Russell's scream was piercingly shrill—if this had happened in the middle of the night, that sudden outburst could have scared someone to death. But in reality, he wasn't the one who got shot; it was the corpse of Beard that he was propping up.

Although Slicked-back Hair was now deaf, blind, and dizzy, unable to keep his balance, he still had a gun in his hand. Aside from not being able to fire curved bullets, it was still plenty lethal.

Russell needed to empty the Beretta 92F's magazine. To make it look convincing, he used Beard's corpse to block the muzzle.

There was no disrespect to the dead—Russell was a good young man steeped in five thousand years of traditional culture. Before propping up Beard's corpse, he had even discussed it with Beard.

Beard didn't say a word; Russell figured it was probably because he was shy, so he took it as tacit consent.

Bang! Bang!

"Ah! It's broken... my kylin arm with 374 reps per minute! It's broken!"

Bang! Bang!

"Ah—"

"My...! My...!!!!"

Russell didn't care whether Slicked-back Hair could hear him or not; his instincts told him that Slicked-back Hair could sense it. So he hid behind the pillar and howled with all his might, the more dramatic and miserable, the better.

But Slicked-back Hair wasn't easy to fool. After a few shots, he realized Russell was playing him and refused to fire recklessly anymore.

The standard Beretta 92F magazine holds 15 rounds. Slicked-back Hair was using an extended mag, for a total of 20 rounds, but thanks to Russell's interference, he now had only two bullets left.

Worst of all, due to his overconfidence, Slicked-back Hair hadn't brought a spare magazine. The old flintlock pistol was something he had modified himself, specifically for armor-piercing; it was powerful but took a long time to reload. If these two bullets couldn't take care of Russell, he'd have to fight hand-to-hand.

Facing an enemy up close while under the negative effects of a flashbang, Slicked-back Hair found the idea thrilling. So, unless he was absolutely sure, he wouldn't fire those last two bullets. If Russell didn't come out, he'd just wait it out, hoping to stall until the debuff wore off.

Hiding behind the concrete pillar, Russell knew that the longer this dragged on, the more time Slicked-back Hair would have to recover. Plus, the character card's time was limited—he couldn't afford to wait.

Russell gave Beard a look; the other party remained silent, but the meaning was clear. Russell got the message, carefully propped Beard's corpse in front of him, and stepped out from behind the pillar.

Bang!

Sensing something, Slicked-back Hair raised his hand and fired, hitting Beard square in the chest. 9mm handgun bullets are great at stopping, but not so much at penetrating; the bullet ended up lodged inside Beard.

Russell was equipped with the subway police character card, so he knew this well and wasn't worried about the bullet passing through Beard and hitting him.

Slicked-back Hair forced his eyes open; all he could see was a blur of white, tears streaming uncontrollably. He could vaguely make out a gray, blurry figure approaching, but he didn't dare shoot. Fighting through the lingering dizziness, he silently calculated the distance between himself and Russell. After taking a deep breath, his heart rate instantly shot past 400 beats per minute.

The world seemed to slow down in his perception. Even though he was in terrible shape, he still managed to fire off his last bullet, confident it would hit.

Bang!

After the gunshot, the sound of two bodies hitting the ground rang out at the same time. Only then did Slicked-back Hair breathe a sigh of relief. He immediately exited the so-called "bullet time" state. Unlike the father and son with the cross, he had gained this ability through training and couldn't maintain it for long—otherwise, he'd die of heart failure.

Just as Slicked-back Hair was marveling at his narrow escape, a sudden gust struck him. His face took a heavy blow, his nasal bone collapsed, and he fell backward to the ground.

Russell floored Slicked-back Hair with a straight punch, stepped forward, and followed up with a heavy kick to Slicked-back Hair's face. The nose is one of the most fragile parts of the body; a hard hit can instantly incapacitate someone with pain.

With a two-hit combo, Russell left Slicked-back Hair dazed, then kicked his hand. The kick was so hard that the Beretta 92F flew over the railing, plummeting down from above.

Behind Russell, Beard's corpse was pressing down on the corpse with the goggles. That's right—Russell had crouched and walked out carrying two corpses, taking advantage of Slicked-back Hair's inability to see or hear.

Slicked-back Hair let out a scream, his voice full of rage, like a beast making a final stand before death. Russell didn't dare get close; he turned, picked up the assault rifle on the ground, and swung it like a club, smashing it hard into Slicked-back Hair's face.

Slicked-back Hair's face was a bloody mess, several bloodied teeth flying out. He collapsed to the ground, crawling and rolling away until he reached the concrete barrier, where he shakily stood up and drew an old flintlock pistol from behind his waist.

A flintlock pistol without a ball is basically just a fire poker. Russell swung his rifle again, knocking the flintlock out of his hand.

Slicked-back Hair was strong, but so was Russell; both guns flew out of their hands at the same time.

The next second, Slicked-back Hair let out a low growl, opened his blood-and-tear-streaked eyes, and lunged at Russell. The pain had suppressed his dizziness; though he still couldn't hear, his vision had recovered a bit—at least enough to make out Russell's position.