The main entrance exploded with movement. Men poured in from three directions—the large sliding door, a side entrance to the left, and through a hole in the wall to the right.
The man at the front, clearly the leader, was tall with a scar running from his left eye to his jaw. He held up his hand, and everyone stopped. Twenty-five guns pointed at Baki.
"Baki Hanma," the leader said in accented English. "Since you have come to China, you stay here forever."
Baki tilted his head. "China seems very hospitable~"
"It has always been."
"Is that so." Baki cracked his knuckles. "Then show me the hospitality."
The leader's expression didn't change. "Men! Charge!"
Baki moved, his eyes glinting blue.
One moment he was standing twenty feet away. The next, he was in front of the leader, his fist already in motion.
CRACK!
The punch landed square in the leader's chest. The sound echoed like a gunshot. The leader's eyes went wide. He flew backward, crashing into three of his men. They all went down in a heap.
"SHOOT HIM!" someone screamed.
Gunfire erupted.
But Baki was already moving. He dropped low, rolling forward across the ground. Bullets sparked off the concrete where he'd been standing a split second before. He came up between two gunmen, grabbed both their heads, and smashed them together. They dropped like broken puppets.
A man to his left fired. Baki twisted his body at an impossible angle. The bullet grazed his shirt. Before the man could fire again, Baki's heel came down hard—an overhead kick that hit the man's shoulder twice. The first impact shattered the collarbone. The second drove him into the ground.
More gunfire. Baki saw the muzzle flashes before the bullets reached him. He stepped left, then right, his movements minimal. Every shift of his body was just enough to avoid bullets by inches.
He rushed forward, his leg sweeping up high. But halfway through the kick, he stopped. The motion was so sudden, so unnatural, that the three men in front of him froze, confused. It was a fake.
In that moment of hesitation, Baki closed the distance and punched one man in the chest. Before the man could fall, Baki's other fist came up in an uppercut to the chin. The man launched six feet into the air and crashed down on top of another gunman.
"Come on!" Baki laughed. "Is this all China has to offer?"
A massive man stepped forward from the back. He was easily six-foot-five, built like a tank, carrying what looked like an automatic shotgun. He didn't say anything. He just started firing.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The spread was wide. Harder to dodge. Baki dove behind a concrete pillar. Chunks of stone exploded around him. He could feel the vibrations through the ground.
"It's not fun if it's all guns and no fists!"
The big man advanced, firing continuously. Other gunmen moved to flank Baki from both sides.
Baki waited until the shotgun clicked empty. That half-second of silence was all he needed. He burst from behind the pillar, rushing forward with explosive speed. The big man tried to reload, but his hands were too slow.
Baki's lunging hook landed like a wrecking ball. The big man's jaw shattered. Teeth flew. He stumbled backward, somehow still conscious.
"Big but no substance," Baki said.
The big man roared and swung the shotgun like a club. Baki blocked it with his forearm. The metal bent. Baki grabbed the barrel, ripped it from the man's hands, and tossed it aside. Then he jumped, spinning his body in midair. His leg whipped around in a circle, hitting the big man's head multiple times. Each kick drove him back until his spine hit a pillar.
Baki finished with two more kicks—one high roundhouse to the head, then a second kick that came down like an axe. The big man's body went limp and slid down the pillar, leaving a streak of blood on the concrete.
Gunfire erupted from both sides. Baki was caught in the crossfire. Bullets tore through the space he occupied. But Baki dropped flat, then rolled. He came up next to a group of three men on the left, too close for them to shoot without hitting each other.
He grabbed the nearest one, fell backward while planting his foot on the man's chest, and kicked. The man flipped through the air and crashed down hard. Baki used the momentum to spring back to his feet.
The other two tried to back away. Baki didn't let them. He stepped forward and kicked fast—his boot caught the first man in the stomach. The air exploded from his lungs.
The second man swung his gun like a club. Baki blocked it with his arm, then drove his knee into the man's face. Nose cartilage crunched. The man went down.
"Are you guys all talk?"
The remaining fifteen men had stopped shooting. They were regrouping, forming a semicircle around him.
One of them barked orders in Mandarin. The semicircle tightened. They were going to rush him all at once.
Baki smiled. "Now we're talking."
They charged.
The first three came from the front. Baki spun and kicked three times in rapid succession—long, powerful roundhouse kicks. Each one found its target. Three men went down clutching their ribs, their faces, their throats.
Two more came from the left. Baki pivoted, grabbed the first one, and pulled him over his shoulder. The man's back hit the concrete with a sickening thud. The second man threw a punch. Baki caught his wrist, stepped in close, grabbed his head, and slammed his knee into the man's face twice. Then he kicked upward, catching the man's chin. The head snapped back.
The remaining ten backed away, their confidence shattered. They'd just watched Baki destroy half their unit in less than three minutes. Some of them were shaking. One dropped his gun and ran for the exit.
Baki let him go. "Is that cowardly or smart?"
The others weren't so wise. One of them pulled out a knife—a long combat blade. He lunged forward, slashing wildly. Baki weaved between the strikes, his movements almost casual. When the man overextended, Baki caught his arm, twisted it until the elbow bent the wrong way, and slammed his palm into the man's chest. The man flew backward.
Three more rushed in together, trying to overwhelm him. Baki kicked high, his leg whipping around in a circle. It connected with the first man's head. Without stopping, he dropped low and kicked the second man's shins. The legs buckled. Then Baki jumped and brought his heel down on the third man's head like a hammer.
All three fell in sequence, like dominoes.
Six left. They'd formed a tight group near the entrance, whispering urgently to each other. One of them was on his phone, probably calling for backup.
Baki started walking toward them slowly.
"You should run," he said calmly.
Two of them did. They bolted for the exit without looking back.
The remaining four raised their guns with trembling hands. One of them shouted something in Mandarin—probably a prayer.
Baki rushed forward. The distance closed in an instant. He struck the first man with his knee, then extended his leg to kick him a second time. He spun and brought his heel down on the second man's shoulder. The bone shattered.
The third man fired point-blank. The bullet grazed Baki's ribs, drawing blood. Baki didn't even slow down. He grabbed the man's gun hand, twisted until the fingers broke, and delivered an uppercut that lifted the man off his feet.
The last man dropped his gun and raised his hands. "Please—"
Baki stopped. He stared at the man for a long moment, then nodded. "Go."
The man didn't need to be told twice. He ran.
Baki looked around the factory. Bodies everywhere. Groaning. Unconscious. Broken. The leader was still slumped against the wall where Baki's first punch had sent him, barely breathing.
Baki walked over, crouched down next to him, and searched for his phone. After rummaging for a while, he found it.
"So," Baki said, scrolling through the phone. "A man with enough power to provide this many firearms and allow them to be used in public... must be someone influential."
The leader coughed up blood. "You... you will pay... for what you've started..."
"I started it?" Baki laughed. "You sent a fake taxi driver to kill me. This is just me replying to your welcome party."
He found a contact labeled "Red Dragon" in the phone. Interesting.
"Red Dragon," Baki read aloud. "That your boss?"
The leader's eyes widened in fear. "Don't... he'll..."
"He'll what? Send more people?" Baki stood up. "Good. I was getting bored."
He pressed the call button.
The phone rang twice before someone picked up. A deep voice spoke in Mandarin.
"Do you speak English?" Baki asked.
Silence. Then, in perfect English: "Who is this?"