Melee (I)

Darnell did not know when he had followed them.

He did not approach Lin An, instead hiding behind a dumpster twenty meters away.

Because of his massive frame, the dumpster could only cover half his body; he had to hunch over and tuck his neck in, looking like a clumsy bear.

Through a gap in the dumpster, he watched those five "people" charge out.

"Bro..."

He muttered to himself, his voice so low only he could hear it.

"You really are a wizard!"

He watched the bald man standing in the middle of the open ground, holding a gun in one hand, get hit in the chest by bullets, fall down, crawl back up, and fall again.

Darnell swallowed hard and made the sign of the cross over his chest.

Then he saw Lin An begin to move.

Lin An started moving to the left along a low wall, hugging the shadows of the buildings, heading toward the Church.

The Bullet Screen spotted his intentions immediately.

[Wait, streamer, are you trying to flank the Crips?]

[Didn't he say he was going to hit the Rainstorm Gang first?]

[Are you stupid? The Rainstorm Gang is caught in a pincer move right now, and the Crips are charging the hardest. If he takes out the Crips first, the Rainstorm Gang will naturally let their guard down.]

[No, he told those five people earlier that he'd hit the Rainstorm Gang first, then the Crips.]

[Plans can't keep up with changes, right? Who can predict what happens on a battlefield?]

[And look at those Crips, they're charging so hard. If he doesn't stop them, they're going to be right in the Rainstorm Gang's faces.]

Lin An offered no explanation.

He moved quickly along the base of the wall, his pace steady and unhurried, his footsteps making faint sounds as he stepped on broken glass.

But his chosen route was cunning; he kept himself within the shadows of the buildings at all times, pausing slightly whenever he passed a window or an alleyway—not just for the Bullet Screen to observe, but to take a quick scan before moving on.

This was the movement style Old Soldier Never Die had used earlier, and Lin An had learned it after watching it just once.

Lin An stopped when he reached the side of the Church.

There was an iron fence here, and on the other side was the side yard of the Church, overgrown with weeds and piled with discarded pews and debris.

He vaulted over the fence, his movements light; when he landed, his knees bent slightly, making almost no sound.

Passing through the side yard would allow him to flank the rear of the Crips... about thirty meters to the right of that flower bed.

Lin An reached into the System Store and began pulling items out.

He took out a modified Remington 870 shotgun.

The barrel had been sawed off to less than forty centimeters, the grip replaced with a tactical grip featuring finger grooves, and the stock sawed in half. The entire weapon looked short and vicious, like a fierce dog ready to bite at any moment.

The magazine capacity was six rounds, and Lin An loaded it with 12-gauge slugs—spoils he had taken from the corpse of a gunman in the abandoned factory earlier. Since the viewers hadn't redeemed them, they were coming in handy now.

A slug was essentially a large lead ball; one shot meant one projectile, and hitting a person meant leaving a hole.

Lin An slung the Remington diagonally across his back, muzzle pointing down, and then took out the Glock 19.

It was a fully automatic modified version, using a 17-round magazine from a Glock 7, and it was already chambered.

He gripped the Glock 19 in his right hand, the Remington's sling resting on his left shoulder, and then vaulted out through another gate in the side yard.

He was now about twenty-five meters to the rear-right of the Crips.

The flower bed was to his front-left, and the Church steps were directly in front of him, slightly to the left.

Four members of the Crips—or more accurately, three combatants and one sitting on the ground—were all within his field of vision, and all of them had their backs to him.

The Bullet Screen went wild.

[Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, this position!]

[Not a single one of them noticed the streamer.]

[All backs turned, all backs turned!]

[Shoot! Oh no, let me shoot! He could kill at least three right now.]

[Don't rush, let him pick his targets first.]

[Pick the one with the Ingram, he's the biggest threat!]

[No, hit the one with the revolver first. He's on the edge; if you hit him, the others will try to hide toward the flower bed and end up bunched together.]

[You guys don't know anything. Hit the one with the injured foot first. He can't move, so it's a free kill.]

Lin An didn't rush to fire.

He was waiting.

Waiting for the right moment.

On the battlefield, Old Soldier Never Die opened fire.

Bang.

Fifteen meters away, a Rainstorm Gang gunman was hit in the shoulder, his body spinning half a circle before he collapsed to the ground.

But the Rainstorm Gang's counterattack arrived immediately.

The bald Black man's Glock 17 fired in rapid succession, sending brick shards flying from the cover where Old Soldier Never Die was hiding; one bullet grazed his scalp, leaving a bloody furrow.

A Bullet Screen refreshed above the head of Old Soldier Never Die.

[I took a hit, it's not serious, I can still fight.]

[But your position is too exposed, change spots.]

[Move to the right, there's a pile of scrap tires over there.]

Old Soldier Never Die hunched over, dashed out from behind his cover, and moved toward the pile of scrap tires on the right.

The tall, thin Latino from the Rainstorm Gang spotted him and raised his gun to fire.

Bang x2.

Two shots, both missed.

After the tall, thin man's calf was hit, his stability dropped significantly, and his muzzle wavered violently.

