Nearly an hour had passed. The East End had used up most of its Rocket Launcher rounds, and ammunition for the Heavy Machine Guns was running low. The good news was that little blood remained nearby, either, and Brother Blood's regeneration had slowed to a crawl. Before, he could recover from scattered fragments in ten or thirty seconds. Now, after five minutes, only his head had barely emerged from the ground.
"This thing isn't all that impressive!"
Wilson handed the PKM to an officer beside him who had been eagerly awaiting his turn, then stood at the window to watch the show. "What if... we poured shit into all that blood? Would he..."
"Just shut the hell up!"
Li Jie smacked him on the head irritably. "If a shit man gets up off the ground, I'll order everyone to cease fire and send you out to fight him hand to hand. Maybe you'll get to find out what drowning in shit feels like."
"Urgh..." Wilson clutched his throat and retreated to one side. "Sorry, brother. My bad..."
"Ah..."
Li Jie sighed and turned to Nygma, who had also come downstairs to observe. "This guy isn't all that strong, is he?"
"What if you didn't have all this equipment?"
Nygma smiled and gestured with his chin toward the crates of RPGs on the floor beside them. "Without the F1s and M67s, without the M2HBs, without the PKMs, without the AT4s and RPGs, without the HKGs, without all the automatic weapons, without the money to remodel the station-if all you had were pistols, Remingtons, and two AR-15s-how do you think today would have ended?"
He pointed outside at Brother Blood, who looked utterly pitiful. "Under those circumstances, how do you think you could have stopped him?"
"There's a saying in China: to