Night of Slaughter

Among the West Coast's gang forces, there were countless rumors about Frank D'Amico—such as how he liked to encase his enemies in cement and throw them into the river, or roast people into a lump of bloody pulp in an industrial microwave. Most of them were bits of gossip meant to highlight his brutality and ruthlessness.

What interested more people, however, was the solid fortress standing in the city center. After finding success in his career, the Drug Lord had bought an entire building and converted it into his personal stronghold. Every floor was filled with heavily armed gunmen and bodyguards. Without his permission, absolutely no one could reach the top floor—Frank D'Amico's residence.

But half an hour earlier, someone had chosen the simplest—or perhaps the stupidest—way to pay the Drug Lord a direct visit.

Knock, knock, knock!

The guards at the entrance saw a young man standing outside in a leather jacket, wearing a motorcycle helmet. He looked strange.

"Did this guy take the wrong medicine? Does he not know what kind of place this is?!"

The bodyguard gripped the pistol at his waist and swaggered over to the door. In a vicious tone, he said, "Kid, you have three seconds to get lost, or you're going to die ugly tonight..."

"What's wrong with Johnny? Why's he been standing at the door for so long?"

The other two bodyguards noticed that their companion had been standing at the entrance for too long and sensed that something was wrong. Drawing their pistols, they stepped forward and found the helmeted young man gripping Johnny by the throat with one hand. The burly guard made hoarse choking sounds as he struggled to breathe, as if he could suffocate at any moment.

Bang! Bang!

Using Johnny's body to block the two incoming shots, the helmeted young man rushed in front of one of the guards at astonishing speed. With a heavy elbow strike, he seized the man's pistol, then shot and killed the other guard.

The entire sequence flowed smoothly and cleanly, like an elite soldier who had undergone brutal training. There was no time to react.

"Let me borrow your access card," the young man said mildly, before snapping the bodyguard's neck.

Ring, ring—

Just as Sean was about to take the elevator upstairs, the front desk phone rang. After having a friendly conversation with Mr. Frank D'Amico, who lived on the top floor, he immediately charged upstairs.

The thunderous gunfire woke everyone in the building. After a brief burst of chaos, everyone grabbed a gun and rushed to the doors. They knew an enemy was invading. Though they had no idea who it was, Boss Frank had already given the order: anyone who entered the building tonight was to be killed without mercy!

The elevator doors slowly slid open. The gunmen waiting outside widened their eyes. It was empty. Where had that guy gone? There was only one way up from the lower floors: the elevator. How had he vanished for no reason?

Just as everyone was struggling to make sense of it, a figure dropped down from above the elevator like a swift black phantom. Bright muzzle flashes bloomed in midair as spinning bullets pierced the enemies' heads, harvesting living lives.

The gunmen guarding the entrance were caught completely off guard. Amid a barrage of fierce gunfire, the men at the front fell one after another, as though they were facing an elite unit armed with overwhelming firepower. Muzzle flashes flickered wildly and gunshots rang without pause, suppressing them so thoroughly that they could not mount an effective counterattack and could only endure the violent assault.

No one knew how long it lasted, but the gunfire finally stopped. A gunman hiding behind cover cautiously poked his head out and saw that more than a dozen men had fallen to the ground. Every one of them had been shot in a vital spot, without even a chance to struggle.

"Where is he?"

"How should I know?!"

"That guy must be out of bullets!"

"Let's rush him together and fill him full of holes!"

The gunmen argued among themselves, yet no one was willing to step out immediately. The clean, efficient slaughter from earlier had left a psychological shadow over them. They had heard there was only one enemy, yet he had pinned down over thirty of them so completely that they could not move, let alone dare to fire back. It was simply terrifying!

The space suddenly fell silent, so quiet they could clearly hear their own breathing. After what felt like several agonizingly long minutes, the gunmen finally pulled themselves together, summoned their courage, and stepped out from the corners of the room, trying to find the intruder.

Then the gunfire erupted again!

"Send everyone down there! No, keep them all here instead! When that bastard comes, turn him into a sieve for me!"

Frank no longer had the calm composure of a gangster drug lord. There was obvious panic in his voice. In all these years, no one had ever charged straight into his territory as brazenly as that young man, cutting through everything in his path.

"Boss, he's almost at the twentieth floor," one subordinate holding a Remington shotgun said.

"Fuck, you useless trash! So many people, dozens of guns, and you can't stop one person?!"

Frank cursed furiously. Even now, he had no idea who he had provoked to bring down such a terrifying attack upon himself!

The killing continued.

The elevator never stopped.

With senses beyond those of an ordinary person and a powerful physique, Sean waged a battle that was almost entirely one-sided. The professionally trained bodyguards and gunmen moved slowly and acted in disarray before him. They were utterly incapable of withstanding a blow.

As he made his way upward, two figures—one large, one small—followed closely behind. Former cop Damon had never imagined that he would enter the lair of his lifelong enemy in such a simple way. That terrifying young man was like a precise, cold killing machine. No one could stop his advance.

"Mindy, we'll go up through the elevator shaft!" Damon said to his daughter. He had no intention of letting someone else kill Frank D'Amico.

While everyone's attention was focused on the helmeted young man, Damon led his little daughter in a rush to the top floor. He had investigated Frank D'Amico for a long time and knew that the man had bribed the police, allowing him to conduct his illegal drug-smuggling business without restraint. Even if they put the Drug Lord in prison, he would probably be released soon afterward. So Damon chose to take revenge in his own way!

"Don't be afraid, Mindy. Daddy will stand in front of you."

As a former cop with professional training, Damon possessed formidable combat ability. And under relentless training, his daughter had gained strength far beyond what someone her age should possess.

This one-big, one-small pair had already destroyed several of Frank D'Amico's warehouses and hideouts. In fact, Sean's smooth progress was partly related to that.

"Frank D'Amico, I'm here."