EFB Chapter 6 Are you really human?
Chapter 6 Are you really human?
boom!
The gunshots echoed briefly through the metal walls of the abandoned factory.
And the sound of something falling into the water.
As the gunshot rang out, Carl Jensen dodged sideways into the rusty cargo door.
Inside the door was a spacious loading and unloading area, with broken wooden crates and oil stains scattered on the ground.
Two Mexican men were smoking next to a shipping container 30 meters away.
They were turning to look at the door when they heard the gunshot, their hands reaching behind their waists.
Jason's right hand was already raised.
A Glock 19X, the suppressor appears as an extension of the barrel in the dim light.
He pulled the trigger twice.
The first shot hit the left side of the man's neck.
The bullet passed between the carotid artery and cervical vertebrae, severing the trachea and major blood vessels.
The second shot struck the man on the right side of the neck, shattering his Adam's apple and penetrating his cervical spine.
The two fell almost silently.
The only sounds were the dull thud of a body hitting the concrete floor and the wet splattering of blood gushing from the neck.
"one two three……"
"Jensen said in a low voice."
The gun muzzle moved to the next direction.
Several thin, dark red lines floated in the air before his eyes.
That was the guidance of the "hunting dog," not actual light, but a trajectory projected directly into his consciousness, connecting him to the target related to the cause and effect of his suffering.
At this moment, more than thirty lines intertwine deep within the factory, pointing to different human-shaped silhouettes.
He walked toward the iron gate deep inside the loading and unloading area.
He held the gun in his left hand and took the AR rifle off his back with his right.
The Iron-level body enhancement made this movement as fluid as breathing.
The threshold for muscles and bones to withstand recoil has increased by at least three times.
The stability of the joints makes it possible to hold different weapons with both hands and fire them.
Behind the door is the old workshop.
Rusty machine tools lined up on both sides, forming natural cover and obstructing the view.
Five armed men were scattered among the machine tools and were moving toward the door after hearing the commotion.
Jensen stopped at the edge of the door frame.
He closed his eyes for half a second, and the lines of the [Hound Dog] became clearer in the darkness.
He then raised his rifle, shouldered it, and locked onto the first target through the ACOG scope.
boom!
The bullet passed through the gap between two machine tools and struck a bald man between the eyebrows.
The body fell backward.
The other four began to fight back.
The pistol bullets hit the door frame and the wall, scattering debris, but it all looked like the outline of a human body.
Why can't I hit it? (jpg)
Jason moved his body slightly, then took a step forward, and the muzzle of his rifle moved horizontally.
boom!
The second person's chest exploded with blood.
The third person hid behind the machine tool, with only half of his arm showing.
Jason lowered the muzzle of his gun two inches and pulled the trigger.
The bullet passed through a gap at the bottom of the machine tool and hit the ankle.
Amidst screams, the man staggered, revealing half of his body.
The second bullet hit his chest.
"The second one, the third one."
Jason said the sound was almost inaudible in the muffled thud and echo of the silencer.
The remaining two began to retreat, firing their guns haphazardly as they went.
Jason slung the rifle behind him and gripped the pistol with both hands.
He walked forward with steady steps, sometimes slightly turning his body or lowering his head, and the bullets were dodged like raindrops.
When the distance closed to ten meters, he fired two shots.
A single shot hit a person in the right shoulder, impairing their ability to hold a weapon.
Another shot hit another person in the abdomen.
After the two men fell to the ground, he approached them and fired a shot into their heads.
Shouts and running sounds came from deep within the workshop.
The footsteps were chaotic, converging on the more central area of the factory.
Jason picked up his rifle again and continued forward, following the red line.
The offices behind the factory were converted from shipping containers.
Thirty Mexican gang members gathered here; now only twenty remain.
The air was thick with the smells of sweat and fear.
The gunfire started ten minutes ago.
First came a muffled thud from afar, followed by a brief scream, and then more gunshots.
Moreover, these were all very short exchanges of fire.
None of the five people sent out to investigate returned.
Williams Fender stood in the center of the office, holding a chrome-plated .45 pistol.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his eyes kept scanning the doors and windows.
"How many of them are there, damn it?"
He roared.
No one answered.
Everyone was holding weapons, pointing in different directions.
The windows were boarded up, leaving only gaps for observation and shooting.
