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However, at that very moment, the metal eagle claw that had pierced Farol's artery was thrown over again without warning, piercing his eye!
With a hellish wail, blood and eyeballs gushed from the man in black's face, followed by a large foot stomping on his stomach. Then, accompanied by the soft whistling of the wind, he lay peacefully on the subway tracks.
"Come on, guys!" Yes, that was Jonathan's voice. He picked up a flashlight and was wiping the blood off the dagger with his clothes.
"You bastard..." Wait, that's a girl's voice? And she's speaking English?
Immediately, there was a whooshing sound. He raised his hand holding the knife, and something knocked his sharp weapon away.
Looking at it through the flashlight, I realized it was another dagger.
"Hey!" Hmm, someone is calling him.
He turned his head and saw a girl with black hair that reached her shoulders, wearing a black military uniform, clenching her fists and glaring at him angrily.
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“Your voice is so nice, girl…” Jonathan raised his fists, took a step back, and assumed a fighting stance.
"I'm going to kill you, you bastard, today for them!"
“Come on,” Jonathan retorted, cracking his knuckles in response. “By the way, I’ve met plenty of girls your age who don’t speak English, but none of them can beat me. So, you get the idea?”
Drink up!
Before the sergeant could even utter a question mark, the girl had already taken a step forward and rushed towards him, her black-gloved fist striking his forehead like a cannonball.
Without much hesitation, he crouched down, grabbed the wrist of the black fist with one hand, turned around and pressed his back against the girl's front, quickly wrapping his other arm around the back of her neck. With minimal effort, the girl was flung off his back like a sandbag, crashing heavily onto the metal bucket in front of her.
Just as he was about to deliver a punch to the girl's face, he seemed to hear footsteps behind him. There must be someone right behind him! He suddenly bent down, and in the instant he turned around, he spread his right arm and clenched his fist. Soon, a familiar black figure appeared in front of him. He raised his arm slightly and, relying on his instincts, threw a heavy punch!
What would the unlucky guy who got hit feel?
Well, he was just feeling pleased with himself for killing an enemy with a single blow when, as if the prey had eyes in the back of its head, it bent down and turned around, only to see a tightly clenched fist slam into its chin. Then, a buzzing sound came from under its head, and it was launched into the air like it had been hit by a car, before landing with a thud on the uneven ground.
"Damn, it still hurts a bit when it hits my chin..." Jonathan rubbed his fist.
He glanced at the girl, then looked back at the man who had stabbed him in the back.
"Looks like only the two of you can still fight." He muttered to himself, "Luckily there wasn't a third one, or we wouldn't have been able to handle it..."
Just as he was about to reach for his pistol, a third enemy appeared and grabbed his throat—another bad boy was dragging him backward.
But this didn't seem to be the worst news—the two children he had knocked down struggled to their feet again.
"Damn it..."
Perhaps, being beaten to death is the only outcome in the world.
But this is the outcome that other people might encounter...
Just as the two people standing in front of him took a step, Jonathan, relying on his instincts, raised one foot and pulled it back sharply, kicking the bad guy behind him hard in the shin with his heel. Then, using the force, he twisted his body and threw the man in black to the front.
The three men in black were pushed together instantly, but they did not fall to the ground.
Before they could even react, the sergeant standing in front of them had already pointed a stolen assault rifle at their heads.
“Behave yourselves, lads… oh no, there’s also a young lady…” he greeted with a smile, slightly out of breath.
"You're the one who should be honest! You bastard!" a man in black said, taking a knife thrown to him by his comrade from behind—it looked somewhat like Jonathan's own. "Sorry, if there were still bullets in the gun, I'd be collecting your corpse now!"
No sooner had he finished speaking than the three of them charged forward again, shouting!
"Fuck your mother..." He had just grasped the trump card, and before he could even warm it up, it had already become a joke—and it seemed that the sergeant hadn't been able to find the trigger anywhere on the gun.
He held the submachine gun horizontally, gripping both ends with his hands, his eyes fixed on the approaching opponents. With a sudden movement, the sergeant smashed the first man down with his weapon, then released the gun, grabbed one end, and swung it like a baseball bat at the second man, knocking him unconscious. The sergeant then rushed forward and kicked him away.
