23: Thomas, have you called the police?

7:00 PM.

The city's pulse beat at its most intense moment.

Evening rush hour traffic converged into endless, congested steel dragons.

The cacophony of horns, roaring engines, and pedestrian chatter collectively composed a frantic urban symphony.

Unnoticed, beneath this clamor, an undercurrent powerful enough to shake the entire city was quietly stirring.

In a secluded alley, five armored cars identical to Citibank's standard models started their engines one by one.

Inside the lead vehicle, Alberto issued a command over the radio in an emotionless tone.

"Operation commence."

"Received."

A cold reply echoed through the channel.

The five armored cars filed out, their heavy bodies exuding a sense of oppression.

They unhurriedly merged into the congested traffic, heading straight for Citibank's underground vault in the city center.

At the entrance to the vault's garage, the lights were bright.

Two uniformed security personnel, James and William, were listlessly standing guard.

They were both veterans discharged from the army, having seen real combat, and found this security job somewhat uninspiring.

"Hey, James, going to watch the game tonight? Lakers versus Warriors." William yawned, stomping his slightly numb feet.

James leaned against the guard booth, holding the vehicle pass clip, and lazily replied, "Of course, I've already bought beer and fried chicken."

Just then, a line of headlights illuminated the entrance.

Five armored cars slowly approached and stopped in front of the barrier.

James immediately straightened up, his face adopting a professional seriousness.

He walked forward and tapped on the window of the first car.

The window lowered, revealing an unremarkable face—it was Ethan.

"Routine check, identification." James was concise.

"Alright, just a moment." Ethan lowered his head, reaching his hand into the passenger side glove compartment, making a motion as if searching for his ID.

James's gaze subconsciously followed his movements.

William habitually walked around to the front of the car, checking the license plate and the vehicle's exterior.

Everything was as per the usual procedure, with no anomalies.

Just as James slightly relaxed his guard.

Ethan's fumbling right hand suddenly rose, now holding a silenced pistol.

Pfft.

A barely audible soft sound.

A small bloom of blood burst open on James's forehead.

The expression on his face froze, the light in his eyes rapidly dimmed, and his body softly collapsed.

"What..."

William heard the unusual sound and, just as he turned his head, saw his comrade fall.

His pupils suddenly constricted; years of military service made him instinctively reach for the pistol at his waist.

But it was too late.

In the driver's seat of the armored car behind him.

Another Death Sworn had silently pushed open the door, his gun aimed at William's back.

Pfft! Pfft!

Two bullets accurately struck William's back, piercing his heart.

The former army soldier couldn't even leave a complete last word before following in his comrade's footsteps.

The entire process took less than three seconds.

Clean, swift, and horrifyingly efficient.

Alberto watched all this indifferently, continuing to command: "Clear them out, advance."

The two bodies were quickly dragged into the nearby shadows, the barrier lifted, and the five armored cars silently drove into the underground garage passage.

Following the same pattern.

The two security personnel at the second checkpoint were eliminated with the same method before they could even raise an alarm.

The convoy proceeded unimpeded, reaching the innermost unloading platform of the vault.

The platform was bustling; a dozen porters were unloading boxes of cash from another, genuine armored car.

Several armed security personnel stood guard nearby.

When they saw five unfamiliar armored cars suddenly appear, everyone was stunned.

"Which branch are you from? Why weren't we notified?"

A security guard who appeared to be a team leader frowned, approaching with several colleagues holding stun batons.

The doors of the armored cars opened simultaneously at this moment.

Alberto's voice, like a death sentence.

"Action!"

Dozens of fully armed Death Sworn, carrying Holloway HAC-7 Assault Rifles, surged out of the vehicles like devils from hell, instantly charging out.

Their dark muzzles pointed at everyone on the platform, who were all dumbfounded.

"Don't move! FBI!"

"Hands up!"

The few armed security guards, who had just been confused, reacted the fastest, immediately raising their guns to counterattack.

But they were facing military rifles with a faster rate of fire and more intense firepower.

Da da da da!

Tongues of flame spewed forth, and a dense hail of bullets instantly enveloped them.

Blood mist erupted; six armed security guards were shot full of holes before they could even fire a single shot, collapsing in pools of blood.

"Ah!"

Screams erupted everywhere as the porters, scared out of their wits, scattered, clutching their heads.

"Everyone! Hands on your head! Kneel on the ground!"

The Death Sworn forced the survivors with their gun muzzles, skillfully tying them up one by one with zip ties and stacking them in a corner like cargo.

Alberto glanced at the fully controlled scene and instructed his subordinate: "Leave a team to watch them, everyone else, follow me!"

He waved his hand, leading more than twenty elites, and rushed towards the alloy passage leading to the core area of the vault.

However, they hadn't gone far into the passage.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Intense gunfire suddenly erupted from deep within the passage.

Several Death Sworn at the very front fell in response.

"Boss! There are tough guys inside!" Ethan reported loudly while returning fire from behind a corner.

"Their marksmanship is precise, and their tactical movements are very professional. Damn it, these bastards are definitely retired special forces!"

Alberto's eyes turned cold.

It seemed Citibank was not to be trifled with either.

But so what?

In the face of absolute firepower, any skill was just for show.

"Matthew!" Alberto roared into the channel, "Bring the 'big guy' the boss gave us! I'm going to blast a path for them!"

"Received!"

In the main monitoring room deep within the vault.

The vault manager, Richard, a portly white man with a bloated belly, was sweating profusely with anxiety.

He paced back and forth like a fat pig trapped in a cage.

"What's going on, Joseph! Didn't you say your security team was the best in the world?"

"Why are they being attacked right at our doorstep!" Richard roared at a lean man in a tactical vest on the screen.

Joseph, the security director, showed no panic on his face; instead, he wore a hint of a bloodthirsty sneer.

"Don't worry, Mr. Richard. My men are elites from the SEALs and Delta Force."

"Those rabble-rousers robbing the bank outside aren't even enough to fill their teeth."

He had absolute confidence in his men.

Richard calmed down slightly, but still felt uneasy. He turned to his personal assistant beside him.

"Thomas, did you call the police? When will they get here?"

The young assistant, Thomas, pushed up his glasses and replied with a trembling voice.

"I've already called the police, sir. The operator said they would send someone as soon as possible, but... but traffic outside is very bad."

"Traffic? Traffic!" Richard was so angry he wanted to curse, but in the end, it only turned into a helpless groan.

His only hope now was that Joseph's special forces team could hold out until police reinforcements arrived.