บท 67: Chapter 67: Hell on Wheels

"Holy shit, did you see that?" someone exclaims.

As you fly through the air, you can feel every second stretch into eternity. The cityscape blurs around you, the wind howling in your ears. The rooftop of Ammu-Nation rushes up to meet you, and you brace yourself for the impact. You land with a jarring thud, the bike's suspension absorbing the shock, but the force still rattles your bones. The tires screech as you skid to a halt, quickly regaining control, smoke rises up, filling your nostril with burnt rubber smell.

From your vantage point, you can see the compound below. It's a makeshift fortress, with high walls and a single gate guarded by several tough-looking thugs. The bike you need to retrieve is parked near the back, partially obscured by a stack of crates.

You rev the engine again, ready for the next phase of the plan. With a determined set to your jaw, you maneuver the bike to the edge of the roof and make the drop into the compound. The tires hit the ground with a squeal, and you immediately draw your weapon, ready for the fight ahead.

The guards are caught off guard, but they quickly recover, shouting and drawing their own guns. Bullets start flying, the sharp cracks echoing off the walls. You duck behind a crate, returning fire and taking down two of the thugs with precise shots. Your HUD shows your health at 175, and you can see the enemy locations on the minimap. You have 50 bullets left in your magazine.

"What the fuck? He's inside!" one thug yells, panic in his voice.

"Take him out!" another shouts, firing wildly in your direction.

The compound erupts into chaos as more guards rush to the scene. You move quickly, using the bike as cover and taking out enemies one by one. The smell of gunpowder fills the air, mingling with the acrid scent of burning rubber.

One guard, larger and more heavily armed than the others, charges at you, spraying bullets from an automatic rifle. You dive to the side, rolling behind a stack of crates and popping up to return fire. Your bullets find their mark, and the guard crumples to the ground, his weapon clattering to the pavement.

You quickly check your weapon and realize it's empty. "Shit," you mutter under your breath. Quickly take the chain out and without wasting a second, you whip it out, skillfully wrapping the chain around the automatic rifle the guard dropped, and yank it towards you. It's an M4 carbine, a sleek, deadly piece of machinery. You inspect it briefly, checking the magazine through your contact lenses. The ammo count reads almost full, and you smirk. "Time to raise some hell."

The sound of gunfire and shouts echo through the compound as more gang members pour out from their hiding spots. Some are yelling commands, while others curse at the sight of their fallen comrades. "Get that bastard!" one shouts, while another screams, "Take him down!"

You feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you take cover behind a stack of barrels. You peek out, spotting three gang members advancing toward you. You take aim with the M4 and unleash a hail of bullets. The rifle kicks in your hands, but you hold steady, mowing down two of the gang members. The third dives for cover, cursing loudly. "You motherfucker! You're gonna die here!"

The thug pops out from behind a concrete pillar, firing wildly. You duck, feeling a bullet graze your shoulder. "Fuck!" you hiss, glancing at your HUD. Your health has dropped to 150. You grit your teeth and pop back up, squeezing the trigger. The M4 roars to life, and the thug's head snaps back as bullets tear through his skull. Blood sprays the wall behind him, and he drops like a sack of bricks.

Breathing heavily, you scan the area, noting more red blips on your minimap. "Damn, they just keep coming," you mutter. You move quickly, checking your ammo count – 35 bullets left. "Plenty to go around."

A thug with a machete charges at you from the left, his roar drowning out the sounds of gunfire. His eyes are wild with rage as he swings the deadly weapon toward you. You roll to the side just in time, feeling the wind from the blade brush past your face. Coming up, you whip out your chain, expertly snapping it around his neck. He gasps, eyes bulging, and claws at the chain as you pull it taut, the metal links biting into his flesh. The machete slips from his grip, clattering to the ground. You pull harder, watching his struggle weaken until he collapses to the ground, gurgling his last breath as the life drains from his eyes.

"Not today, deepshit," you sneer, picking up the machete.

Another thug jumps from a nearby rooftop, tackling you to the ground. The impact knocks the wind out of you, and you feel his fists pummeling your sides. Your health dips to 130. You retaliate with a brutal elbow to his face, feeling the crunch of bone. The thug reels back, and you seize the opportunity, thrust the machete into his side then flip him over and slamming his head into the pavement. Snap, his neck turn 180 degree. He goes limp, dead.

Without wasting a moment, you wrap the chain around the machete, fashioning an improvised weapon. The blade, now securely fastened to the end of the chain, swings menacingly at your side, ready for the next poor bastard who crosses your path.

You pick up the M4 and take a deep breath, scanning the compound. The stolen bike, a gleaming Angel chopper, is parked near the back, guarded by a few more gang members. You know this is your chance. You dart forward, using the chaos to your advantage. Bullets zip past you, and you return fire, taking down another guard who curses as he drops his weapon and falls.

