Unscrupulous Assassin (Seeking Collection, Seeking Recommendations!!)

David Commers.

Male.

Thirty-eight years old.

Residing at 138 Courtview Street, Apartment 503, Fifth Floor, New York City.

Social Security Number 562948726.

Joe stared at the fresh report and the photo of David on it. It was hard for him to connect that photo to the body already starting to rot downstairs.

"Let's go."

"What?"

Joe snapped out of it, looking up at Lake, who was standing and slipping on a suit jacket, caught off guard.

Lake tucked his service weapon into its holster: "What, you weren't planning to check out this guy's place?"

Joe: "..."

Courtview Street.

"One thirty-eight, right here."

Lake drove slowly, scanning the house numbers along the curb. After a moment, he pulled up in front of a six-story apartment building with an orange-red exterior.

They got out.

Lake glanced around, saw nothing unusual, then headed for the building.

Joe followed behind.

This was an old apartment building—no elevator. That put Lake in a sour mood as he climbed to the fifth floor on foot. If it weren't for the dead weight tagging along, he wouldn't be stuck here.

Fifth floor.

Lake pushed open the stairwell door, his gaze landing on where 503 should be.

Clatter!

Huh?

Lake rested his hand on his hip, pulling out the Glock 17 that needed a reload, while beside him, Detective Joe Martinez did the same, drawing his own sidearm.

An infinite-ammo Glock wasn't suited for fieldwork. Even though the NYPD didn't mandate a standard-issue firearm, the ballistic profile of any gun used on duty had to be filed with the department's information division.

"Move!"

"Got it!"

Lake gave Joe a quick nod, then gripped his weapon with both hands, creeping cautiously toward the closed door of 503, where sounds were coming from inside.

The door of a neighboring apartment swung open, and a white-haired woman carrying trash stepped out. She gasped at the sight of Lake and Joe with guns drawn in the hallway.

Joe quickly clamped a hand over her mouth. As her eyes went wide with terror, he flashed his badge and gestured for her to go back inside.

She hurried back into her apartment.

But...

The noise from 503 across the hall stopped dead.

Damn it.

Lake sighed, then grabbed Joe by the arm and pulled him back toward where they'd just come from.

The next second.

Rat-tat-tat-tat!

Gunfire erupted from inside 503, like an automatic rifle chewing through the wooden wall, spraying bullets toward where Lake and Joe had been standing.

Rounds punched into the door of 502, tearing through it. A pained cry came from inside—then nothing. Nothing at all.

After the barrage.

Boom!

The door to 503 burst open. A man with a gauze mask over his face, gripping a gun in both hands, opened fire again down the hallway at Lake and Joe.

Fuck!

Lake cursed, dragging Joe—who hadn't even gotten back to his feet yet—back into the stairwell.

Bullets smacked into the stairwell walls.

Shit, that stings!

Lake winced as a chunk of debris from the wall grazed him, narrowing his eyes.

Well, well. I was just planning to go through the motions and clock out. What's this—you don't want me to leave, or are you trying to get me a long vacation?

Lake looked at Joe, who was getting up beside him. "You okay?"

Joe shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Requesting backup!"

"...Alright, hold on..."

The words fell.

Joe only saw Lake ahead dart out the moment the enemy's gunfire ceased, and his whole mood soured.

Was this suicide?

But...

"Bang, bang, bang!"

"..."

The assassin at the door of Room 503, spotting Lake appear and the muzzle flash, ducked back into the room with its shattered door.

"Looking to die? I'll send you there."

Learning that David's death had been leaked to the police, the assassin sent to clean up David's belongings leaned against the wall, narrowed his eyes, reloaded, aimed his pistol outward, fired, and then whipped it sharply.

The Textile Factory's signature skill: Gun Fu!

Lake's eyes narrowed, and his Glock 17 whipped out in the same motion.

Bang!

Bang!

Two gleaming bullets collided midair and shattered outright.

"What?"

"Bang!"

The assassin's eyes shrank as he saw the bullet hole that had curved and slammed into the wall beside him, a hair's breadth from killing him. His mind reeled.

How the hell did this guy know that? Had Carlos come too?

Fuck!

Lake, having removed his glasses, wore a deadpan expression.

Bet you didn't see that coming.

I know it too.

Back when I didn't have Gun Fu, I still dared to go toe-to-toe with you Textile Factory bastards.

Let alone now.

Since you don't plan to let me go through the motions, then forget it. If you don't die today, I'll take your surname.

MMP!

Over the years, Lake had faced risks as an enforcer or assassin, but this killer's move was a total undeclared war, giving no warning at all.

Plainly put, no martial honor.

Frankly, Lake swore this was the most heart-pounding moment in years—the last time it was this intense was during that overseas operation crossing a minefield.

Lake had originally scheduled an appointment with the loan department at Stark Bank for the afternoon, planning to take out a ten-thousand-dollar interest-free police loan to fund a lottery spree.

Now look.

After finally booking a slot with Stark Bank, he couldn't make it.

"Boom!"

"Fuck!"

The assassin was completely baffled, watching another bullet curve and blast in, retreating straight to the living room to find another way out—but all he saw was flames.

Yes, flames.

When Lake had first arrived, the assassin had already doused the room with gasoline, planning to burn David's apartment to the ground. That was the correct cleanup procedure.

The sound from Room 503 when Lake and Joe reached the fifth floor had been a Molotov cocktail exploding inside.

What now?

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

One bullet after another, Lake whipped them into Room 503.

Just then.

A round object was tossed out from Room 503.

Lake's eyes narrowed.

The next second.

Adrenaline Boost.

Boom!

In that instant, Lake felt a strange sense of unreality around him, like the dizzying haze of being drunk, yet it was so clear that he could trace the grenade's bouncing trajectory across the floor.

"Bang!"

"What the hell?"

The assassin, who had planned to use the grenade to dash from room 503 to room 502 across the hall, froze in utter disbelief as he tossed the explosive and bolted out the door. He watched Lake, moving like lightning, flick the grenade back with the tip of his foot. His mind flooded with countless thoughts of how this was even possible.

At the same time.

He also saw Lake, now without his glasses, having just executed a powerful kick like a soccer shot into the goal.

"Black Ki..."

The words barely left his lips!

Boom!

The grenade detonated the instant it made contact with the assassin's waist.

Flames.

Engulfed everything in a roaring blaze!

Investors, hurry up and jump in!!