David Commers.
Male.
Thirty-eight years old.
Resides at Apartment 503, fifth floor, 138 Courtview Street, New York City.
Social Security number: 562948726.
Joe stared at the freshly printed report and the photo of David on it. It was difficult for him to connect the photo with the corpse downstairs that had already begun to rot.
"Let's go."
"What?"
Joe came back to himself and looked up. He froze when he saw Lake stand and put on a suit jacket.
Lake slid his service pistol into its holster. "What? You're not planning to check this guy's home?"
Joe: "..."
Courtview Street.
"Number 138. This is it."
Lake drove slowly forward, watching the numbers on the buildings along the roadside. After a while, he stopped in front of a six-story apartment building with an orange-red exterior.
They got out.
Lake looked around. Only after finding nothing unusual did he head toward the apartment building.
Joe followed behind him.
This was an old apartment building without an elevator. Having to walk up to the fifth floor left Lake in a foul mood. If he hadn't been saddled with a deadweight, why would he have come here?
Fifth floor.
When Lake pushed open the stairwell door, his eyes fell on the spot where Apartment 503 should be.
Clatter!
Hm?
Lake placed his right hand on his waist and drew the Glock 17 that needed a reload. Detective Joe Martinez did the same, drawing his service pistol.
The Glock with unlimited ammunition wasn't suitable for missions. Although the NYPD had no regulations requiring standard-issue firearms, the trajectory of any gun used during a mission had to be filed with the department's Information Division.
"Go!"
"Okay!"
Lake briefly spoke with Joe, then advanced cautiously toward Apartment 503, its door tightly shut and noises coming from within, both hands gripping his pistol.
The door of the neighboring apartment opened. An elderly white woman carrying trash came in and cried out when she saw Lake and Joe holding guns in the hallway.
Joe hurriedly covered the old woman's mouth. While she wore an expression of sheer terror, he flashed his badge and gestured for her to return to her apartment.
The old woman hurried back inside.
But...
The noise from Apartment 503 also disappeared.
Damn it.
Lake sighed, then grabbed Joe and pulled him back toward the place they had just come from.
The next second.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
Gunshots erupted from Apartment 503. Bullets, like those from a submachine gun, furiously tore through the wooden wall structure and swept toward the spot where Lake and Joe had just been standing.
The bullets slammed into the door of Apartment 502 and pierced straight through it. A sudden cry of pain came from inside.
Then there was nothing more.
After the burst of gunfire.
Bang!
The door to Apartment 503 was blasted open. A man with his face covered in gauze held a gun in each hand and once again fired a sweeping burst at Lake and Joe in the hallway.
Fuck!
Lake cursed. He dragged Joe, who had just been pulled down and hadn't had time to stand, backward into the stairwell.
Bullets smacked into the stairwell walls.
That hurt!
A fragment of the wall grazed Lake as it was blasted loose. He narrowed his eyes.
Well, well.
I only wanted to go through the motions and then get off work. What's the meaning of this? You won't let me leave, or are you planning to send me on an extended vacation?
Lake looked at Joe, who had risen beside him. "Are you all right?"
Joe shook his head. "I'm fine."
"Call for backup!"
"...Okay, wait..."
As soon as he finished speaking.
Joe saw Lake shoot out the instant the gunfire from across the hall stopped. He felt terrible at once.
Was he trying to get himself killed?
But...
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
"..."
The moment the assassin standing at Apartment 503 saw Lake appear and flames burst from his muzzle, he darted back into the apartment through the blasted-open doorway.
"You're asking to die. I'll send you there."
The assassin had learned that David's death had been exposed to the police and had been ordered to come clean out David's belongings. Leaning against the wall, he narrowed his eyes, reloaded, aimed his pistol outside, fired, and then flung it away.
The Textile Factory's signature technique—Gun Fu!
Lake's pupils contracted. The Glock 17 in his hand also flew out!
Bang!
Bang!
The two bright yellow bullets collided in midair and shattered.
"What?"
"Bang!"
The assassin's pupils shrank. He stared at the bullet hole that had curved around the corner and blasted into the wall beside him. If it had been just a little closer, it would have killed him.
How does this guy know it too? Could Carlos have come as well?
Fuck!
Lake removed his glasses, his expression flat.
Shocked, are you?
I know it too.
Before I obtained Gun Fu, I already dared to fight the people from the Textile Factory head-on.
Even more so now.
Since you're not going to let me go through the motions, then you're not leaving either. If you don't die today, I'll take your surname!
Motherfucker!
Over the years, Lake had encountered danger while working as an enforcer or an assassin. But this assassin's actions had been a completely unannounced attack, leaving him not even the slightest chance to prepare.
In simple terms, he had no principles.
To be honest, this was definitely the most heart-pounding experience Lake had gone through in the past few years. The last time things had been this thrilling was during an overseas operation when he had crossed a minefield.
Lake had made an appointment with the loan department of Stark Bank that afternoon. He had planned to apply for a ten-thousand-dollar interest-free loan for law-enforcement personnel and take a shot at the lottery.
Now look at this.
After finally making an appointment with Stark Bank, he couldn't go anymore.
"Bang!"
"Fuck!"
The assassin was utterly dumbfounded. Watching another bullet curve around the corner and blast into the room, he retreated into the living room and began searching for another way out. But everywhere he looked, there were flames.
...Yes, flames.
When Lake had arrived, the assassin had already poured gasoline throughout the apartment. He had planned to burn David's apartment to the ground, which was the proper way to clean everything up.
The noise Lake and Joe had heard from Apartment 503 when they reached the fifth floor had been the sound of a Molotov cocktail exploding inside.
What should he do?
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
One bullet after another was flung into Apartment 503 by Lake.
Just then.
A round object was thrown out of Apartment 503.
Lake's pupils contracted.
The next second.
Adrenaline Boost.
Boom!
In an instant, Lake felt as though everything around him had become hazy, somewhat like being drunk. Yet it was all incredibly clear—so clear that he could see the grenade's trajectory as it bounced across the floor.
"Bang!"
"What the hell?"
The assassin had planned to use the grenade to run from Apartment 503 to Apartment 502. The moment he threw it and rushed out of the doorway, he saw Lake, moving like lightning, kick the grenade back with the tip of his foot.
The assassin was completely stunned. His mind filled with countless thoughts of How is this possible?
At the same time.
He saw Lake, glasses removed, deliver a powerful kick like a battering ram.
"Black Ki..."
The words had barely left his mouth!
Boom!
The grenade exploded the moment it touched the assassin's waist.
Flames.
They swept across the surroundings with a thunderous roar!
Those planning to invest, hurry up!!
Before you continue