Kill Them If You Want, but Who's Paying for the Equipment You Ruined?

"Rat-a-tat-tat!"

The crossfire from the assault rifles sealed off every escape route.

Lorna ducked and raised both hands, green light just beginning to glow at her fingertips—

Riptide braced himself for the bullets in despair.

Sing Sing, however, didn't panic in the slightest. He took a great stride forward and spread his legs slightly.

He settled into a steady horse stance.

He raised both hands, palms facing forward.

He curled four fingers inward and held them tight, leaving only his index fingers pointing up.

Paired with his overly serious face, the pose had an indescribably absurd look to it.

"Whew—"

A barrage of gleaming brass bullets came flying at him, only to stop half a meter from Sing Sing's palms.

The bullets were still spinning rapidly in place, their copper jackets and lead cores rubbing together with a buzzing sound.

But they simply couldn't cross that half-meter gap.

A dense mass of bullets hung in the air.

The gun barrels were still warm, and the members of the tactical squad stood as if struck by lightning, staring fixedly at those motionless harbingers of death.

Holy crap, Riptide had turned into a girl!

Stryker was somewhat taken aback.

This wasn't a Mutant ability, or at least it didn't resemble any manifestation of the X-Gene recorded in known files.

Stryker had spent half his life working with genetic weapons, subdermal implants, serum injections, genetic recombination...

He had seen far too many forms of superpowers.

But none of them involved stopping bullets in a horse stance with raised index fingers.

He made a very practical decision: he turned and left.

The hem of his lab coat caught on the doorframe as he rounded the corner, and it took him two tugs to pull it free. It wasn't a graceful sight.

Riptide watched from behind, dumbfounded.

He looked at Sing Sing's bizarre hand gesture and couldn't help asking a question.

"Stephen, stopping bullets is one thing, but why are you sticking up your middle fingers... no, your index fingers?"

Sing Sing didn't even turn his head.

"This is called concentrating and gathering all the Internal Energy in my body into one point."

"The Shangyang Point on the index finger is part of the large intestine meridian. That's where the force is strongest."

"Besides, doesn't this pose look cool?"

Did it?

To be honest, it was pretty ridiculous.

But he really had stopped hundreds of bullets in front of him, so whether he looked cool or not wasn't all that important.

The tactical squad across from them had already emptied a magazine.

The gunfire stopped.

Countless deformed bullets hung in front of Sing Sing.

Lorna came to her senses, her pupils blazing green as she thrust both hands forward.

With her movement, the hundreds of bullets suspended before Sing Sing turned around.

"Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!"

They flew twice as fast as they had come.

The bullets weren't all Lorna sent back; she was also settling a debt of three hundred and sixty-five days.

The people across from them hadn't even finished changing magazines.

The bullets tore through helmets, vests, and bulletproof plates.

Copper cores went in through their chests and out through their backs, splattering what they carried out across the wall behind them.

A bloody mist filled the hall as more than twenty soldiers toppled to the floor.

The walls were riddled with bullet holes.

Sing Sing was still in his horse stance with his index fingers raised.

He looked at the empty air before him, then at the floor full of thoroughly dead bodies across from him.

"Hey!" Sing Sing jumped up, pointed a finger in Lorna's face, and shouted, "What the hell are you doing, you spendthrift woman? Who told you to attack?"

Lorna gave a cold laugh and tossed her long green hair.

"What? Do you feel sorry for these scumbags? They were just trying to kill us. This is called self-defense."

"Self-defense my ass!"

Sing Sing slapped his thigh in anguish, walked over to a body, and crouched down to tug at the tactical vest that had been shot full of holes.

"Look at this! Look at it! This is genuine Kevlar body armor, straight from an American military contractor!"

"It sells for thousands of dollars apiece! I was going to knock them out, strip all their gear off, and sell it secondhand!"

He stood up and turned over three bodies in succession.

With each one, his expression grew uglier.

"This one, penetrated. This one, penetrated. This one—good grief, even the ceramic plate in the back is smashed."

"Now look what you've done! You've shot holes in all of them! How am I supposed to sell them now? As fishing nets?!"

Lorna froze.

She had imagined that this Chinese man might accuse her of cruelty, go on about humanitarianism, or even grow wary of her power.

But she had never expected that he would actually be upset because the secondhand body armor wouldn't fetch a good price!

Lorna's chest heaved. She felt that this man's way of thinking was simply unlike that of ordinary people.

"They locked me up for a year and drew my blood for a whole year!"

Lorna gritted her teeth, her eyes reddening. "I killed them for revenge!"

"Even if you're taking revenge, you can't go destroying public property!"

Sing Sing walked over, his gaze sweeping quite openly over Lorna's long legs twice.

White, straight, and long. Her calves were evenly proportioned, and her ankles were slender. Probably because she had been restrained for so long and hadn't moved around much, she didn't have much muscle, but her bone structure was exceptionally well proportioned.

She would definitely be a dab hand at pedaling a tricycle.

"You haven't signed an employment contract with me yet, you know that, right?" Sing Sing drew his gaze away from her legs, his tone shifting to that of a school disciplinarian giving a lecture.

"That makes you an unofficial employee. If an unofficial employee takes action without authorization in the workplace and there's a safety incident, who picks up the tab? Are you going to file a workplace injury claim? You don't even have workplace injury insurance! Not a single one of your five social insurances or your housing fund contributions has been paid!"

Sing Sing earnestly lectured her, "Little Lorna, if you're going to follow me from now on, you need to work on that temper. All this fighting and killing isn't good. Everyone should sit down, have a cup of tea, and eat a bun."

"If you absolutely have to fight, you need to consider the economic benefits. Your crude approach to killing is far too wasteful of resources."

In the corner, Riptide held Anton over his shoulder and muttered, "Aren't we still running for our lives?"

Nobody paid him any attention.

Lorna was so furious she laughed. She folded her arms across her chest, pushing up her cleavage.

She realized that getting angry was useless when dealing with this man. He would use your anger as a stepping stone and keep spouting nonsense.

"Fine, boss. Next time, before I kill anyone, I'll submit a request and wait for your approval before I do anything?"

"That's the right attitude!" Sing Sing snapped his fingers in satisfaction.

"The report needs to state the motive for the killing, the expected benefits, and a cost assessment. Write neatly, and no typos."

Lorna rolled her eyes and turned to search the equipment on a corpse.

She really didn't want to deal with this lunatic anymore.

Sing Sing turned toward the far end of the hall. That old fox Stryker had certainly run off quickly.

"You think I can't find you just because you've hidden yourself? It's no use!"

He bellowed at the surveillance camera.

"You're such a striking man. The glare off your bald head and that lab coat you didn't wash properly have completely given you away! Next time we meet, I'm sending you to Africa to build pit latrines!"

Riptide came over with Anton on his shoulder and anxiously shoved Sing Sing. "Stephen, how are we supposed to get out? If you keep shouting, we'll be surrounded!"

"Find a door, of course! Once we find a door, we can get out."