Hiller watched the police cars pursuing them relentlessly through the rearview mirror. There was not the slightest trace of panic in his eyes as he followed the plan and said to his partner in the passenger seat, "Hey, Joe, show them what you've got!"
"Leave it to me!"
Amid his slurred reply, his drugged-up partner shouted as he grabbed a submachine gun and leaned out the window.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
The submachine gun's fire merged into a continuous roar.
The pursuing police cars were all affected.
Even worse, the driver of one police car was hit in the arm.
Bang!
Bang, bang!
Though he tried his best to keep control, his arm's loss of control still sent the police car crashing straight into the one beside it, triggering a chain reaction.
One police car after another collided in a pileup.
"Ha ha ha!"
"Did you see that?"
"Did you see that?"
"A perfect, magnificent performance."
Joe let out an incoherent cry. His finger never left the trigger, and the muzzle of his gun kept swinging wildly as bullets scattered through the air like a celestial maiden scattering flowers.
A sharpshooter was terrifying.
But a lousy shooter was even more terrifying.
Because you had no idea where he would fire his bullets.
Joe was an outstanding example of just that.
The drugs he had taken earlier had already sent his mind soaring into overdrive. To him, everything happening now was nothing more than entertainment.
Entertainment had to be enjoyable to deserve the name.
Therefore, once he emptied a magazine, Joe immediately loaded a new one.
The submachine gun became the only main melody on the morning street, while panicked screams and agonized wails served as its only accompaniment.
But Joe did not care.
At that moment, he had completely lost himself.
So he