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Chapter 297 c
🕑 Added 2025-06-23 15:08:18 +0000 UTCChapter 297 c
A gunman appeared on the second floor of the terminal, just as the group began to realize their dire predicament: several men who had stepped out of the elevator still wearing bullet‑proof vests, began opening fire with their weapons at innocent civilians.
Leo immediately alerted the others.
“Armed terrorists in the terminal.”
“What? How is that possible!?”
Their faces betrayed disbelief—even Leo, though he had anticipated complications, found himself unprepared for this development.
How could this happen by coincidence? They were scheduled to board in San Diego today, and now the terminal was under attack—unless…
At the sound of gunfire, everyone who had been enjoying their meal reflexively dove behind chairs and tables. But no one believed furniture could serve as cover—conventional ballistic weapons would slice through wood like tissue.
Leo quickly scanned the surroundings, noting that the restaurant faced the terminal hall; there was no wall in that direction, only floor‑to‑ceiling windows—windows he knew instantly were not bullet‑proof. Then with sudden resolve, Leo called out.
“Hey, clerk!”
No immediate response. He called again, louder this time. A frazzled waiter finally emerged from behind the counter, small‑eyed and stubbled, looking utterly confused.
“Does this place have a gun?” Leo asked.
“No,” the waiter trembled, adding in a hushed voice, “weapons aren’t allowed in the airport.”
Leo clicked his tongue—this was a problem.
In Night City, any establishment—even a food stall—would at least have one gun. But here? Nothing.
He had only two options: go back to the parking lot or call V, who could pass their weapons inside. Even better would be for him to go himself.
He waved Jackie and the others over.
“Jackie, get behind the counter—you’re safer there.”
They dashed to the counter and crouched behind it beside the waiter.
“Leo, what do we do now?” Jackie asked.
“You stay here. I’m meeting V to get our weapons, then I’ll return.”
Only a handful of attackers had been detected, but if this was the Salamanca Cartel’s doing, there would be many more. They needed their weapons.
With that, Leo left the restaurant.
Everything outside the restaurant was chaos—people screaming, crying, a terminal once orderly now a wreck. Through his tactical goggles, Leo observed the terrorists continuing their rampage on the second floor, the carnage not yet reaching his level.
Suddenly, a voice called from behind him: “Hey, you—”
Before his brain could register, his body reacted—he lunged forward, rolled several times upon landing, picked up a shoe someone had dropped, and threw it instinctively toward the voice’s direction.
Bang!
An airport security guard, caught off guard, let go of his Copperhead assault rifle as the stiletto heel struck him.
Leo intended to pursue, but when he recognized it as a guard and not a terrorist, he stopped.
“It was a misunderstanding—I thought you were…”
Leo’s explanation was cut off as his eyes dilated, and in a flash he leapt at the guard, catching him by the waist and pushing him aside. Both men tumbled, rolling across the floor until they slammed to a stop. The guard’s sidearm fell into Leo’s hands mid‑fall.
The guard, stunned, watched as Leo ran up the stairs and opened fire three times at a terrorist who had partially appeared. The attacker screamed, grabbed his face, and fell from the second floor. Leo followed and, kneeling beside the body, confirmed the kill with one shot to the head. He then looked at the guard who had unknowingly been saved.
The guard stared at the empty bullet hole in the floor where he had been standing; suddenly he understood—Leo’s tackle wasn’t an attack, but protection. He whispered, “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Leo replied, handing back the pistol, and taking the terrorist’s own Copperhead light assault rifle.
He ejected the partially spent magazine—still more than half full—reinserted it, and loaded the remaining magazines into his gear. The guard watched, at a loss, until Leo finished loading, then spoke up.
“Sir, you know this is against airport regulations.”
Without pausing, Leo replied, “Does saving your life violate regulations too? Listen—I’m not a rookie. I’m a PMC. There’s an active situation here—won’t an extra skilled shooter help?”
“But…” the guard hesitated.
“I’m on your side. My actions show that, right? You don’t want terrorists taking over your airport, do you?”
The guard wavered before replying, “Alright—but once all terrorists are neutralized, you must surrender all weapons. I’ll cover your violation with airport authorities.”
“That’s fair. In emergencies, exceptions apply,” Leo said.
Suddenly a figure appeared in his sight. He raised the Copperhead, shouted “Get back!”—but pulled the trigger to no effect: the rifle jammed.
It turned out the terrorist’s gun, while a military‑grade weapon, had a cheap, non‑spec magazine—one of those made by small‑scale manufacturers cutting costs, leaving one or two rounds empty to prevent jams. When fully loaded, the defects showed.
Realizing the issue, Leo dove aside as bullets zipped past the spot where he had stood. He flung the malfunctioning rifle at the attacker, then leapt forward like a knight's charge—closing distance before the enemy could react.
He shouted and executed a spin kick, stomping into the attacker’s face. The man’s bones visibly caved in; he flew several meters backwards like a marionette with severed strings, landing with a heavy thud—motionless, clearly dead.
The guard, who witnessed Leo’s decisive takedown, handed him his own Copperhead.
“Sir, take mine—it’s new, it shouldn’t jam.”
Leo took the weapon. He had already noticed the attacker’s rifle was a Copperhead produced by Nocotra—a low‑end manufacturer on par with India’s Daraltech, Serbia’s Rostovic, and Budget Firearms. Not glamorous, but reliable enough; Nocotra focused on basic functionality.
He checked the magazine—this one showed the required buffer space, not fully filled—ready for action.
A solid choice.
A crackle came over Leo’s comms, and then V’s voice came through:
“Leo, can you hear me?”
“V, are you okay?” Leo responded.
“I’m fine,” she said urgently. “But listen—multiple vehicles packed with armed forces have overtaken the outside of the airport…watch out—a rocket launcher’s inbound!”
Before she could finish, a massive explosion rocked the terminal—like an earthquake through the floors, every person inside felt the tremor.
