Range Suppression (Seeking Votes, Collections, Recommendations)

Shaxi Town, Kloster Chemical Plant.

Leon lay prone on a small rooftop about seven or eight hundred meters from the chemical plant, a Remington 700 Police Sniper Rifle braced before him. The crosshairs centered on a burly, bald white man with a powerful build.

He squinted slightly, held his breath, and adjusted the muzzle for wind, gravity, and distance.

Bang!

A crisp gunshot rang out.

Through the scope, a vivid spray of blood burst from the bald white man's thigh.

Crack!

The fierce-looking man immediately crumpled to the ground, clutching his leg and howling in agony. His companions, startled, scrambled behind various cover, glancing around wildly.

Damn. Still not smooth enough.

Even though he'd squeezed in practice with over a hundred sniper rounds in his spare time, he still couldn't nail a precise hit. That shot was meant for the bald man's head.

But it didn't matter. These street-thug-level Raiders had never tasted a sniper rifle's bite before.

At seven or eight hundred meters, it already outranged any pistol. Even if they spotted him, they posed no threat to Leon.

Beep! Merle's voice crackled over the walkie-talkie.

"Boss, I heard your shot. Want us to launch the attack now?"

Leon ejected the hot casing, shifted the rifle, and trained the scope on a dim-witted thug hiding behind a wooden plank.

"Not yet. Stay hidden. Wait for my order."

Merle's voice carried no tension, just a hint of excitement.

"Got it, Boss. Old Merle's waiting for your command."

Bang!

Another crisp gunshot.

Leon got lucky with this one. The bullet punched straight through the plank and tore into the thug's neck, ripping away a chunk of flesh and blood.

Blood gushed out in a spray over a meter wide. The heavily tattooed thug clutched his neck, collapsing to the ground with a desperate, gurgling hiss.

This was Leon's first kill. Maybe because it was at long range, his mind felt no negative ripple—only a thrill and excitement at being above other lives.

He reloaded, adjusted the muzzle, his arm steady as a mountain, the scope utterly still.

This target was a middle-aged thug in his forties with green-dyed hair.

A fierce skull tattoo marked his face. He might have been terrified by his comrade's helpless, brutal killing—his expression twisted, body trembling as he crawled toward a building, oblivious that he'd left cover.

Bang!

The third shot!

This one was a bit off. It whizzed into the green-haired thug's right wrist, flesh and bone exploding. His entire hand flew several meters away, landing at another thug's feet. Another screaming wretch hit the floor.

Leon reloaded and aimed again, but the remaining three Raiders had learned their lesson, pressing flat behind obstacles, not daring to move.

After a minute of them refusing to budge, Leon shifted his scope back to the burly bald man, still howling from the first thigh shot.

According to prisoner intel, this guy was the so-called Fire Bull Gang's minor leader, Emden—a repeat offender with multiple murders under his belt, a real scumbag.

Even if captured alive, Leon wouldn't spare him.

He held his breath and aimed for a few seconds.

Bang!

The fourth shot.

The bullet slammed into the man's chest and abdomen, blowing open a massive bloody hole.

The howling stopped. Then, as if fear overwhelmed everything, a young, wild-eyed thug with blond hair suddenly stood from cover, firing a pistol wildly, his mouth moving fast as if cursing.

Leon didn't indulge him. With the fifth gunshot, the young thug clutched a bloody hole in his belly, screamed, and fell backward, soon going still.

Of the eight thugs who'd launched the ambush, two had fallen in Atlanta, three more here, and one had his hand blown off—basically crippled.

Leon thought it over. The leader was dead. In the apocalypse, human life was the most precious thing. Even taking them as slaves was better than letting them become Zombies.

He didn't press the slaughter. Instead, he picked up the walkie-talkie and said:

"Merle, you can move in now. Be careful. Accept surrender. If they resist, kill them outright."

"I'll cover you from range."

A few seconds passed before Merle's voice came back, a bit sulky.

"Boss, you're too strong. A few bang bang bang shots and they folded. We didn't even get a chance to show what we can do."

Leon chuckled. "Don't worry. Our main enemies are still those Zombies. I'd rather not make the already scarce human population even scarcer."

You weren't so merciful when you were killing them just now, Merle silently grumbled to himself before saying aloud:

"Yes, sir. We're moving in now!"

"Mm, stay safe."

Through the scope, Leon noticed the Umbrella Corporation's Combat Squad beginning to encircle the Chemical Plant.

Ten heavily built men, clad in bulletproof vests and protective gear, wielding automatic assault rifles, were closing in on two Low-level Thugs who lay pinned behind cover, too scared to move, armed only with pistols. The outcome was obvious.

Leon kept watch for any surprises the entire time, only descending from the rooftop where he'd been hiding and slowly making his way toward the now-occupied Chemical Plant after Merle and the others had tied up the three surviving thugs.

Merle handled the next steps with practiced ease. Without needing Leon's instructions, he led the team in thoroughly searching the Chemical Plant.

The food was gone, and the daily necessities were nearly depleted. In a Warehouse, Merle found thirteen Survivors tied up tightly—three children, two elderly, and eight adults.

They looked like they'd been starved for days, every one of them weak. Two younger women had disheveled clothes and clear signs of assault on their bodies.

It was grim, but nothing beyond what they'd expected.

Beyond that, they also found nearly a hundred tons of Fertilizer and various Chemical Raw Materials in the factory. What caught Leon's interest most was the Sulfur. From his rudimentary knowledge of chemistry, it was one of the key ingredients for making Gunpowder.

At thirty kilometers away, there was no rush to haul it back just yet.

After taking over all the supplies from these Raiders, Leon logged the coordinates and led the weakened Survivors back to the Umbrella Corporation's base.

Amy was already waiting obediently in the Reception Hall on the first floor. Leon gave her a rough rundown of the situation, and his increasingly capable little assistant immediately arranged everything that followed.

Storing supplies, receiving the injured, arranging food and lodging, registering the relevant information—she handled every task with order and efficiency.

Leon didn't bother with these Trivial Matters. He had full confidence in Amy's abilities.

It had been a busy day, one thing after another. Before they knew it, dusk was approaching. They'd been kept waiting all day—it was time to go see Shane and the others.