In the corner, George Frank huddled behind the table.
He was wearing a sheriff's bulletproof vest, and the police Glock in his hand was trembling.
The briefcase was placed at his feet, its zipper open, revealing documents and a stack of cash inside.
"We need to get out."
Frank said in a low voice,
"This is a trap."
"Shut up."
Williams said,
"There are twenty brothers here. Do you want to die if you go out?"
"Then why are the gunshots getting closer?"
Frank's voice was trembling.
A guard was peering out through a crack in the window.
It was already dark, and only a few emergency lights were still on in the factory area, casting long shadows.
"See what?"
Williams asked.
"without--"
The younger brother didn't finish speaking.
boom.
A bullet entered through a crack in the window and struck his right eye.
His head slammed backward, and then his body went limp.
"Fire! Fire!" Williams shouted.
Seven or eight guns fired at the same time out the window.
Bullets struck the walls and the ground, sending sparks flying.
It stopped after about ten seconds.
A silence.
The only sounds were the clinking of spent cartridge cases hitting the ground and heavy breathing.
Genestil Doug crouched next to Williams, holding a miniature submachine gun in his hand.
He was the only one in the group who had attended high school, and he was responsible for bookkeeping and communication.
His face was pale, and his lips were moving silently, as if he were praying.
boom.
Gunshots came from the window on the other side.
The Genesteel exploded, splattering fragments of the Gundam's head and oil all over Williams' face.
Gundam slowly collapsed.
"Hold!"
Williams wiped his face, his hands covered in a warm, sticky liquid.
Fear froze in the room.
The remaining eighteen people began to push and shove each other, and some of them cried out.
"I don't want to die."
Frank muttered, then his voice grew louder.
"I don't want to die! I can't die!"
He grabbed his briefcase, stood up abruptly, and rushed toward the back door of the office.
That was his escape route; there was a path outside the door where his car was parked.
Wherever he goes, he becomes the law enforcement officer...
"etc!"
Williams shouted, but it was too late.
Frank turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.
BOOM!
The explosion was not violent, but it was close enough.
The door frame shattered inwards, and Frank was thrown back into the room by the blast wave.
He tumbled halfway through the air and crashed heavily to the ground.
The left arm disappeared below the elbow, with jagged wounds exposing bone and muscle tissue.
He lay on the ground screaming, his voice shrill and piercing.
Almost simultaneously, the front door was kicked open.
Smoke and dust rushed in.
A figure stood in the doorway, backlit, only its outline visible.
Gunshots rang out.
It wasn't continuous sweeping fire, but precise short bursts.
boom! boom! boom!
Each gunshot was accompanied by the sound of a body falling to the ground.
The people in the room began to fight back.
The bullets struck the door frame and the wall, but none hit the figure.
The figure moved through the smoke and dust with steady steps, firing one or two bullets with each pause.
Someone tried to climb out through the side window.
He had barely poked half his body out when he was shot in the back of the neck.
Someone was hiding behind the overturned table.
The bullet pierced the table and struck the chest.
Someone knelt down and raised their hand. A bullet struck their forehead.
Twenty seconds.
Maybe thirty seconds.
The gunfire stopped.
The smoke and dust settled slowly.
Gundams lay scattered haphazardly on the office floor.
Blood spread across the cement floor, forming dark puddles.
Only two people remained standing.
Williams Fender leaned against the wall, the muzzle of his .45 rifle hanging limply.
His face was splattered with blood, his eyes wide open, staring at the person at the door.
Carl Jensen entered the room.
He held the rifle in his left hand, the muzzle slightly lowered.
The pistol in his right hand was already tucked back into its leg sheath.
The bulletproof vest was covered in dust, but there was no damage.
He scanned the room, his gaze sweeping over the Gundams.
His lips moved silently, as if he were counting.
Finally, he looked at Williams.
"Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one."
Jason said.
The voice was calm, without any panting.
Williams looked at him, at the face shrouded in shadow, at the eyes that seemed too bright in the dim light. He opened his mouth, his throat dry.
"Shit." He finally managed to squeeze out a word, his voice hoarse, "Are you even human?"
Jason did not answer. He raised his rifle, aiming the muzzle at Williams's forehead.
In the distance, George Frank was still groaning, but his voice was growing weaker and weaker.
boom!boom!
The factory fell silent once again.