The moon over Sicily is exceptionally bright tonight.
On the road leading to the seaside, a pedestrian hurriedly rushes through an endless thicket.
"Don't move!" A crisp voice emerges from the bushes, followed by several tanks advancing from all directions, led by three military armored vehicles.
Yang Fan stands there, unable to open his eyes due to the intense lights from the cars ahead. Instinctively, he shields his eyes with his arm.
Before he could react, dozens of military jeeps roar from behind.
Almost a hundred heavily armed individuals, carrying assault rifles and rocket launchers, get out of the cars, encircling Yang Fan tightly.
Dark gun barrels are aimed at Yang Fan, ensuring that if they open fire together, Yang Fan wouldn't even leave behind minced meat.
Seven or eight tanks keep moving forward until they halt about twenty meters from Yang Fan.
A figure emerges from the armored vehicle, wearing a bulletproof vest and a military helmet.
