Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

"Of course they are chasing us. If someone stole ten million from me, I'd chase the bastard, too," Tristan muttered under his breath.

Next moment, everybody in the truck was thrown to the wall when the driver pressed on the gas pedal.

Louder, Tristan shouted, "Tomas, help me return the fire!"

Out of all his team, Tomas had the steadiest aim, Tristan had noticed. Now the scarred man nodded and together they opened the back door of the truck enough to shoot.

There was no point in more people trying to shoot back. The truck was wide enough that they could've fit, but only two men at the edges had something to hold on to.

The truck's driver was trying to get away from the chase. The road was empty enough that he could speed to the limit of the car's ability—but he still had to veer away from obstacles every other second. And when the truck drove straight ahead, it would always hit a pothole.

Tristan had to hold for dear for any support he could reach to not fall out of the truck entirely.

It was almost impossible to aim in circumstances like these!

From the open doors, Tristan saw the two cars chasing them. They were twenty meters away, and the shot that hit the truck was a very lucky one from this distance.

However, it was rapidly decreasing.

Tristan grit his teeth and tried to aim with the hand not busy holding onto the truck's doors. Next to him, Tomas did the same.

However, their first few shots went completely off-target. Their enemies, ones that tried to shoot out of the side windows, were just as successful.

The distance decreased to fifteen meters, and more shots began hitting close to their targets. Tristan opened his eyes wide and tried to get in the rhythm of the truck's mad shaking.

Sadly, there was no rhythm. Even shooting while sitting on top of a galloping horse would've been easier. And the bullet time wasn't activating, because, clearly, the situation wasn't dangerous enough.

Tristan's entire shooting skill was telling him that even they weren't enough.

So he sprayed bullets and prayed that they would hit at least someone or something.

A couple of seconds later, a lucky shot shattered the windshield of an enemy car, making it veer to the side and slow down. A few seconds later, the driver—only scratched by glass—got himself back together and sped up to catch up with the chase, but at the moment, that car was still biting dust.

The other car, though, got way too close.

Although Tristan's eyes were wide open, he still noticed the random bullet approaching him way too close. It already passed half of the way toward him.

The time slowed down, but this time, Tristan really was helpless to do anything about this.

'I'm going to be shot for real. In the chest, it looks like.'

There was enough time to accept this fate a little.

Inwardly, Tristan grinned bitterly.

He got what he wanted from the start of this fight, but at what cost?

Wasting no more thought on this, Tristan focused on his aim. Read today on m,v,l,e,mpyr

In the slowed down time perception, every lurch and turn of the truck was as slow as gentle coming and going of sea waves on the shore in good weather.

He pressed the trigger, and the time sped up.

Tristan's shot hit the driver of the front enemy car right in the eye, splattering the man's brains all over his seat.

At the same time, the bullet with Tristan's name on it hit him on the right side of his chest.

Pain exploded over Tristan's torso, stealing his breath, and the impact threw him back a step. He'd fall down completely and could've fallen out of the truck if Tomas wasn't there to catch him.

Although he was protected by a bulletproof vest, it was a light and weak type!

Level IIIA Kevlar vests like ones given to the strike teams would save one's life from a bullet, but not save their body from bruises and possibly even bone fractures.

Tristan was sure that the elite fighters they've met were wearing stronger bulletproof vests that could shake off bullets much easier.

Although low-level vests were lighter, at this moment, Tristan wished the gang bothered to buy more expensive and tough ones.

It hurt!

But the shock was momentary, and Tristan was used to pushing through the pain.

Although his chest flared with it at every breath, he still pulled himself together and looked at the chasing cars.

The car without a driver lost control, despite the front passenger's attempt at taking over the wheel. It swiveled to the side and drove right into a car parked on a sidewalk.

The second car tried to drive the pile around, but caught it with a side and ended up driving off the road entirely as a result.

Behind Tristan, someone swore in disbelief.

"Fucking hell! That was an insane shot, or insane luck…"

"Quiet. Hayes, how are you?" Tomas asked, pulling the truck's doors back again.

There was a police siren wailing in the distance. Tristan cringed and sat down on the floor.

"I will live, thanks." He turned on his headpiece. "Hey, driver, get us to the switch car before we enter a second car chase today!"

"On it, already on it! We will be there in five minutes."

And they were.

The truck was ditched and changed to a smaller van, where the team had to sit almost on each other's heads. The van drove around the city for a while longer, making sure that no one else was tailing it, before going to the rendezvous point.

It was a seemingly ordinary bakery, but Tristan's group drove to its back. From the side, if they weren't all wielding combat gear and covered in dust, grime and blood (except Tristan, who was only dirty), they would have looked like ordinary deliverymen bringing baking ingredients.

But they were bringing special flour instead, and in the basement, Leon himself was waiting for the raid's results.