Time slipped away in the ensuing silence, mere minutes passing before the entire corridor was consumed by raging fire and acrid smoke. Although the flames still held a respectable distance from the private room where Fang Senyan was trapped, the heat was already aggressively washing over him, the conflagration wantonly devouring everything around.

But just then, Fang Senyan, who seemed too weak to do anything but slump against the wall, suddenly stuck out his tongue to lick his lips. A large patch of dried, purplish-black scab clung there, and the tip of his tongue was immediately met with a salty, metallic taste that soon spread across his entire palate.

It was the taste of blood!

His previously unfocused gaze snapped sharp, and a wicked smile curled his lips—an expression utterly unsuited for a man cornered in a death trap. Instead, it held a trace of the satisfaction a hunter wears upon finally witnessing his prey walk willingly into a carefully laid snare!

“Your marksmanship is truly exceptional,” Fang Senyan called out suddenly. Despite his serious injuries, his inherent recovery speed kept him strong; resting for a moment had fully restored his vigor, and his voice rang out clearly, cutting through the roar of the fire, every syllable distinct.

“But I made a phone call earlier, too.”

Quist let out a burst of bitter laughter. Making a phone call in this Terminator world? Who could he possibly call, summon some internal ally to dispense justice? Moreover, the man was speaking in nonsensical, disjointed phrases. Had he finally lost his mind from the certainty of death? But then he heard Fang Senyan continue:

“Remember the first time you used that grenade to escape? My Strength attribute is twelve. Tearing off a door panel to use as a shield would have taken me at most ten seconds, yet I stalled for a full five minutes then. That phone call was made upstairs during that interval.”

By now, the flames were spreading rapidly, licking at the doorway of the compartment where Fang Senyan sat. Foul smoke permeated the air; truly, the danger was immediate and suffocating. Yet, Fang Senyan acted as if nothing were amiss, taking the time to meticulously explain the timing of his call, as if afraid Quist might doubt him.

Quist offered no reply, only a cold sneer. He believed he had seen straight through Fang Senyan’s ploy—that he was deliberately spouting nonsense to divert his attention, hoping to launch a final, desperate counter-attack—after all, the current situation was dire, and if the opponent didn't charge out, he would surely be burned alive; charging offered a sliver of hope.

With this thought, the ruthless man gave a contemptuous smile, gripping his .500 Magnum revolver, his focus absolute on the exit of the smoke-choked passage. Beside him rested a fully loaded shotgun. With Quist’s elusive marksmanship, any sudden charge from Fang Senyan would be met with devastating frontal firepower. Even if he miraculously managed to close the distance, the shotgun, a brutal close-quarters weapon, waited for him. Under such dual assault, Fang Senyan would be maimed, if not killed outright!

Yet, Fang Senyan showed absolutely no intention of charging out.

His face smeared with blood, he leaned against the wall, a look of sardonic disdain mixed with carefree nonchalance on his face, and spoke a single sentence. This sentence acted like the final, decisive pull of a fisherman hauling in his net, instantly weaving the seemingly scattered threads into an inescapable web.

“The call I made was to the Los Angeles Police Department.”

Quist had been intently aiming at the sole exit, anticipating Fang Senyan’s desperate breakout attempt. But upon hearing the words ‘Los Angeles Police Department,’ his nerves tightened instantly, and a wave of intense panic surged through his very core!

Simultaneously, the .500 in his hand discharged with a loud BANG in an accidental misfire! Such a rookie error would normally only occur with a fresh recruit, highlighting the immense shock Fang Senyan’s statement had inflicted upon Quist!

“Earlier on the street, I witnessed a spectacular live television broadcast: a contract killer robbing a supermarket, seemingly very capable, was shot dead by Delta Force counter-terrorism units with three rounds. The news report never mentioned the whereabouts of the stolen money—clearly, they hadn't found it! If they had, the government would have publicized it as a police achievement to reassure the populace.”

“At that moment, I thought that the supermarket robber might not have been alone. Logically, one person robbing in the open while another provides covert support is often the optimal strategy. Hmph, that unfortunate fellow was fast enough, but his mind wasn't nimble enough; he took all the risk while the person lurking in the shadows reaped all the rewards.”

Even while enveloped by the inferno, with the flames only five or six meters away, Fang Senyan spoke with calm ease, as if enjoying a cool breeze under the summer shade. In stark contrast, Quist outside was frantic, sweat pouring down his face, gnashing his teeth in agitation like an ant on a hot griddle.