Then, before Jonathan could fully recover his stance, the third one, the girl, made her move. The two exchanged blows, each wielding a dagger, until the sergeant finally got his chance. He grabbed the girl's wrist with one hand, and in a flash, thrust the dagger in his other hand towards her!
But the girl seemed to be no pushover either. As if she had expected this, she immediately freed her other hand, grabbed Jonathan's wrist as he rushed towards her, and twisted it forcefully—and just like that, the two who had been exchanging blows were now wrestling together.
It was a scene that was both tense and hilarious, yet also a bit comical: the sergeant was in a horse stance, his entire left arm tightly clamping the girl's upper body against his chest, while also gripping her wrist that held the knife; his right arm was pulled away and twisted to the side by the girl, the sharp dagger held tightly in his hand, flashing in the air as his arm trembled.
The girl's upper body was paralyzed; only her feet remained, trembling slightly as they rubbed against the ground a short distance from the sergeant. Their foreheads were only a hand's width apart as they glared at each other, their sweat and wounds clearly visible.
"You better not push me, you bastard!" the girl spat out fiercely through her clenched teeth.
"Those two guys are so weak, they can't even beat you," the sergeant replied humorously. "By the way, this is the first time I've ever hugged a girl like this..."
Although the girl's body didn't react violently, you could tell from her furrowed brows that if the sergeant hadn't been holding her so tightly, she could have broken free and stabbed him hard.
Gradually, he moved the knife the girl was about to swing at him to just a few centimeters in front of her neck—it seemed like he was about to succeed.
But in that instant, the sergeant suddenly felt the girl's body become heavier, and he was involuntarily bending forward. Just as this realization flashed through his mind, he saw the girl curl up, and then a knee struck the sergeant's cheek like a cannonball.
Jonathan fell to the side, thankfully not losing consciousness. His mind felt like he was drunk and then someone hit him hard on the face with a stick—it hurt and he felt dizzy.
He hurriedly got up and almost knelt down again.
Before the sergeant could even stand still, he lifted his eyelids at the sound and saw the girl in black, panting heavily, her arm gripping the dagger trembling, slowly walking towards him. Her eyes, like a hunter eyeing its prey, were fixed on her disheveled opponent; it seemed she had no intention of giving up.
“I hate high knees…” Jonathan slowly regained his balance, took a deep breath, and reached up to touch the cut on his face that he didn’t know what had made.
"Serves you right!" the girl shouted, raising her arm holding the dagger once more and charging at the sergeant with all her might.
Suppressing his dizziness, the sergeant reached out and trapped the girl's arms in the air, beginning another standoff between them. Feeling a little lightheaded, he shook his head to clear his head. The girl's eyes remained as fierce as a tiger's as she slowly approached him, seemingly eager to bite off the sergeant's head.
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But this doesn't seem to be the worst of all.
A shout came from behind the girl. The sergeant looked closely and saw that the other two black dogs that had been knocked down were actually staggering to their feet!
Good heavens, is this ever going to end?!
"Fine..." Jonathan roared, his throat like a boiling kettle. "Today, I'll drag you all down with me!"
He suddenly tilted his head back, then slammed his head against the girl's forehead, and with a sudden jerk, he knocked the girl's dagger away, twisted her body behind him, and with one arm like a python, tightly wrapped it around her neck from behind, while with the other arm, he locked her right arm tightly behind her waist, pushing her forward.
All of this happened too fast. In the instant her body was twisted, the girl only saw her comrade rushing towards her. After a scream, her comrade, who hadn't had time to react, plunged the knife into her left chest, and blood slowly flowed out—it didn't hit her heart directly. At this point, she should be thankful that there were no serious problems.
But soon, out of the corner of her eye, the girl saw a gleaming pistol protruding from behind her right shoulder!
“My turn has come…” Jonathan said with a slight smile.
Immediately afterward, a thunderous gunshot rang out. In a flash, in just a flash, a small, blood-red flower bloomed on the black-clad man in front of him. Blood splattered out, and he fell to the ground, lifeless.
"No!—" the girl roared as she looked at her fallen comrade.
And what about the other comrade who was about to rush over to help? Facing that damned pistol, the thunderous roar of the barrel began again, and after two flashes of lightning, that desperate face fell into the darkness, facing the subway roof.
