"Forget it." Fang Senyan's peripheral vision caught the sound of vehicles rapidly approaching from behind. He suppressed the tempting urge to kill the elite FBI agent before him; despite appearing to be at the end of his tether, dispatching this man would still require considerable effort. Seeing a bustling street full of people nearby, he planned to bail out of the car and melt into the crowd to escape.

But just then, the elite FBI agent, who had been beaten terribly, let out a fierce shout and lunged from behind, clamping down hard on Fang Senyan. Clearly, he had spotted his colleagues closing in from the rear and intended to hold Fang Senyan at the cost of his life! In terms of sheer strength, he wasn't far behind Fang Senyan, but Fang Senyan's explosive power and resilience were vastly superior. Being held so tightly from behind, the unprepared Fang Senyan found it genuinely difficult to break free for a moment.

The action was sudden, and Fang Senyan was startled, but his dark eyebrows instantly shot up. Coupled with the blood streaming from his brow, his entire face took on an indescribable ferocity, his eyes blazing with a restless, violent heat. The cumulative fighting experience of the past few days prompted him to immediately hook his right foot backward while violently throwing his head back to collide. If the enemy had made even the slightest miscalculation, he would have either been tripped to the ground or sent reeling with stars in his eyes and a bloody nose.

But Fang Senyan's foot found only air, and the back of his head only struck empty space. Evidently, this elite FBI operative had also invested significant effort into grappling and counter-grappling, successfully evading Fang Senyan's follow-up attack. He then pressed close to Fang Senyan's ear and hissed in a voice choked with grinding hatred:

"You yellow-skinned pig, the electric chair at Los Angeles Prison is waiting for you!"

But Fang Senyan's reaction was equally swift. Hearing those words, he immediately drove his legs forward, slamming his back violently against the rear.

With a resounding thud, the FBI agent could no longer evade, crushed violently by Fang Senyan against the hard edge of the cargo truck's side panel. The nerves in his spine immediately screamed with a pain so intense it threatened collapse. The sheer force of this impact made his vision go black, and the arms clamped around Fang Senyan inevitably loosened slightly. Fang Senyan seized the moment, flexing his arms into elbows and smashing them backward with brute force, landing squarely on the FBI agent's lower ribs. Under this savage, heavy blow, a faint crack was heard—his ribs had clearly been shattered and driven deep into his organs!

Unquestionably, the elite FBI agent immediately began to choke and cough violently, his body going limp against the truck panel, pinkish foam spreading from the corners of his mouth, followed by dark red blood. His abdomen had taken repeated brutal hits, and both lungs were severely damaged. His system instantly entered a state of oxygen deprivation; even a man of immense willpower could hardly sustain consciousness.

At this point, no one could stop Fang Senyan if he chose to leave, but the savage, blood-red intent in his eyes grew even stronger. Ever since witnessing the brutal torture inflicted upon his Fourth Uncle, the hidden dark side of his nature seemed to be gradually awakened. In the Nightmare World, free from the constraints of deeply ingrained legal concepts, Fang Senyan felt an intense, frenzied urge to utterly crush anyone who dared stand in his way!

The cargo truck began to brake hard, the slow-witted driver finally noticing the commotion in the back. The pursuers were roaring up at high speed only two hundred meters away. If Fang Senyan intended to flee, jumping out right then would have been the best choice, but the surging tide of murderous impulse in his heart would never allow him to pass up this opportunity!

So, Fang Senyan drew his gun.

That terrifyingly powerful .500 Magnum revolver.

Then, he aimed at a Chevrolet 1974 sedan that was trying to overtake him on the side, and pulled the trigger!

Although Fang Senyan's marksmanship was poor, it shouldn't have been so bad that he couldn't hit a sedan target just ten or twelve feet away. After a massive bang, the Chevy '74's tire let out a piercing screech as it skidded sideways, swerving directly into an oncoming city bus. Fang Senyan's right hand was instantly numbed by the colossal recoil.

After emptying the cylinder of the .500, Fang Senyan immediately drew his shotgun and coldly aimed it at another Ford taxi speeding up from behind! The driver saw his action, which terrified him to the core. Without hesitation, he violently wrenched the steering wheel and stomped the brake, instinctively forcing the vehicle sideways to avoid a direct hit. He ignored the other vehicles speeding up behind him and coming from the opposite direction!

Thus, two massive traffic accidents erupted on the bustling street. Piercing screeching sounds rose and fell, and a chain reaction of over a dozen vehicles collided, instantly clogging the street solid. The traffic behind them stretched into a long line. Even if the five FBI agents two hundred meters back could drive a Yugo at Ferrari speeds, they would still have to get out and proceed on foot.