Just then, your M4 clicks empty. "Damn it!" you mutter, dropping the gun. Quickly, you swing your improvised weapon, the machete now attached to the end of your chain. You whirl it through the air, the blade slicing through one thug's arm as he screams in agony, clutching the bleeding stump. You yank the chain back and lash out again, the blade biting into another thug's leg, sending him crashing to the ground, blood pouring out furiously.

Using the momentum, you charge forward, your improvised weapon cutting a path through the remaining guards. The combination of chain and machete proves lethal, the thugs falling back in fear and pain. You keep slashing, cutting down anyone who dares to block your path. As you reach the chopper, the last thug collapses at your feet, half of his head sliced horizontally, brain matter spurting out in a gruesome spray like a fountain.

With your goal in sight, you sprint towards the bike, feeling the adrenaline surge. "Almost there," you mutter to yourself. "Just a little more."

As you approach the bike, you notice a crate of Molotov cocktails nearby. An idea strikes you. You grab a couple of the fiery bottles, lighting the rag on one. "Winter is coming, let's turn up the heat, shall we?" you say with a wicked grin. You hurl the Molotov at a group of thugs who are advancing towards you. The bottle shatters on impact, and flames erupt, engulfing the men in a blazing inferno.

The thugs scream in agony, their clothes and flesh burning. One tries to roll on the ground to extinguish the flames, but it's too late. The stench of burning flesh fills the air, and you can't help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Just then, another group of gang members rushes out from a nearby building. You grab a grenade from the dead thug's belt, pull the pin, and lob it at their feet. "Catch this, assholes!" you shout. The explosion is deafening, and debris flies everywhere. When the smoke clears, the gang members lie scattered, lifeless and torn apart by the blast. Blood pools around their bodies, soaking into the dirt.

Breathing heavily, you glance at your HUD to check your health – 110 left. Your hand tightens around the grip of the chain as you make your way to the stolen bike. The compound is eerily quiet now, the only sounds being the crackling flames and the distant wail of sirens.

You swing a leg over the chopper, luckily the key is still there. feeling its powerful engine rumble beneath you. Just as you rev the engine, the sound of approaching bikes fills the air. A few thugs on Freeway bikes come into view, their faces twisted with anger. They open fire, bullets whizzing past you.

You twist the throttle and speed off, weaving through the narrow alleyways of the city. The roar of their bikes gets louder, closing in on you. "Bring it on, suckers," you shout, gritting your teeth.

As you take a sharp corner, you spot a narrow pedestrian walkway ahead. Without hesitation, you steer the bike towards it. The walkway is just wide enough for your bike, but the pursuing thugs aren't so lucky. Two of them attempt to follow but end up crashing into the walls, their bikes skidding out of control, sparks fly everywhere. You smirk at the sound of metal grinding against concrete and the curses of the fallen thugs.

You burst out onto a busy street, narrowly avoiding a group of pedestrians who scream and scatter. The last few remaining thugs are still on your tail, their bikes roaring as they try to keep up. You spot a boatyard up ahead and make a split-second decision. You veer off the road, heading straight for the yard.

The thugs follows, not realizing the trap they're walking into. You weave through the maze of boats and equipment, the thugs struggling to keep up. Spotting a boatyard up ahead, you steer your bike towards it, the path narrowing as you enter.

"Let's see you keep up with this," you mutter, your eyes scanning the area for the perfect route.

You drive up a ramp, launching yourself onto the roof of a nearby boat. The bike lands with a heavy thud, but you maintain control, speeding across the deck and leaping onto another boat. The thugs behind you attempt to follow, but their bikes aren't built for such stunts. They struggle to navigate the narrow paths between the boats, their tires slipping and skidding.

One thug makes an attempt to jump but crashes hard into the side of a boat, his bike flipping into the water. Another tries to follow your exact path but loses balance, careening into a stack of crates and tumbling over the edge.

You keep pushing forward, the adrenaline surging as you leap from boat to boat. The last thug behind you loses control, unable to keep up with your daring maneuvers. He crashes into a railing, his bike spinning out of control and plunging into the sea below.

Just as you think you're out of the heat, the ground shakes with a sudden explosion. From the smoldering ruins of a nearby building, four black vans burst through the walls, debris flying everywhere. Flames lick at the edges of the newly created holes, casting a hellish glow over the scene. The vans' engines roar as they speed towards you, their tires screeching on the pavement.

The vans roar to a halt, their side doors sliding open with a metallic clatter to reveal six thugs armed to the teeth, guns blazing. Their faces set in grim determination, bullets already flying in your direction.

"Of course, they had to bring the fucking cavalry!" you yell, your voice dripping with sarcasm.