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M: TSIA Chapter 147: Rescuing the Hostage
🕑 Added 2025-04-23 14:49:25 +0000 UTCThe man's face was cold, his gaze sharp, and his low voice sounded full of warning. "Officer, we haven't seen a search warrant..."
Carter was preparing to use his extraordinary "eloquence," but just as he opened his mouth, the sound of a gunshot shattered the air.
A spray of blood erupted from the man's chest, and he staggered back a few steps before finally collapsing, his head held high, his eyes wide in disbelief.
Carter was taken aback, his eyes widening. "Lance, what are you doing?!"
Lance replied calmly, as if it were the most ordinary thing, "They wanted to take Soo Yung." With a swift motion, Lance raised his hand and fired two more shots, the louder gunfire shaking the tranquility of the restaurant.
Why waste time talking to a bunch of lackeys? Just kill them, Lance thought.
Suddenly, two male figures that had previously emerged from around the corner, clearly not good people, fell to the floor with loud screams. Blood flowed freely, splattering onto the wooden floor that hadn't been mopped in ages, and the restaurant was instantly thrown into chaos.
Lance, aware of the turmoil he had just created, clicked his tongue. "Sorry, Sang." However, Lance's words were insincere, like a passing breeze. He continued to ascend to the second floor, his gun still drawn in his hand.
...
...
...
“Mr. Lance, shooting randomly will cause problems,” Lee said calmly.
“I’m sure Consul Han can handle it,” Lance replied casually, checking his weapon magazine without looking at his conversation partner. “Even if Consul Han can’t... the lawyers from Stark Industries surely can.”
“Stark Industries?” Lee frowned, his eyes widening. “Do you know someone from Stark Industries?”
As a Hong Kong police officer, Lee certainly knew—Stark Industries was not just the largest weapons manufacturer in America, but also one of the most powerful conglomerates in the world. The name Tony Stark was a living legend.
“I know Tony Stark. The car we were in earlier belongs to him.” Lance spoke as if discussing lunch, not a genius billionaire playboy CEO.
Lee could only stare in disbelief. “Crazy…”
However, Lee’s awe was abruptly cut off as six or seven automatic rifles emerged from behind the wall across from them. The sound of metal clanging and mechanical clicks rang out loudly—then a rain of bullets began.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Lee screamed and immediately dropped to the ground, covering his head with his hands while rolling in panic behind the nearest sofa.
“Mr. Lance!” Lee shouted, convinced the man was already riddled with bullets.
But Carter’s shout broke Lee’s thoughts. “Wow! Damn! Lee! Come here and see this—Mr. Lance is here!”
Gasping for breath, Lee looked up.
Lance stood in the middle of the room, unharmed, illuminated by the stained glass light from the ceiling. The spotlight reflected a golden sheen all over Lance’s body—like he was coated in softly glowing honey. That aura pulsed, almost liquid, enveloping Lance like an invisible cloak.
The bullets struck that light curtain and ricocheted like pebbles hitting elastic steel. Metal shards flew, whizzing, hitting the walls and floor.
Lee gaped. Some armed men across the way also stopped shooting. Their faces were stunned, their eyes staring blankly while still pulling the triggers— their death machines had run out of ammo.
Lance stepped forward. His voice sounded calm, almost humorous. “Finished shooting? Good. Now... it’s my turn.”
With a swift motion, Lance raised Ivory—the white weapon gleaming like carved bone—and pulled the trigger.
Puff! Puff! Puff! Puff! Puff! Puff!
Six bodies fell almost simultaneously, like straw dolls cut from their strings.
Only one shooter survived, thanks to quick instincts and a clever hiding position. The man had vanished behind the wall before the bullets could sweep him away.
Without much talk, Lance turned, grabbing Ebony—Ivory’s twin, black as jet, looking heavy and solid like old teak wood.
BOOOM!
The deafening explosion echoed. The concrete wall burst apart like fragile paper, leaving a hole the size of a teacup. Blood and body fragments adorned the edges of the hole like a freshly painted horror scene.
Carter jumped over, his eyes sparkling like a child in a toy store. “Mr. Lance, you’re amazing with that gun! But it seems your gun isn’t just any gun. What brand is it? Can you introduce me to the seller?”
Lance merely grinned, the golden light on his body vibrating softly like the breath of a living creature.
Lee emerged from behind the table, trembling but full of curiosity. “Mr. Lance... what is that? Your other superpower?”
Lance shrugged. “Some kind of energy shield.”
Lee shook his head in disbelief. “Are there many people like you in the world?”
“Not many. Maybe just... a few tens of thousands,” Lance replied, recalling the Inhumans hidden in the shadows of the world.
Lee sighed, half in awe, half envious. “Well... that’s sad.” But Lee’s face broke into a smile—hope blossomed again. With someone this strong on their side, Soo Yung could surely be saved.
Ivory sang again, bullets seemingly dancing in the air, taking down criminals one by one. Some of the sneakier enemies managed to hide, but Ebony finished them off with single, clean, deadly shots.
In less than a minute, the battlefield fell silent. Only their breathing remained, and the sound of shell casings still rolling on the floor.
They reached the end of the second floor. Two heavy wooden doors stood tightly shut, guarding something behind them. Above the doors hung a large stone screen, carved with nine dragons writhing in the clouds—symbols of ancient power and pride.
Lance aimed Ebony and fired. Several irregular red holes stained the dragon relief, dripping blood and silence.
The second floor became a graveyard of sound.
Carter, the chatterbox, continued to talk incessantly, like a tireless rapper performing his rap.
However, suddenly, a cold scream echoed from behind the tattered screen.
"Don't move!" The voice was firm, cold, full of threat. A man in a black suit, drenched in cold sweat, emerged from behind the tattered curtain, carefully cradling a child, the boy's head covered with a thick black cloth.