And that delay would have been more than enough time for Fang Senyan to kill the near-dead FBI agent ten times over!

"Yellow-skinned pig?"

Fang Senyan pulled his gaze away from the chaotic wreckage of cars, stepped forward, and brought his right foot down with tremendous force. The FBI agent managed a weak attempt to raise his hand to block, but under the heavy, sinking blow, it was futile. He was stomped hard on the chest and abdomen, immediately spitting out a jet of bloody foam from his mouth, his body curling up like a shrimp.

Fang Senyan, expressionless, kicked again—once, twice—then bent down, grabbed the unlucky man's neck with his right hand, and hauled him bodily into the air. The elite FBI agent was barely breathing, clinging desperately to life, his legs kicking weakly and uselessly in the air.

The cargo truck finally stopped. The driver angrily threw open the cab door and scrambled out—but upon seeing the spraying blood, his face instantly turned pale, and he scrambled back inside. Right beside Fang Senyan was the lighted sign of a shop. He swung his fist backward, smashing it against the sign with a massive crash. Glass shards and plastic flew everywhere, exposing the internal support steel frame. Perfectly positioned was a straight, rusty iron pipe pointing directly outward.

"You like hitting people in the face so much?"

"You like getting handsy with guys, Sam?"

Fang Senyan sneered, the savage, bloodthirsty look in his eyes intensifying. He put force into his right hand, and with a loud thwack, slammed the near-lifeless FBI agent he held against the iron pipe! A piercing scream erupted and then abruptly ceased. The blood-soaked end of the steel pipe pierced straight through the drunkard's back, emerging from the front of his chest! Some shredded, twisted bits of muscle tissue dangled from it, looking exceptionally gruesome and cruel!

The five elite FBI agents in the distance had already jumped out of their vehicles. Witnessing such a scene, their eyes instantly turned bloodshot, but constrained by the nearly hundred-meter distance, they could only watch the tragedy unfold. Far off, the prisoner on top of the truck let out a cold smile, made a highly threatening throat-slitting gesture toward them, and then snatched up his case before darting into the distance.

Blood dripped down, drop by drop, still warm.

Jess, pinned alive to the sign, twitched occasionally, but life had clearly departed the body. His eyes remained wide open even in death; terror lingered in his dull, ashen pupils. Perhaps due to massive blood loss, his large, bulbous nose was also coated in a gray film.

The rust on the pipe piercing his chest, normally dull, took on a faint, cruel sheen after being coated in blood. Noman looked up at the corpse of this subordinate he had never liked, yet for some inexplicable reason, he was reminded of the naked chickens hanging in the supermarket on the eve of Thanksgiving.

"IR. James and a few others are in pursuit; they've got a lock on that guy." Corey rushed over, looking up at Jess hanging in the air, coughed, and spat.

"Damn it, I lent Jess a thousand bucks yesterday—but seriously, who the hell are we chasing? He’s escaping so fast after taking so many bullets!"

Noman narrowed his eyes: "I suspect he's a veteran back from the Vietnam war. These cold-blooded guys kill without hesitation and usually have psychological issues! The body armor he was wearing isn't something an ordinary person could get—we seem to have been dragged into a serious mess!"

"Holy hell, what is this? The Los Angeles version of First Blood?" Corey began to vent his frustration, though a clear inclination toward retreat surfaced: "We don't need to wade into this filth. Maybe... we should call Delta Force for backup?"

Noman slowly shook his head: "Those Delta guys have always been at odds with us. Our boss is always condescending when exchanging pleasantries with their general. If we request backup over this small setback, our boss will never look at us properly again. Besides, I heard recently that group from Delta took a serious hit themselves, suffering heavy casualties. Even if we humble ourselves to ask, they might not agree to come."

Corey looked nervously toward the distance, clear apprehension already showing on his face: "Then... we have to stick it out?"

Noman suddenly grew irritated: "The casualty handbook clearly states that unless faced with an irresistible external force, a team executing a mission can only request reinforcement once the team attrition reaches 40%. Do you want me to report to headquarters that that damn criminal is an 'irresistible factor' to six seasoned FBI agents trained in systematic combat/firearms use? Holy hell, I'm counting on a promotion in the second half of the year!"

................ The correct interactive answer provided to everyone yesterday was actually: Vincent's father was an old lecher. Because he wanted to join the Mormon Church until the day he died, and that religion advocates polygamy... However, because my question was phrased imprecisely, everyone who participated received bonus points and credit. (To be continued, please visit for the latest chapters:.)