlights of another Dodge—they had emerged from a different alley and were closing in from the left. Behind them, the dying driver of the first car was still clinging on, refusing to give up.

Even Milton was shocked by such suicidal persistence.

*That hospital, or perhaps the waste disposal plant—there must be a problem far more serious than just Troglitazone, something severe enough to threaten the families of these gang members! Do they think I’ve uncovered this secret? Is that why they’d rather die than let me pass?*

*Forget it, don't overthink it... just take down the enemies in front of me first.*

Milton suppressed his chaotic thoughts and refocused on the fight. He finished off the dying driver behind them, then adjusted his aim to the side to quickly eliminate the final car.

But the fearlessness of the Vancamp gang drivers bought their teammates a little time, a sliver of an opportunity. Milton and the last enemy car were now side-by-side!

*Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat...*

Milton watched the enemy’s submachine gun spit fire at him and felt the impact of bullets hitting his vest—they failed to penetrate the plates. Their extreme disadvantage in firepower cost them their chance.

Then, Milton pulled his own trigger.

The M80 rounds claimed the last few lives in the car. Without a driver, the Dodge spiraled out of control and slammed into a nearby house.

By now, the barrel of the FN FAL was so hot it was nearly glowing; even through the grenade launcher, Milton could feel the terrifying heat through his fingers. He had fired nearly 200 rounds in quick succession, and by the final dozen, the accuracy had plummeted to an absurd degree due to the overheated, expanded barrel.

The lifespan of the barrel and the recoil spring had been reduced by at least 30%!

But thankfully, all enemies were neutralized.

Milton climbed back into the cabin and did a quick assessment of the damage—apart from the windshield, there wasn't a single intact part left on the car. The passenger-side door, his side, had been ripped off entirely.

It had been a brutal fight.

"Report injuries."

Brandon, his clothes soaked in cold sweat, took a breath before saying, "Took two hits, but they didn't pose a threat to my armor."

When the enemy opened fire, all three of them had ducked—the handgun rounds from the submachine guns couldn't penetrate their heavy body armor after passing through the car door.

Luz exhaled. "Damn, those Vancamp lunatics. Do they have a death wish?"

Veronica’s voice carried a hint of suspicion. "Could there be something in the hospital or the waste plant we haven't discovered yet? Something vital to them?"

Luz immediately recalled the inexplicably large morgue at the hospital—a high-end private clinic in a border town with few patients; why would they need such a massive morgue?

He said, "It’s possible!"

Milton looked at the steaming FN FAL with a pang of regret and shook his head. "We’ve missed that lead, and given our current situation, we can’t investigate any case other than the Troglitazone one."

If they couldn't catch them in the act, they couldn't investigate it.

Brandon nodded. "Yeah, we’re almost at the destination... victory is just ahead. Well, a partial victory is still a victory. Whatever we can't find now, we'll investigate later."

*Wooo~ wooo!*

Just then, two piercing police sirens wailed from the distance.

The commotion had finally attracted the police... right? Had they arrived too quickly?

"Are the police really that efficient?" Milton felt something was wrong. He instinctively gripped his rifle and looked at Brandon. "Do your colleagues usually have this kind of response time in the middle of the night?"

Brandon shook his head, looking just as confused. "As far as I know, they shouldn't..."

The next moment, the two police cruisers split up without warning. One slowed down in the distance, creeping toward Milton’s vehicle, while the other sprinted at full speed toward their destination—the waste disposal plant.

Milton’s pupils constricted. "They’re heading for the waste plant. They’re trying to seize jurisdiction before us! These cops are on the Vancamp gang's payroll!"

The police didn't need to fight like the gang members; they just needed to reach the site first, seal it off, and isolate everyone else. If they did that, Milton was finished.

The situation had suddenly turned into a race—a race to reach the waste disposal plant first. But how could their battered Chevrolet Caprice outrun two police cruisers?

"What do we do?" Brandon sounded panicked again. "In our condition, we can't catch up to that cruiser, and the other one is still hounding us!"

Milton was silent for two seconds before reaching out to flip up the leaf sight on the FN FAL—the one specifically for the grenade launcher.

He had never forgotten that there was an M203 grenade launcher mounted under his FN FAL.

"Luz, Veronica, hold on to me."

The other three asked, bewildered, "What... what are you doing?"

Milton disengaged the safety on the M203 and climbed back out through the sunroof.

"Terrorists from the Vancamp gang are using grenades to attack the police to destroy evidence. Truly heinous."