While Desert Eagle and Laughing Master stood on the roof watching the spectacle, Blackwater Lane in the distance had already erupted into complete chaos.
Talan Raider and his three confidants had barely stepped away from Nok's house when a gang of vicious-looking thugs came running after them.
Every one of them wore a sleeveless vest, baring sinewy, muscular arms. In their hands, they carried a motley assortment of weapons—rifles, handguns, shotguns, and short knives.
At first, Talan thought they had just been swept into some gang firefight—until one of the pursuers fired a shotgun blast into the air and bellowed right at him:
"Hey, you up front! Freeze!"
"Don't move!"
A flurry of thoughts flashed through Talan's mind in an instant: had Nok sold them out, or were these gang members hired by the Enlightenment Society? But then Pickled Cabbage Fish grabbed his arm.
"Holy shit! Run!!"
Realizing this was no time to ponder, Talan snapped back to his senses and bolted without another word.
"Run!"
Seeing their corps leader sprint out in front, the other three players hurriedly scrambled after him, charging toward the far end of the alley.
Between the four of them, each had only a pistol, and together they couldn't even scrape up ten spare magazines. Meanwhile, the other side had shotguns, rifles, and everything in between—their firepower wasn't even on the same level!
Even with the abilities of an Awakened, this wasn't the kind of situation to play reckless.
Seeing the fat meat practically in his mouth about to slip away, Morse hastily rallied the Hyena Gang thugs to give chase.
And so the pack tore through the streets, pursuing them at full tilt.
Hearing bullets whizzing overhead, Talan cursed in shock and fury.
"Holy shit, have these NPCs gone out of their minds?! I'm just running a normal quest here! Is this really how it works?!"
Even as he spoke, a stray bullet grazed past his ear.
The sonic crack rushing into his ear canal frightened him into shrinking his neck, his legs pumping even faster.
This was a new map separated from their save and respawn points by multiple time zones.
If he died here, not only would he drop all his gear, but all unsaved EXP would be lost, and the hidden quest he just received would vanish into thin air.
"Taking a bath" wouldn't even begin to describe the loss—he'd be utterly ruined!
Hot on the corps leader's heels, Medical Miracle couldn't help snarking, "It's because you're too damn dense!"
Pickled Cabbage Fish: "Exactly! I'm siding with the trash dev on this one."
Talan Raider: "Motherfucker, what kind of time is it for infighting?! Can't you curse the trash dev with me?!"
Angry Fatty Liver: "..."
Medical Miracle: "If I were Ah Guang, I'd definitely spawn a massive wave right in your face."
Pickled Cabbage Fish: "A massive what—"
Before Old Cai could finish his sentence, another ill-intentioned crowd burst into the path ahead of them.
Unlike the vest-wearing brutes behind them, this group was dressed impeccably in suits, exuding a far more refined air.
Refined as they were, however, the PU-9 submachine guns in their hands made it clear they weren't here to reason.
Alarm bells went off in Talan Raider's mind. He grabbed Pickled Cabbage Fish beside him and ducked into an alley off the side of the street with the others.
Almost the moment they rounded the corner, tongues of fire spat from the dark muzzles.
The chattering rattle of automatic gunfire flooded the street, a tempest of bullets and gunpowder instantly peppering the earthen buildings along the roadway with rows of pockmarks.
Not only were Talan and his three confidants startled, but Morse, York, and the gang hot on their tail were also taken aback, quickly scattering to take cover.
One unfortunate thug took a stray bullet to the chest, blood instantly splashing everywhere before his fellow gang members hastily dragged him behind cover.
Looking at the boy lying unconscious in a pool of blood, Morse's eyes turned freezing cold. Murderous intent oozed from his gaze as he glared across the street at the sharply dressed man, his voice hissing between clenched teeth like a striking viper:
"Tony... What the hell is the meaning of this?"
The Iron Hand Gang!
The other major faction in Blackwater Lane, operators of the largest nightclub and casino in the entire district!
Unlike Morse, Tony's clientele wasn't limited to the cockroaches of Blackwater Street; from time to time, even Wilante patrons frequented his establishments—especially military aristocrats.
Because of this, Morse had always been wary of him and loath to start a conflict lightly.