"Your turn." After those few simple words, the large hand behind the girl pushed her forward, causing her to roll onto the ground in front of her. She didn't collapse; instead, she knelt on the ground, one hand on her knee and the other supporting herself on the ground, slowly raising her head to look at the approaching gun barrel.
"I know you're beautiful, but... I'm sorry, goodbye..."
She slowly closed her eyes, tears welling up between her eyelashes and falling to the ground, mingling with the blood.
Immediately afterwards, several thunderclaps rang out, accompanied by a surge of excruciating pain. Her long, black hair fluttered slowly as her body fell, and her breath came to an abrupt halt.
“Sigh…” Jonathan stared with downcast eyes at the blonde girl lying in a pool of blood, her face filled with resentment. “If you hadn’t been sticking to me the whole time, I would have drawn my gun long ago… Not a bad opponent.”
"Are you done, sir?"
A fluent English male voice? He had a bad feeling and pointed the pistol behind him. Another stranger in black, holding a gun, looked at him with contempt.
"Look closely, sir," the man in black said. "Is your pistol malfunctioning?"
The sergeant looked closely and saw that the slide of the pistol had already been pushed back, revealing the small barrel—want to reload? Heh.
“Don’t try to fool me, kid…” he raised his voice to calm himself down, “That empty magazine submachine gun that I use to beat people up shouldn’t be being played with like this by you.”
"You mean that gun with the magazine not even inserted?" The man in black gestured with his chin to the side.
The sergeant glanced over discreetly; the black gun was still lying on the ground as before. And, compared to the one in the uninvited guest's hand, it did seem to be missing something.
“And another one, ‘kid’?” He removed his helmet, revealing a full head of white hair. “You should call me ‘Uncle Squad Leader’! You bastard!”
"Okay, okay, I understand, I understand..." Jonathan raised his outstretched left hand and threw the pistol on the ground.
"Kneel down! Hands behind your head!" The furious roar that cut off the subway echoed between the walls. The sergeant didn't say much, raised his hands, and slammed his knees firmly into the ground.
“You’re pretty good, kid…” The old man still held his gun, aiming at his head. “You caused two squads to kill each other all by yourself, and you can still take on three of them with your bare hands. What a pity.”
Hey! Put your hands on the back of your head!
Eh, subordinate?
A flash of inspiration struck Jonathan—damn, did I almost forget something?!
"Huh? What did you just say?" He trembled unnaturally, raised his eyes to look at the man in black, and deliberately spoke in broken sentences.
"Hand over your head now! Or I'll send you to hell a minute sooner!"
"Okay, okay!"
Suddenly, Jonathan clutched the back of his head, yelled, and immediately collapsed to the ground!
“Karl!—”
Before the old man could react to his shouts, a loud crash of a broken door slamming against a wall assaulted his ears. He grabbed his gun and turned around, and in the beam of his flashlight, two strangers wearing green helmets stood a short distance away, each holding a gun and aiming at him.
"Someone should run away!"
The words had barely left his lips when two distinct gunshots rang out, echoing through the empty surroundings like a raging drum set. But even more terrifying was the flickering light in his hand, which, on the black-clad man's body, conjured dark red flowers of death.
The old man was repeatedly pushed backward by the storm of bullets until he was finally pinned to the wall.
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"Kid..." a weak mutter came out, and the black military uniform fell to the ground amidst the broken bricks and tiles.
"Sergeant!" The two men in green hats grabbed their guns and ran toward Jonathan, who was lying on the ground.
"Not bad, Carl, you didn't hit me." The sergeant smiled. "You guys aren't very confident, but I'm sure Pat won't accidentally hit me."
“Bill, you’re right,” he said, turning to another man, “our enemy does speak English.”
"Alright, let's see if there are any survivors..."
As he spoke, he stood up, picked up the gun that the old man in black had just been holding, and prepared to vent his last bit of anger on the white-haired corpse.
click... click...
Click...
Huh? Why didn't it ring?
The sergeant bent down to examine what might be a magazine.
By the dim light, peeking through the crack, he understood...
"Fuck you!" he roared, using all his strength to slam the black submachine gun and magazine hard onto the lifeless corpse.
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From the pile of corpses nearby, two American soldiers could be heard whispering.
"Corporal...what happened to him?"
"Yeah, this must be the day he hates empty magazines the most..."