116: Chapter 116 The oil wells here are very deep

The windshield of the lincoln Navigator was pelted by sand and gravel, making a pattering sound.

The weather in Texas is just like the people in this place; it turns hostile in the blink of an eye.

Ten minutes ago, the sun was blazing, but now yellow sand has already washed over the hood, and visibility has dropped to less than twenty meters.

"Hold the steering wheel tight."

Chen Mo unbuttoned his suit jacket and rested the shotgun he had just bought on the passenger-side armrest box.

The barrel had been sawed off, revealing a jagged segment of rifling, like a beast with broken teeth.

"Wh—what?"

Ava Rockefeller gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles turning white.

In the rearview mirror, four or five blinding headlights tore through the sky full of yellow sand; they were modified off-road motorcycles, biting at the tail of the lincoln like hyenas.

Bang!

A gunshot rang out, and a hole exploded in the rear windshield.

"Keep your head down and step on the gas. Don't let up until I tell you to stop."

Chen Mo pressed the sunroof switch.

The wind and sand poured in instantly, making it impossible to open one's eyes.

Chen Mo wasn't wearing goggles. He squinted his eyes and slipped out of the sunroof like a loach.

The wind was strong, whipping his collar with a loud fluttering sound.

Those motorcyclists clearly hadn't expected this car, which had been chased like a rabbit, to fight back.

The leader, wearing wind goggles and holding an Uzi, was preparing to pull up close and open fire.

Chen Mo braced the butt of the shotgun against his shoulder.

This fully automatic shotgun was a meat grinder at close range.

Boom! Boom!

Two loud bangs drowned out the sound of the wind.

There was no need to aim. Large buckshot sprayed out, instantly shredding the rider's upper body. The red mist of blood was swallowed by the yellow sand before it could even dissipate.

The motorcycle lost control and spun on the ground like a top, tripping the two bikes behind it, rolling them all into a pile of scrap metal.

"Is that all you've got?"

Chen Mo spat out the sand in his mouth.

A Ford pickup truck with a reinforced bumper charged down from a sand dune on the side.

A burly man stood in the truck bed wielding an M249 machine gun, the tongue of fire from the muzzle particularly conspicuous in the sandstorm.

Bullets struck the bulletproof door panel of the lincoln, making a teeth-grinding metallic clanging sound.

"Go faster!" Chen Mo shouted into the car.

Ava screamed and floored the gas pedal, the V8 engine letting out a painful roar.

The pickup truck pursued relentlessly, even activating nitrous boost, attempting to ram the lincoln from the side and flip it.

Chen Mo saw the blue nitrous bottle hanging behind the cab, without any protection.

These amateur mercenaries were only concerned with speed, forgetting that they were gambling with their lives.

Chen Mo shifted his aim, not at the people, but at the blue bottle.

"Goodbye."

He pulled the trigger.

The last bullet flew out.

The blue steel cylinder was like a punctured balloon; it first sprayed out a puff of white gas, followed immediately by a ball of orange-red fire that soared into the air.

The entire pickup truck was flipped by the massive shockwave, rolled twice in the air, and slammed heavily into a dry riverbed by the side of the road.

The shockwave of the explosion pushed the lincoln forward a distance.

The car went quiet.

Only the wind outside was still howling.

Chen Mo retracted back into the car, closed the sunroof, and brushed the sand off his body. "Stop the car."

"Is—is it over?" Ava's voice carried a weeping tone.

"There is one survivor left."

Chen Mo pushed open the door and got out, walking toward the pickup truck that had flipped over in the ditch.

The front of the truck was crushed; the machine gunner had a broken neck and was hanging over the truck bed, but someone was still moving in the cab.

It was the leader of this operation, covered in blood, trying to pull his trapped leg out.

Chen Mo grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of the car like a dead dog.

It wasn't far from the road; there was a long-abandoned, dry oil well.

The rusty wire mesh at the wellhead was swaying precariously in the wind.

Chen Mo dragged the man to the edge of the well, leaving half his body dangling over the void.

"Who sent you?" Chen Mo lit a cigarette, shielding it from the wind, and took a drag.

"Cough, cough... Go to hell, you yellow-skinned monkey..." The leader was still being stubborn, spitting a mouthful of blood onto Chen Mo's leather shoes.

Chen Mo wasn't angry; he just shifted his thoughts slightly.

[Asset Halo] activated.

An invisible pressure descended.

In that instant, in the eyes of the leader, the man in the suit before him was no longer prey, but a debt collector crawling out of hell.

That fear from the depths of his soul made him tremble; it was the suppression of class, the absolute contempt of capital for expendable resources.

"I... I'll talk..." The leader's teeth chattered. "It was Mr. McLean... He said he wanted to prepare a 'surprise' for you..."

"A surprise?"

"Tonight... at the manor... that's your last meal..."

"Very well."

Chen Mo nodded and lifted him up a little.

The leader thought he might live, a glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes.

"In Texas, trespassing on private property is grounds for being shot on sight, right?"

Chen Mo looked at the bottomless wellhead. "This is Rockefeller territory, and you didn't buy a ticket."

"No! Wait! I told you..."

Chen Mo let go.

"Ah—"

The scream quickly faded away, and after a few seconds, a dull thud echoed up.

It was the sound of a body hitting the hard, dry earth at the bottom of the well.

[System Notification: Extraction Successful]

[Acquired Skill: Revolver Rapid Fire (Proficient)]

[Acquired Passive: Wilderness Tracking (You are exceptionally sensitive to traces on this land)]

Chen Mo glanced at the cigarette in his hand; it hadn't even burned halfway.

He walked back to the car. Ava was hunched over by the side of the road, vomiting violently.

The smell of blood and burnt remains was truly too much for this young lady to handle.

Chen Mo handed her a tissue.

"Clean yourself up."

His voice was very flat, devoid of emotion.

"Fix your makeup. When you see the people your uncle sent to pick you up later, don't lose face for the Rockefeller name."

Ava took the tissue, her hands still shaking, but she didn't talk back.

Meanwhile, at the Lone Star Manor forty miles away.

McLean was sitting at the long dining table imported from France.

The steak on his plate was only rare, and when he cut into it, blood flowed down the blade.

"Boss, the second team has lost contact."

The butler stood in the shadows, reporting in a low voice.

McLean's hand cutting the meat paused. The silver knife and fork scraped against the porcelain plate, making a harsh, grating noise.

He speared a piece of bloody beef and put it into his mouth, chewing slowly.

"A little interesting."

He picked up his napkin, wiped the corners of his mouth, and revealed a set of teeth that were white to the point of being eerie.

"It seems this little white rabbit from New York has grown teeth."