Arcade Gun God seized this opportunity.

He poked his head out from behind a delivery truck, switched his Glock 19 to semi-automatic mode, and aimed at the tall, thin man.

Bang.

One shot struck the tall, thin man in the chest.

The tall, thin man let out a muffled groan, his body falling backward as his Ruger P89 dropped to the ground; he struggled to get up, but the wound in his chest left him unable to catch his breath, forcing him to lie on the ground, gasping for air.

The bald Black man saw this, cursed, and turned to fire three shots in the direction of Arcade Gun God.

Arcade Gun God ducked back, the bullets striking the truck bed above his head with a metallic clanging sound.

On the main front, the Crips' offensive pushed forward a little more.

The gunman holding the MAC-11 stood up from behind a flower bed, holding his weapon and spraying fire as he walked.

The high rate of fire from the MAC-11 kept the Rainstorm Gang members from even daring to lift their heads; bullets hammered into the body of the SUV and the windshield of the gray sedan, sending glass shards flying everywhere.

The gunman with the Smith & Wesson semi-automatic pistol followed behind him, also firing.

The gunman with the revolver lagged slightly behind; his revolver only had six rounds, and he was currently reloading.

The shotgunner who had been sitting on the ground finished loading his shells, struggled to his feet, hopped forward two steps on one leg, found a corner of the flower bed to crouch behind, and rested his Double-barreled Shotgun on the edge of the planter.

The scales of the battlefield were tipping toward the Crips.

Of the six Rainstorm Gang members, one was dead, one was severely wounded, one had half an ear torn off but could still fight, and the remaining three were uninjured.

On the Crips' side, although the gunman with the MAC-11 was injured, he was still fighting, and his firepower was intense.

If no one intervened, the Crips would likely overrun the Rainstorm Gang's front line within the next minute.

But Lin An was here.

He stood behind the Crips' flank, watching their backs.

The Bullet Screen was urging him on.

[Streamer, if you don't shoot now, it'll be too late.]

[They're about to reach the Rainstorm Gang's faces.]

[Shoot, shoot, shoot!]

Lin An raised his Glock 19.

He did not switch to full-automatic mode.

The first shot was aimed at the gunman holding the revolver.

His position was the furthest out and closest to Lin An, about twenty meters away.

Bang.

The long-aimed bullet struck his ribs from the side, pierced his lung, and exited through his chest.

The gunman with the revolver lurched violently, the revolver slipping from his hand; he clutched his chest, looked down at the wound gushing blood, and then his knees buckled, causing him to collapse to the ground.

He didn't die immediately, but he had lost his ability to fight.

The Bullet Screen refreshed rapidly.

[Hit, hit, hit!]

[That's one.]

[Keep going, keep going.]

The Crips reacted.

The gunman with the MAC-11 was the first to turn his head; the moment he saw Lin An, his pupils contracted sharply.

"Behind you!"

He shouted.

"Someone's behind you!"

He turned around, the muzzle of his MAC-11 aimed at Lin An.

Lin An did not dodge.

Instead, he smiled silently and pulled the trigger. This time, it was full-auto fire, and a hail of bullets swept out.

Bang.

Amidst the rapid fire, one 9mm bullet struck the right arm of the gunman holding the MAC-11. The machine pistol flew from his hand, hit the ground, and the magazine popped out, scattering bullets everywhere.

He screamed, clutching his arm as he retreated, bumping into the edge of a flower bed before falling to the ground.

"FUCK! FUCK! My hand!"

He rolled on the ground, blood gushing from the wound and quickly staining half his clothes red.

The remaining two Crips gunmen, one with a Smith & Wesson semi-automatic pistol and the other with a Double-barreled Shotgun, both turned around.

The one with the Smith & Wesson reacted the fastest; he had already raised his gun, the muzzle aimed in Lin An's direction.

But his movements were too slow.

Lin An had already pulled out a second pistol and opened fire in full-auto, a dense Bullet Screen sweeping toward him.

The Smith & Wesson gunman was unlucky. In the chaotic spray, his abdomen was struck by a bullet. He instinctively doubled over, his gun dropping to the ground. Then, his legs went weak, and he knelt on the ground, forehead pressed against the dirt, his body trembling.

Now, only the shotgunner remained, crouching in the corner of the flower bed with a wounded ankle.

He had already reloaded, resting his Double-barreled Shotgun on the edge of the flower bed, the muzzle pointed at Lin An.

But before he could fire, Lin An quickly crouched down, shrinking behind the hood of a car on the side of the road. Lead pellets pelted the car with a clattering sound, but not a single shot could harm him.

Crouching, Lin An returned the Glock 19 to the System Store, pulled the sawed-off Remington 870 from behind his back with his right hand, then suddenly stood up. The moment the muzzle pointed at the shotgunner, he pulled the trigger.

The move was stylish, but unfortunately, Lin An's marksmanship remained the same as ever. Firing from twenty meters away, the slug only hit the flower bed in front of the gunman.

