Chapter 56: Chaos Escalates

After Luca and Shield Mountain finished speaking, everyone exchanged glances and immediately understood what they were thinking.

In their current predicament, even if they managed to shake off those crazed gangsters, escaping the police helicopters overhead would be no easy matter.

Besides, there was no guarantee that the gangs surging in from every direction would be easy to deal with.

Rather than risk overturning at any moment while continuing to wear themselves down against these people, they might as well find somewhere to abandon the vehicle.

As long as they were careful, without such a large target as the car, they ought to be able to slip away without a sound.

Hearing this, Wrench, who was driving ahead, did not hesitate. He immediately floored the accelerator and charged toward the Hudson River.

Just as Luca and the others settled on their destination and began turning, the gangsters trailing them from behind had not let up for a second.

At that moment, a massive pickup truck whose body was covered in a chaotic patchwork of metal plating was speeding forward from the very rear of the pursuing convoy, throwing sparks in every direction.

No one knew which genius had modified what had once been an ordinary oversized pickup.

The vehicle was covered not only in metal armor that was presumably meant to stop bullets; its front end had also been fitted with a set of sharp ramming spikes secured by several iron pipes.

Barbed wire was wound densely around both sides of the truck, and even the axles of all four wheels had been fitted, in a distinctly punk fashion, with four blades shaped like triangular pyramids.

Barreling down the street, the entire vehicle looked as though a heavily armed barbarian cavalryman had suddenly wandered into the midst of modern civilians.

It plowed straight ahead, showing not the slightest intention of swerving to avoid the other vehicles.

A shirtless brute standing atop the truck waved a Molotov cocktail in his hand, openly mocking all the weaklings around him.

“Yarr hahahaha! Get the hell out of my way! This is Big Brother Vladimir’s convoy behind us! Anyone who doesn’t want to die, get the hell to the side!”

As he roared arrogantly, he also pulled a submachine gun from beneath his crotch and fired wildly into the sky.

Golden shell casings clattered down onto the roof beneath his feet.

Unfortunately, for all his shouting—and despite the fact that some vehicles did choose to give way—that was only because most people did not want to lose their chance to make an impression by getting caught in a crash.

In truth, most of the other gangsters did not take him or the so-called “Boss Vladimir” he kept mentioning very seriously.

What was more, the area was filled with roaring engines and the nonstop crack of gunfire. How many people could actually hear what he was saying was anyone’s guess.

When the muscular brute saw the vehicle ahead move aside only slightly while everyone else ignored him, embarrassment and fury overtook him.

He abruptly swung around and hurled the Molotov cocktail at the Jeep beside him.

The bottle, filled with a mixture of alcohol and gasoline, exploded against the Jeep with a bang.

A wall of fire instantly engulfed the entire vehicle.

Panic-stricken screams erupted from inside.

One unlucky man, who had already been leaning halfway out of the vehicle in preparation to fire ahead, was wrapped in flames and gasoline in the blink of an eye. Screaming, he burst through the window and flung himself out.

The burning Jeep skidded wildly out of control and slammed into a nearby building.

Boom!

A fireball rose into the air.

Seeing the havoc caused by his single Molotov cocktail, the muscular brute once again burst into wild laughter.

“Yarr hahahaha! You idiots dare block my way! All of you can—”

Several bullets struck his bare upper body at once.

The brute looked down in confusion.

Several bright-red bullet holes were scattered across his chest, as though mocking his arrogance and madness.

The pain of being shot had not yet reached his brain, but blood still gushed from his mouth as he toppled backward.

Inside the news van, Green Bull, who was tinkering with explosives beside Samira, happened to see her raise her weapon and fire at the man.

With a strange look on his face, he asked, “Wolf Spider, why did you shoot him? A lunatic like that might have continued disrupting the pursuers.”

At Green Bull’s question, Samira merely glanced at him while replacing her magazine. Her expression remained cold as she turned back around.

“Letting an exhibitionist like that run naked through the streets would corrupt the children.”

With that, Samira paid no attention to anyone else’s reaction and raised her weapon again.

Thornmail, who had been laughing as he fired controlled bursts at one of the pursuing cars, suddenly froze when he heard this. He then stole a glance at Luca, who was still concentrating on the road ahead.

After considering his own usual conduct on the battlefield, his movements became noticeably stiffer. Even his laughter and curses grew much quieter.

At precisely the same moment, everyone was astonished to discover that the pursuing convoy, which had previously maintained a steady formation, suddenly erupted in gunfire.

More importantly, the flashes from those muzzles were not aimed at the news van.

Rather, the pursuing vehicles that had been trailing behind with nothing but their engines pushed to the limit were now firing indiscriminately at their nearby “companions.”

In fact, this all came down to the shots Samira had fired moments earlier.

The muscular brute had been hit in the chest several times and fallen backward.

However, while standing on the roof, he had hooked the insteps of both feet around the haphazardly connected metal pipes on the truck’s body to keep himself from accidentally falling off.

So after being shot, he was not thrown from the roof.

Instead, with a clang, he crashed heavily onto the barbed wire stretched across the roof.

The impact did not kill the wounded man immediately. On the contrary, the pain from the collision and the spikes brought him a fleeting moment of clarity.

Unfortunately, the brute had been too busy admiring his own handiwork to notice who had fired the shots at him.

With death approaching, he simply clamped his index finger around the trigger and began flailing his arm wildly.

He showered every vehicle on one side of him with a final parting gift.

The lackeys inside the truck also noticed their leader being shot and collapsing before firing back. Naturally, they assumed he was retaliating against the enemy who had attacked him.

Without the slightest hesitation, the lackeys raised their submachine guns and began sweeping fire across each of the targets their boss had shot at, cursing all the while.

“Go to hell, you stinking sewer rats!”

The modified pickup was originally positioned in the middle of the convoy.

Since the vehicles in this area were relatively far from the news van, very few of the nearby gangsters had actually chosen to open fire.

After all, not everyone possessed the superb marksmanship and excellent equipment of the Inverted A Squad.

Their actions were like striking a match beside a powder keg.

The attacked vehicles stared in bewilderment for an instant, then immediately began cursing and firing back.

In moments, the middle of the entire convoy erupted in a storm of gunfire.

The barrage even drowned out the gangsters who were genuinely pursuing them farther ahead.