81: Chapter 81 The Hunt: When "Hellfire" Meets the Real Grim Reaper

On the outskirts of the headquarters, on the top floor of an unfinished building. This was a high vantage point with an excellent view, and also a perfect sniper position.

The man code-named "Tombstone" lay flat like a gecko on the cement floor covered in dust and gravel.

He was draped in a professional urban camouflage net, its color blending perfectly with the surrounding concrete.

The heavily modified Barrett M82A1 sniper rifle in his hands was tightly wrapped in anti-reflective cloth strips, its dark muzzle pointed directly at the brightly lit headquarters building a kilometer away.

Through the high-magnification night vision scope, the massive floor-to-ceiling window on the third floor of the headquarters was clearly visible in the green field of view. That was the "target area" indicated by intelligence—Zhang Cheng's office.

"Hoo..." "Tombstone" adjusted his breathing gently, keeping his heart rate under 60 beats per minute. He was an ace sniper from the former SEAL Team Six, and after retiring, he formed the "Hellfire" mercenary group, leaving no survivors under his command. To him, killing was as simple as eating or drinking, or even an art form.

"Team A in position, demolition points confirmed, power can be cut at any time." The sinister voice of the demolitionist "Viper" came through the earpiece, carrying a hint of bloodthirsty excitement.

"Team B in position, extraction route cleared, vehicle engines preheated. We'll wait for you in the back alley." The voice of the assault specialist "Hammer" was steady and powerful.

"Team C has infiltrated the sewer system around the perimeter of the headquarters, ready to create chaos and draw fire at any moment."

Listening to the reports in his earpiece, a cruel and confident curve appeared at the corner of "Tombstone's" mouth.

In his eyes, the Northern Myanmar warlord named Zhang Cheng might have had some tricks and made some surprising moves, but in the face of true modern special operations, he was still just a bumpkin.

They had performed this kind of decapitation strike countless times and had never failed.

"It seems our Chairman Zhang is still enjoying his power and beauties, completely unaware that the Grim Reaper is already at his doorstep." "Tombstone" chewed his gum and mocked in a low voice, "Listen up, boys, once this job is done, it's five million USD each, enough for us to squander on the beaches of Miami for a few years. Keep your spirits up, don't capsize in the gutter."

"Don't worry, Boss, we could do this kind of mission with our eyes closed. I'm already impatient to see what that arrogant 'Overlord' looks like with his brains splattered." A contemptuous chuckle came through the earpiece.

"Tombstone" narrowed his eyes, his finger resting lightly on the trigger, feeling the cold metallic touch.

"Do it." He ordered softly, as if it were the pronouncement of the Grim Reaper.

"Boom—!" A muffled, thunderous sound exploded in the direction of the substation on the east side of Pangkham. Immediately after, the brightly lit headquarters area plunged into dead silence and darkness. All streetlights, landscape lights, and even the interior lighting of the buildings went out at the same time.

"The show begins." "Tombstone" quickly adjusted the parameters of his scope, preparing to capture the figure that might appear in panic before the window in the darkness. As soon as that figure appeared, his bullet would pierce the glass and end it all.

However, the very second the lights went out, an unprecedented sense of crisis surged through "Tombstone's" entire body like an electric current! It was the beastly instinct he had honed on the edge of life and death countless times—he was being watched! And he was being watched by something extremely terrifying!

"What's going on?!" Not only him, but the previously relaxed atmosphere in the earpiece also instantly solidified.

Around the headquarters building, which should have been plunged into darkness and chaos, countless dark red beams suddenly lit up without warning! Those were not ordinary lights; they were a web of death woven from high-powered infrared lasers!

Following that, no piercing alarm sounded; instead, it was replaced by a hair-raising, uniform sound of mechanical operation.

"Zzz— zzz—" In the hidden corners of the headquarters perimeter wall, on the high vantage points of the rooftops, and even in the shadows of the streets right under their feet, automated weapon stations disguised as streetlights or decorations suddenly flipped over. Their dark muzzles, guided by infrared radar, precisely locked onto the hiding spots of every member of the "Hellfire" squad!