A large chunk of the flower bed's edge was sheared off, and debris and dust plastered the shotgunner's face.

He instinctively closed his eyes and tilted his head back. The second shot from the Double-barreled Shotgun also went off-target, blasting into the ground three meters to Lin An's left and blowing a small crater into the asphalt.

The shotgunner across the way quickly retreated, fumbling in a panic to reload his Double-barreled Shotgun.

Feeling that the sawed-off shotgun was difficult to use, Lin An tossed the shotgun, which still had shells in it, back into the System Store. He pulled out a Glock, left his cover, and began to reposition.

The Bullet Screen was calling out positions.

[That shotgunner is reloading, one shell left to go.]

[He's crouching in the corner of the flower bed. Move to your right; there's a gap in the flower bed, the spot where you knocked off that brick earlier. You can shoot through that gap.]

Lin An glanced at the Bullet Screen and then shifted two steps to the right.

Sure enough, the edge of the flower bed he had hit with his previous shot had broken away, revealing a gap about twenty centimeters wide.

The shotgunner was crouching less than a meter behind the gap, his profile and shoulder exposed through the opening.

Lin An raised his pistol, aimed at the gap, and pulled the trigger. This time, he emptied every bullet in the magazine.

Dense, continuous 9mm rounds pelted the flower bed, crackling loudly.

The gunman, having finished reloading, tried to fire but couldn't even lift his head. Amidst the wild spray, bullets passed through the gap in the flower bed.

The shotgunner's body jerked, then slumped to the right, the Double-barreled Shotgun sliding from his hands.

[Hit, he's dead.]

Lin An looked at the body behind the flower bed that no longer moved. He ejected the magazine from the Glock 19, took a look, tossed the empty magazine into the System Store, pulled out a full one, clicked it back in, and chambered a round.

After reloading, Lin An did not stay in place; he turned and pressed himself against the wall, beginning to retreat.

The principle of "shoot and scoot" never goes out of style.

Lin An's position was too exposed now.

The open area next to the flower bed had the side wall of the Church on the left, the street on the right, and the direction of the Rainstorm Gang directly ahead.

If he stayed where he was, the Rainstorm Gang could suppress him with sheer volume of fire.

Lin An was well aware that his current advantage was mobility, not marksmanship... aside from not fearing death, his aim was terrible.

He retreated behind the iron fence of the Church's side courtyard, crouched down, and hid his body among the weeds and discarded benches.

Darnell's voice came from behind him, kept very low.

"Bro, you scared the hell out of me..."

Lin An looked back. Darnell was lying behind a dumpster, his face full of terror, his eyes wide as saucers.

"Shut up, stay down."

Lin An said.

Darnell immediately pulled his head back in.

The Bullet Screen began providing him with real-time updates.

[The situation over at the Rainstorm Gang isn't looking good.]

[The bald black man is still there, but he only has one person left by his side.]

[What? Didn't they have four fighters left?]

[The skinny guy took a bullet to the chest and is lying on the ground unable to move; he's basically a dead man.]

[The one who had his ear torn off just got hit by a stray bullet and collapsed behind the SUV; no one knows if he's alive or dead.]

[The bald black man only has one gunman left now, a fat guy in a gray hoodie hiding behind a gray sedan.]

[So that means the Rainstorm Gang only has two fighters left?]

[Correct, two.]

[What about the Crips?]

[The Crips are wiped out; the ones who aren't dead are just waiting to die.]

[So right now on the battlefield, it's two from the Rainstorm Gang against the streamer?]

[No, there are still the players.]

[Old Soldier Never Die and his group are still there.]

[But they aren't doing well; only two of them can still fight. New York Veteran Driver just got hit by a stray bullet and died as casually as a dog.]

Just as the Bullet Screen was buzzing with discussion, on the other side of the battlefield, College Student, who had been crouching behind a trash can without firing a single shot, was finally spotted by the fat man from the Rainstorm Gang.

The fat man poked his head out from behind the gray sedan and happened to see the tip of a shoe poking out beside the trash can. Without a second thought, he raised his hand and fired.

The bullet struck the side of the trash can, punched a hole through it, and then drilled into the forehead of College Student, causing him to lurch forward violently and slam his forehead against the ground, never moving again.

The Bullet Screen for College Student went silent for half a second before a single message drifted by.

[...I died? Damn, I actually died. I didn't even fire a single shot.]

The Bullet Screen exploded.

[Trash, what a waste of a slot.]

[Damn, College Student is such a loser, he really got killed without firing a single shot.]

[Should've died sooner, crouching there like a quail.]

[What do we do? New York Veteran Driver is dead, Arcade is severely injured, and now only Old Soldier is left fighting.]

Are all five of them about to be wiped out?

Lin An shook his head slightly.

It was unexpected, yet within reason.

They weren't fully prepared; not only was their equipment lacking, but their mental state wasn't ready either. Rushing onto the battlefield so hastily, even players who had been resurrected would run into accidents.

It was normal. It looked like he would have to step in himself, and quickly. Even though this place was remote, the New York Police Department wouldn't give him much time.