With a cigarette butt dangling from his lips, Tony calmly slotted a fresh magazine into his submachine gun, chambering a round with a crisp clack.
"Nothing. Fair game to whoever gets them."
Morse glanced back at his dying flunky and said angrily, "What about my man?"
Tony curled the corner of his lip slightly and replied in an unhurried drawl, "I stepped on a cockroach when I left the house today. What's that got to do with me?"
Normally, the Wilante forbade gang shootouts, so both sides kept a lid on things. Even when killing, they wouldn't commit brazen murders out in the open street—no one wanted to bring down the garrison's iron fist.
Today, however, was different. The garrison had issued a bounty, so any casualties could easily be chalked up to crossfire in the scuffle.
Those Wilante didn't genuinely care whether they lived or died. Having dealt frequently with those big-nosed soldiers, Tony knew precisely where the boundaries lay.
That was why he didn't give a damn about these "hyenas" in front of him.
This arrogant attitude completely enraged Morse and the pack of "hyenas" beside him.
"Doctor" York snapped first. Roaring in fury, he brought up his pipe assault rifle and sprayed a burst of "Brownian motion bullets" across the street.
"Eat shit, Tony! You and all the whores next to you!"
The whizzing bullets sent the Iron Hand Gang members scrambling for cover.
Taped-together pipe rifle or not, it had zero accuracy, but the bullets it spit were seven-millimeter after all.
Infuriated by the crude insult, Tony narrowed his eyes to slits, plucked the cigarette butt from his mouth, threw it to the ground, and crushed it under the toe of his shoe.
"You asked for it."
With that, he flicked his index finger forward. A cohort of suited men, radiating murderous intent, raised their PU-9 submachine guns and sprayed rapid bursts toward the other side of the street.
Unlike street fighting between regular troops, this gang clash had zero precision. Most of them hid completely behind cover, blindly sticking their guns out around the corners to spray fire.
After all, they had no medical insurance. Killing someone won them no medals, and getting killed wouldn't even earn them an urn for their ashes. Neither side wanted to look weak, but almost none of them were truly willing to throw their lives away.
The two factions traded fire back and forth for quite a while. Plenty of ammunition was expended, yet hardly anyone actually caught a bullet and hit the ground.
Talan, crouching in the side alley, was dumbfounded. Beside him, Medical Miracle swallowed hard.
"Wait, why are they fighting each other?!"
"How the hell should I know..."
Talan peeked out and took a careful look at the two groups, noticing their completely distinct styles of dress.
Just then, he spotted a familiar face among the group on the left.
The moment he saw that face, Talan's eyes widened in fury, and he roared:
"Nok! Why did you betray me?!"
Hearing the name Nok, Morse, in the middle of shooting it out with Tony, paused for a beat, then burst out laughing like a lunatic.
"Nok? Daddy ain't named no Nok! Remember your daddy's name—I'm Broken Finger! Sucker!"
Hearing "your daddy" three times in a row left Talan completely stunned, feeling like he'd been kicked in the head by a donkey.
He, a Five-Star Good Citizen of Los Santos, had actually been mocked by an NPC?!
Behind him, Medical Miracle didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but eventually tears of laughter escaped him.
"Bwahahaha, holy shit!"
"What a brain-dead corps leader..."
"I'm dead, he got played by an AI!"
Listening to his three confidants laugh at him without restraint, Talan's face flushed the color of pork liver. The humiliation felt worse than death.
After all, respawning was a matter of three days, but being mocked on the forums was forever.
"Dammit..."
He cursed, pulling the pistol tucked behind his waist, intending to join the brawl and win back some dignity, but quick-handed Medical Miracle grabbed him.
"Holy shit, bro, calm down!"
Pickled Cabbage Fish chimed in nervously, "Yeah, boss, don't lose your head! We're just messing around! Even if we jump ship, we wouldn't do it in the middle of a quest—at least wait until we finish it!"
With the two trying to talk him down, Talan gradually regained his composure and began turning over escape strategies.
If two gangs had targeted them simultaneously, it most likely wasn't just for money...
Especially that "Broken Finger" pretending to be Nok.
If it were for money, he would have struck back when Talan knocked on the door, rather than waiting until now!
At this thought, an idea struck Talan. He turned to Fatty Liver, who hadn't spoken this whole time.
