"What if we don't leave?" Little Huzi sneered coldly.
"You have no choice!" Crooked Mouth pulled out a handgun, pointing it at Little Huzi's head, and said, "Kid, this was a trap from the start, and you just jumped right in. You can't blame anyone else if you die!"
"Hmph!" Little Huzi let out a cold sneer. Although his hands were shackled with the iron chains, they didn't impede his movements at all. Little Huzi raised his hands and smashed them down hard on Crooked Mouth's wrist, causing the Type 54 pistol in Crooked Mouth's hand to fall. Little Huzi quickly rolled on the ground, picked up the pistol, aimed it at Crooked Mouth's forehead, and sneered, "How about now? It's uncertain who will live and who will die, right?"
"Brother, brother, don't... don't do anything rash!" Crooked Mouth immediately knelt down, pleading, "I have an eighty-year-old mother to support and a three-year-old son who needs me. Please... please don't pull the trigger!"
