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Pristo, accompanied by William, stealthily boarded the ship while the gunfight raged above. Under the bright lights of the bustling port, they observed that the situation favored the Serpent Gang. The firepower from their submachine guns far surpassed that of the two small handguns.
The three members of the Serpent Gang seemed to have forgotten how to aim, holding down their triggers and unleashing a barrage of suppressive fire. The smugglers could barely raise their heads, forced to take cover behind a container, retreating while exchanging fire. The entire upper deck of the transport ship was not large, and if they retreated too much, they would have nowhere left to go.
They could hear the furious shouts from the Serpent Gang: "Damn it! Mark still owes me money! If you kill him, who am I supposed to collect from?"
The two smugglers remained silent, waiting for an opportunity to strike back. They fired a couple of shots before retreating again until they found themselves in front of a red container, where they dared not move back any further. That red container was particularly important to them; even faced with three submachine guns and no cover, they had to hold their ground in front of it.
"Hahaha! The Serpent members didn’t think twice, only letting out exaggerated laughter: 'Not hiding anymore? My cute little mice!' If you’re not hiding, then I’ll treat you to some delicious brass bullets! Be careful now; it’s brass bullets, not the ones you little mice like!'"
Seeing this, Pristo knew there was no time to hesitate. He signaled William to follow him and prepare for a surprise attack from behind. William didn’t have time to question his leader about the ambush; he pushed down all his doubts and nodded, drawing his gun and aiming, waiting for Pristo's signal.
Pristo didn’t make him wait long. As the three members of the Serpent Gang were distracted by shooting at the smugglers—killing two and turning them into Swiss cheese—he shouted: "Fire!"
Bang! Bang!
Pristo’s aim was precise; one shot took out a target’s head, and he quickly shifted his aim for another shot that hit another man in the back. William was not far behind; he also fired a headshot.
His entry into the Investigation Bureau was due to his exceptional marksmanship; his instructor even claimed that if he joined the military, he would undoubtedly become a sharpshooter.
In such close quarters combat, if he missed his target, William would likely feel so ashamed that he would resign on the spot. For some viewers accustomed to action, this was ordinary; for others who had never seen firearms in real life, it was quite thrilling.
"Wow, I really feel it now; in front of bullets, everyone is equal—any life can fall with just one shot."
"Wow, this is thrilling! This is what true cop-and-robber gunfight drama is all about!"
It must be said, the people from the Investigation Bureau have impressive marksmanship, each shot a guaranteed kill.
In the blink of an eye, the Mantis had caught the Cicada, and all five members of the Smuggler and the Serpent Gang were down without a single survivor.
William felt a bit dazed, his hand trembling slightly around his firearm. Did this mean he had triumphed over evil? A flicker of joy stirred within him. But then again, he had taken lives. His mind was in turmoil—disgusted, confused, wanting to vomit.
He struggled to suppress the unsettling feelings that accompanied his first kill, trying to divert his attention by asking, "Captain?"
"Is this really okay?"
Pristo did not respond immediately. Instead, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it, took a deep drag, and exhaled a cloud of smoke before finally answering, "It's fine."
"The Armed Personnel attacked the Armed Transport Ship. After we attempted to persuade them to surrender and they resisted arrest with force, we had the right to shoot on the spot."
William opened his mouth, wanting to question his captain. They hadn't even attempted to persuade them to surrender! Not to mention that the Serpent Gang had never shown any intention of surrendering.
From beginning to end, they had been shooting from the shadows.
As if reading the rookie's doubts from William's silence, Pristo casually flicked away the ash from his cigarette as if dismissing the trash: "You're just a rookie."
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