“Consider this: when I first entered this world, I had only ten dollars in starting capital. After scrambling, even resorting to some morally gray methods, I’ve earned a mere few thousand dollars. Yet you can effortlessly spend tens of thousands here to secure items and contend with me! Do you take me for a soft persimmon to be easily squeezed? If you weren't a Contract Killer, I wouldn't mind letting this provocation escalate into a robbery—but if you are a Contract Killer, the source of your funds is likely illicit!”

“Of course, your wealth could stem from sheer luck, like winning the lottery. However, why did that woman who sold you the gun earlier call you ‘cop’? She recognized the standard-issue police firearm in your hand! You might chalk up your sudden fortune to luck, but surely you didn't coincidentally pick up several police weapons off the street? Hmph, a Contract Killer carrying a huge sum of money and using police firearms for his crimes—therefore, I can be certain you are one of the supermarket robbers! Initially, I just hoped you would back off and not contest me for that shotgun, knowing when to retreat. But you dared to open fire openly while carrying an arrest warrant! That leaves me no choice but to be ruthless.”

“And the reason you dared to murder people so brazenly here is likely because you counted on the weakness of these gang members never reporting anything to the police, no matter what.” Fang Senyan stared at the nearby flames and rolling white smoke, then burst into loud laughter:

“But you never imagined that I would fulfill the duty of a good citizen and promptly call the authorities, informing them that a dangerous criminal, armed with police weaponry, is currently robbing and murdering in this location!”

Having spoken these words, Fang Senyan stood up. He unbuckled his belt, spat onto the nearby curtains, then tore off the now-dampened fabric, muffling it over his mouth and nose. He then crouched low and plunged directly into the fiery maw of the exit!

For an ordinary person, this inferno would be an impassable chasm, but for Fang Senyan, now a Contract Killer, it merely resulted in a few scorch marks and minor burns. With a loud WHOOMPH, Fang Senyan smashed through two burning double doors. Flames scattered everywhere, and he capitalized on the distraction, rolling into the nearby corner.

This was partly to extinguish the flames on his person and partly to evade potential ambushes. But as Fang Senyan looked up, the staircase was utterly empty. Quist, who should have been waiting there like a bird in a trap, was nowhere to be seen.

“Trying to leave now? It’s a bit late for that,” Fang Senyan’s lips curled into a mocking smile. If he hadn't been completely certain of his outcome, why would he have broadcast the news of his police report so openly? Assaulting or killing police officers has always been the most heinous category of crime, certain to be placed under immediate high alert. Once concrete information was received, the police would undoubtedly mobilize in full force.

Nearly twenty minutes had passed since he made the call. The exterior must now be swarming with police cordons. Furthermore, when reporting, Fang Senyan had also provided Quist’s physical description. Thus, for Quist to slip away unnoticed under heavy police scrutiny would be an almost impossible task.

Quist was now cornered: he lacked Fang Senyan’s damage mitigation from the ‘Toughness’ talent. If subjected to a concentrated barrage of police gunfire, he too would suffer grievous injury or death!

To escape, he would have to kill his way through a contingent of officers. But since he had already killed several officers before, continuing that path risked hitting a critical threshold, triggering related events that would summon those terrifying Delta Force operatives, leading to his demise anyway!

At this moment, dense gunfire erupted outside, suggesting Quist had already engaged the police. After a short while, the firing became sporadic, suggesting a stalemate. Fang Senyan did not rush out immediately; instead, he first checked and bandaged his wounds, allowing his stamina to recover.

After a thorough inspection, Fang Senyan marveled at the astonishing regenerative capabilities of Contract Killers. The gash on his forehead, though it looked terrifying, had stopped bleeding; he only felt slight dizziness, likely residual effects of a mild concussion. The bullet wound through his arm had not fractured any bone, and the surface was already scabbing over. As for the minor burns, they were negligible. Of course, if he were in a near-death state from severe injury, this regenerative power would be significantly diminished.

Once all that was managed, the gunfire outside had ceased, though the air remained filled with confused noise. Fang Senyan decided against washing the blood from his face. He staggered out, shouting in manufactured panic, “HELP!” Upon spotting the officers sweeping the area with weapons raised, he deliberately stumbled and collapsed, gasping for breath, perfectly embodying the image of a terrified civilian barely surviving a disaster.

.................. Ah, Little Fang got rid of the enemy in three sentences, hehe. How many of you guessed it? Don't forget to vote after reading! (To be continued, please visit for the latest chapters:)