Gunfire erupted chaotically deep in the canyon. The Black Snake PMC squad advanced with ruthless professionalism, its interlocking fields of fire shredding the Ten Rings' outer sandbag defenses.
Wrapped in the Optical Camouflage Medical Blanket, Yang Ming moved along the rock wall. This system-produced item achieved one hundred percent light refraction, rendering thermal imagers and night-vision devices useless.
Like a pocket of empty air, he passed between two mercenaries changing their magazines.
A sniper lay on a weathered rock high above, his finger on the M24's trigger as he searched through his scope for the Ten Rings' machine gunner.
Yang Ming appeared soundlessly behind him. A titanium alloy scalpel slipped from his sleeve and pierced the gap between the sniper's first and second cervical vertebrae with pinpoint precision.
A slight flick of the tip severed the vital center in the medulla. The sniper did not even twitch, instantly becoming a breathless lump of flesh.
Yang Ming withdrew the blade and casually stowed the M24 sniper rifle in his Storage Ring. It would fetch a good price back in Gotham.
Below, the Russian team leader gestured for the assault team to flank the enemy.
Yang Ming leaped from the rock. While still airborne, he already had a MAC-10 submachine gun in hand, its suppressor attached. Pfft, pfft, pfft. The battlefield's explosions completely masked the muffled shots.
The nine-millimeter bullets sought out gaps the ceramic armor plates could not cover: carotid arteries, armpits, femoral arteries along the inner thighs. In three seconds, five assault troopers fell. Blood spurted from their wounds and quickly dried on the scorching sand.
The Russian team leader sensed something was wrong. He had lost contact with his assault team. He whipped around, but saw nothing except swirling yellow sand.
A faint breeze brushed past, and the team