"Fatty, log off and check the forums."
Fatty Liver opened his eyes and said calmly, "...I just got back from offline. The thirty guys back at our inn have already been wiped out in one fell swoop."
At this very moment, the forum was overflowing with cheerful schadenfreude. After all, with the war having gone on for so long, this was the first time an Alliance corps had been captured "en masse" like this.
And by a bunch of guards, no less.
However, he didn't share these trivial details with his corps leader.
They were all grasshoppers on the same rope right now; mocking each other served no purpose.
After hearing Fatty Liver's report, Talan thought to himself, *Just as I suspected.*
The thirty members at the inn had been rounded up; the Wilante really had set their sights on them.
Yet why was it gangs coming after them here?
In an instant, a possibility flashed across Talan's mind.
*They don't have proof!*
It wasn't that the Wilante were sticklers for rules, but rather that any system operated on established procedures; it couldn't allow individuals within it to act on whims.
Whoever issued the order bore the responsibility—this logic held true even within the Legion.
In other words, the port garrison targeting them hadn't acted on higher orders, but on unauthorized suspicion alone.
Those Wilante lacked sufficient evidence to prove that their group were Alliance spies!
If they died during a pursuit as recognized Alliance citizens, it might not trouble the Southern Legion at large, but it would definitely spell trouble for the local garrison.
So they outsourced the dirty work to local gangs. That way, even if they only recovered corpses, they could shift the blame onto gang violence, sweeping a diplomatic incident under the rug as a mere public security matter.
Talan's thoughts raced, and he quickly reached a decision.
"Fatty Liver, go offline and message our guys. Sync up their stories! Tell them to stick to one story: we're here for... a business inspection."
Fatty Liver smiled faintly. "They've already synced their stories... Though they didn't say business inspection, they said tourism."
Medical Miracle couldn't help giving a thumbs-up. "Badass!"
Pickled Cabbage Fish praised him as well. "Genius! You should just be the corps leader instead."
The corner of Fatty Liver's mouth twitched into a subtle smile.
Although he actually hadn't had anything to do with coordinating it, there seemed little point in explaining.
Hearing how proactive his members had been, Talan looked pleasantly surprised.
The quality of this new batch of recruits was surprisingly high; it seemed his ambition of pushing into T0 wasn't so far-fetched after all!
The only fly in the ointment was that tourism sounded a bit flimsy, so it was hardly surprising that the authorities were convinced something was up with them.
Still, that worked too.
Talan's eyes gleamed slightly as a new plan took shape.
"I'll cover your retreat. In a moment, find a way to break north. Get out of the settlement first, then wait for my word."
Pickled Cabbage Fish looked at his corps leader in surprise. "What about you?"
"I'm turning myself in."
A smile tugged at the corner of Talan's lips. Looking at his three astonished confidants, he said calmly:
"I hear the Enlightenment Society is calling for vault residents to unite and resist the remnants of the Post-War Reconstruction Committee."
"I wonder if they take vault residents who see the light and switch sides."
...
With a Level 30 Awakened joining the fray, the skirmish in Blackwater Lane reached a fever pitch.
A veteran who had once died by Pangolin's hand, Talan Raider might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but when it came to raw combat skill, he was no slouch.
First, he formed a human ladder to boost his three subordinates up and away. Then, armed with only a pistol, he carved his way single-handedly through the crossfire between the two factions.
Fortunately, while searching for the quest coordinates earlier, he had circled Blackwater Lane multiple times, which amounted to scouting the area beforehand.
He was far from familiar with the terrain, but at least he wasn't scrambling around like a headless fly.
After cutting through two streets, he charged straight into a crowded marketplace and fired several warning shots into the sky, instantly throwing the whole market into total pandemonium.
Seeing the fellow dash into the market, Morse and Tony, pursuing close behind, turned green.
Sure enough, shortly after that blockhead escalated the chaos, a squad of heavily armed guards in an assault van roared onto the scene.
Seeing the armored guards, Talan tossed his pistol aside without hesitation, raised his hands, and walked against the fleeing crowd toward them, wearing an expression of terrified shock.
"Thank God! You're finally here!"
The leading centurion stepped up to him with a grim expression.
