As Kinzau drove, his fingers relaxed on the wheel and his eyes were half-closed, a nagging feeling crept into his mind. It was sharp, instinctive, and primal.
Danger.
His brows furrowed. He only felt this way when death was lurking nearby.
Zheng Yan, sensing the sudden shift in Kinzau's demeanor, asked without taking his eyes off the window.
"What's wrong, Kinzau?"
Kinzau hesitated to respond.
His instincts were on high alert, sensing an invisible weight pressing down from above. He slowly tilted his head up, half-expecting to see a drone, a bird, or maybe just a trick of the light. Instead, he spotted a tiny black shape that was rapidly growing larger, plummeting, spinning, slicing through the air like a meteor that had mastered the art of dance.
His pupils constricted.
"Sir…" Kinzau finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. "Something's coming. Fast."
Zheng Yan straightened in his seat, adjusting his suit cuffs with an air of calm.
"Is it targeting us?"
Kinzau swallowed hard.
"…Yes, sir. It's coming straight for us."
In an instant, the speck flipped, sunlight glinting off metal. Kinzau could now see it clearly.
A helicopter door. Someone was standing on it—no, surfing it—cutting through the air like a falling demon, laughing as if gravity itself was in on the joke.
The ground trembled with each wave of air pressure as the figure descended.
Kinzau's knuckles turned white on the wheel while Zheng Yan spoke with an unsettling calm, as if they were discussing the weather.
"Kinzau. Alert the other vehicles. Shoot it down."
Without a moment's hesitation, Kinzau replied, "Yes, sir."
He grabbed the radio, his voice urgent and low.
"All units—priority order from Zheng Yan. Hostile incoming from above. Open fire as soon as you have a clear shot. Repeat: open fire."
In an instant, the formation shifted.
The black car to the left swerved outwards.
The one on the right accelerated.
The trailing vehicle closed the gap.
Each car's roof slid open with a metallic hiss.
Three operatives emerged from the sunroofs, machine guns at the ready, bracing against the wind with hardened expressions. The truck guards readied their weapons, barrels pointed skyward.
Above them, as he descended, OG Assad noticed the sudden flurry of activity.
Gunners were raising their arms.
Car roofs were popping open.
He blinked.
Then he chuckled.
"Ahhh, so they're planning to shoot at me."
He swung the helicopter door open like a surfboard, the wind howling around him, the world spinning wildly beneath his feet.
"That's not good—" he muttered.
A moment passed.
His grin morphed into something wild.
"—LIKE HELL I CARE ANYWAY!"
He plunged downward, his body twisting into a reckless dive, one hand slicing through the air as if he were carving a path, his energy flickering faintly despite his weakened state.
Below, Kinzau yelled:
"All cars—FIRE!"
And the night erupted into a cacophony of gunfire.
The bullets sliced through the air, hundreds maybe even thousands creating a metallic storm that ripped the sky apart. Even OG Assad's eyes widened for a brief moment.
"…Damn, that's a LOT."
It was the first time in ages he'd actually felt the pressure.
But then—
That familiar grin came back.
"Still fine."
He shifted his weight, bending the helicopter door beneath his feet, and slipped through the hail of gunfire. Bullets whizzed past his face, snipping strands of hair and punching holes into the metal platform he stood on.
He twisted around, dodging with moves that no sane person would even think of attempting.
Then—he laughed.
"SURF'S UP!"
He leaned back, letting the storm of bullets whiz by just inches from his body, riding them like he was surfing on pure chaos. He even kicked off a bullet mid-air, flipping upside-down just for the thrill of it.
From the car below, one of the gunners shouted over the radio:
"It's pointless! He's just dodging everything! We need permission to use the homing!"
The request shot through instantly.
Kinzau's gaze remained fixed ahead.
"Zheng Yan… permission?"
Zheng Yan didn't hesitate.
"Granted. End it."
"Understood."
The gunner reached down beside him and pulled out a sleek, compact launcher, matte black and humming softly with mechanical energy. A targeting lens flickered to life.
He aimed upward. The lock-on tone chirped beep… beep… beep-beep-beep
LOCKED.
"Target acquired!"
He squeezed the trigger.
A glowing, serpentine projectile shot from the launcher, spiraling upward and leaving a trail of light behind.
A homing round.
OG Assad's eyes snapped toward it mid-flip.
His smile vanished.
"…Wait. That one's actually coming for me."
The missile veered mid-air and CHARGED straight at him.
OG Assad was still laughing, still hanging onto the helicopter door like a guy who had nothing left to lose. He was completely oblivious. That is, until a missile tip whizzed right past his eye.
"HUH?!"
He jerked his body sideways in mid-air, narrowly avoiding disaster. The searing heat brushed against his cheek as he lost his grip, and the helicopter door slipped away from him.
He began to fall.
Spinning.
Headfirst.
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!"
He glanced down, then up, then all around until he finally caught sight of it. The missile arced through the air like a predator on the hunt. It turned toward him. Then it picked up speed.
"…Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
The missile pursued him downward with a mechanical wail, adjusting its course, determined not to miss. OG Assad threw his hands out in disbelief.
"ARE YOU GUYS SERIOUS?!"
His voice echoed across the sky.
"THIS ISN'T THAT BIG OF A DEAL! IT'S JUST A LITTLE AMBUSH—NOT A FULL-ON WAR!"
The missile closed in.
"WHY ARE YOU USING MILITARY WEAPONS—WHEN YOU'RE JUST DRUG DEALERS?!"
His voice cracked with incredulity.
"OH MY GOSH—BRO. BRO. CALM DOWN."
He flipped upside down mid-fall, glaring at the missile as if it had just insulted his mother. The missile began to spin faster, locking in on him, ready to strike.