"Damn it! What the hell is this?! An active defense system?! How is this possible in a warlord's headquarters?!" "Viper's" terrified scream came through the earpiece, "Boss! We've been locked on! Team A is exposed! Requesting backup! Requesting..."

"Da-da-da-da-da—!" A burst of gunfire, as dense as tearing fabric, suddenly erupted, followed immediately by "Viper's" shrill scream and the busy tone of a disconnected communication.

"Tombstone's" heart shrank violently. He realized that this was no ordinary security; this was a targeted hunting trap! The other side had known they were coming all along!

"Retreat! Everyone retreat! This is a trap! We've been betrayed!" "Tombstone" didn't care about shooting anymore; he grabbed his heavy Barrett and scrambled towards the stairwell.

However, just as he turned around, he froze. At the rooftop exit behind him, a tall black figure had appeared at some unknown moment.

The person was wearing an unmarked black combat suit, with no expression on his face, and not even the sound of breathing could be heard. In the night vision field of view, two eerie red lights flickered where his eyes should be, like a demon from hell. It was Old K.

"I've been waiting for you for a long time, 'Tombstone' gentlemen." Old K's voice was exceptionally clear in the night wind, cold and devoid of any human emotional fluctuation, "Since you're here, stay and be fertilizer."

"FUCK!" "Tombstone" roared, his years of combat instinct allowing him to react instantly. He didn't try to shoot with the bulky sniper rifle; instead, he lightning-fast drew the tactical pistol from his thigh and fired a rapid three-shot burst at Old K!

"Bang! Bang! Bang!" Muzzle flashes erupted, and bullets whistled out. At this distance and speed, even a top expert from the SEAL Team would have died on the spot.

But Old K was not human. He was a high-level Death Soldier produced by the system, the ultimate form of a killing machine.

The moment "Tombstone" fired, Old K's figure flickered like a ghost. He didn't dodge but charged straight at the bullets!

"Ding-ding!" Two bullets hit Old K's chest, emitting the crisp sound of metal impact; that was the built-in high-strength alloy armor. As for the third bullet, Old K actually tilted his head slightly while moving at high speed, letting it fly past his ear!

"What kind of monster?!" "Tombstone's" pupils shrank, and before he could pull the trigger a second time, a large foot wearing a black tactical boot kicked him hard in the chest!

"Crack!" That was the sound of ribs breaking. "Tombstone" felt as if he had been hit head-on by a speeding truck; his whole body flew into the air, slammed heavily against a cement wall five meters away, and then slid down like a pile of mud.

The excruciating pain made his vision go black, but he was a top mercenary after all; holding his breath, he tried to reach for the grenade at his waist, wanting to take his enemy with him.

A large hand gripped his wrist like an iron pincer.

Old K lifted the two-hundred-pound strong man with one hand, held him in mid-air, and watched him struggle with an indifferent gaze.

"Is this the so-called 'Hellfire'? Too weak." Old K shook his head, his tone carrying a hint of disappointment, "You didn't even finish my warm-up program."

Meanwhile, the last wails of the other team members came through the earpiece.

"Team B encountered heavy armored infantry... Can't hit them! Can't hit them at all! Ah—"

"Team C is blocked in the sewer! There are... there are monsters here! Help—"

In less than three minutes, this "Hellfire" squad, which made people fear them in the international mercenary world and claimed to have never failed, was like a few bugs that had wandered into a meat grinder, completely crushed, with not even a scrap left.

Inside the headquarters building, the backup power started, and the lights came on again, as if the darkness just now had been a hallucination.

Zhang Cheng stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, holding a glass of red wine, gently swirling it. He watched the figure on the distant rooftop being dragged like a dead dog by Old K, a cruel smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Li Lanzhi," he said, turning to the pale-faced woman beside him, "Notify the Propaganda Department; I want to hold an exhibition in the square tomorrow morning. Arrange the corpses of these 'international friends' neatly, and hang out their US military dog tags and the communicators issued by the CIA."

"I've already thought of the title: 'Those who offend our territory will be punished, no matter how far away they are.' Let the whole world see; if they want to take my head for a bounty, they must first weigh whether their own necks are strong enough."

He took a sip of the wine; the red liquid was like blood.

"Old K, keep the captain's head. I have a use for it. I want to give it to Bao Youxiang as a birthday present."