"Were you the one shooting?"
Talan widened his eyes in disbelief. "Me?! What kind of joke is that? I'm just a tourist! Here's my VM—it has my electronic visa inside! I came through customs completely legally!"
Customs registration involved a physical search upon entry. Unlike stowaways, legal travelers were protected under Triumph City law.
At least nominally.
As he spoke, Talan pointed behind him toward the pursuing gang members.
"They're the ones shooting! Ask anyone around here and they'll tell you!"
The centurion narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the Alliance citizen before him, his nose practically thrust into that ugly, obnoxious face.
He naturally knew what sort of scum those gang members were, but he hadn't anticipated that the bounty his own side issued would end up giving this fellow an excuse to claim he was being hunted and seek protection.
Still, it didn't matter.
At least the man was in custody.
The thirty Alliance citizens captured earlier had all insisted they were here for tourism, treating the guards like complete fools.
This was the wasteland.
Who the hell went vacationing in enemy territory?
Having given up hope of prying anything out of those thirty, he hoped this man would be the breakthrough.
"Get in the van."
Talan exhaled, putting on a look of sheer relief. "Thank you."
Not wanting to hear his nonsense, the centurion shoved him forward and handed him off to his adjutant.
A vest-wearing gang member hesitated, then stepped forward to ask for his reward.
"Hey, uh..."
Without so much as a glance at the clueless fool, the centurion waved his hand, ordering his men to drag him along as well, counting him as captured plunder to report for the mission.
Hiding in the crowd, Morse watched the departing assault van with a dark expression, thoughts churning behind his eyes.
Tony, who had been shooting at him just moments before, stood right beside him, lighting up another cigarette.
"A garrison centurion... Looks like this coin isn't so easy to earn after all. That settles it—the Iron Hand Gang is out. Play by yourselves."
Morse shot him a glance, his smile cold and humorless. "My deepest thanks."
"Don't mention it. If you really want to thank me, save it for your funeral... A mosquito is still meat, small as it is. I'll take good care of your turf for you."
Tossing his submachine gun to an underling, Tony gave him a mocking smirk and turned to swagger away with his men, ignoring the glares from the hyenas.
York glared murderously at Tony until his back disappeared at the end of the market, then turned to his boss and lowered his voice.
"Boss... are we really just going to let this go?"
Morse's eyes narrowed to slits as he pulled his gaze away from Tony's direction and fixed it where the assault van had departed, pronouncing each word with deliberate weight:
"I never do business at a loss..."
"This isn't over."
*The Enlightenment Society...*
He had lived in this city for so long, yet this was the first time he had ever heard of this organization.
Muttering the name under his breath, Morse gave a slight nod of his chin and turned to lead his thugs away.
At the same time, on a distant rooftop.
Watching the spectacle, Desert Eagle and Laughing Master finally finished munching through the sunflower seeds in their pockets.
Seeing Talan ditch his weapon and walk toward the Wilante cops of his own accord, the former widened his eyes in surprise and offered a rare word of praise.
"Impressive... The dummy's got some moves. He actually came up with turning himself in."
He could roughly guess what the guy was trying to pull.
If it was really what he thought, they might just be able to pull off some teamwork.
Laughing Master turned to him and asked, "What now? What's our move?"
"Wait by the tree for the hare to drop."
Flicking the seed shells off the edge of the roof, Desert Eagle dusted his hands and picked up the duffel bag resting beside him.
It held all his gear:
a disassembled sniper rifle, a submachine gun, several hand grenades, and a drone.
As for how he had brought these inside, it was simple enough.
Neither he nor his teammate had taken the conventional route after disembarking. Instead, they had exploited blind spots in the customs NPCs' field of view, glitching their way past security.
"If the Enlightenment Society noticed them, they'll probably scout around the garrison station where they're being held... We'll stake out the perimeter and mark any suspicious characters."
Laughing Master: "What counts as suspicious?"
Desert Eagle grinned. "NPCs acting as sneaky as us, or the same face showing up several days in a row. Make good use of the drone and facial recognition... Don't just stand there like an idiot. Let's move."
Everything was proceeding according to plan!
Watching the seed shells flutter away in the wind, Laughing Master sighed, "Talk about zero public manners."
Chapter 884