The sound of the gunshot came so abruptly, so unexpectedly, that it left everyone unprepared.
The tall robber, who was just standing at the front of the car dividing the money, didn't have time to take any evasive action before he was shot in the back of the head and collapsed to the ground.
The shooter wasn't the young black man, but it was clear that he had something to do with him.
Because he remained calm, without any sign of panic, and instead turned toward the pile of cardboard behind the door, grinning as he called out, "Austin's best shooter, as expected, lives up to the reputation."
As soon as he finished speaking, his expression changed in an instant, and with a look of disdain, he spat on the body lying on the ground.
With contempt, he muttered, "Tch, self-righteous white pig soldier. Did you really think I, Loka, would share the money with you? You were just my tool."
The cardboard pile near the door suddenly collapsed with a loud crash, and a middle-aged black man wearing a baseball cap stepped out without a sound.
The underground garage was dimly lit, and visibility was poor, but due to the naturally concealed nature of dark skin, no one would have noticed the man hiding there unless they were told in advance.
He was holding an old M1911 pistol, which had a laser sight attached beneath the barrel. It was with this pistol that the tall robber had met his end.
"You remember our deal, three to me, seven to you, right?" the young black man said, handing over six stacks of cash. His eyes couldn't hide the pain of the transaction.
If he hadn't heard that the tall robber was a former soldier who had been expelled from the Navy SEALs but still had some decent skills, the young black man, after having been in the gang for over a decade, would never have given up on eating all the profits by himself. Instead, he paid a hefty sum to hire Austin's best shooter to take part in this black-on-black bank robbery.
The middle-aged black man's peripheral vision caught the remaining stacks of cash on the hood of the car, and a greedy glint flickered in his eyes, hidden under his cap.
Without a word, he raised his hand and shot.
Once again, it was precise, clean, and without hesitation, striking the target at close range.
The young black man staggered, a bullet hitting him in the forehead. Struggling, he raised his right hand and pointed weakly at the middle-aged black man. His eyes were filled with regret and disbelief.
He wasn't regretting killing his partner but rather regretting not having been bolder in taking everything for himself.
"I don't like splitting money either," the black shooter said coldly, watching as the young man's body hit the ground. He gathered all the money back into the bag, shoved it into his pocket, and walked toward the garage exit.
He thought he had made a killing and would finally be able to rest for a while.
But what he didn't expect was that, after taking out the praying mantis and the cicada, there was an old hunter still lurking in the shadows.
Just as he proudly walked through the garage door, a lasso suddenly descended from above, perfectly looping around his neck.
In the instant the noose tightened, a large figure descended from the garage's upper level, gripping the rope's end.
With skin tanned to a wheat color, a crew-cut hairstyle, distinctly mixed-race deep blue eyes, standing nearly 1.9 meters tall, and weighing over 200 pounds, it was the same muscular Asian man who had "played it safe" during the bank robbery and later chased down the robbers on his motorcycle.
"Shh—" The sound of the rope rubbing was intense as both ends began to sway like a balance scale.
The noose around the black shooter's neck tightened rapidly, lifted him off the ground, and suspended him in midair, as the Asian man's massive body dragged him down.
No matter how hard the black shooter struggled, he could not escape the suffocating pain.
"That white girl set up a black-on-black scheme, didn't ask for a ticket but earned U.S. dollars. If only every day could be like this," the muscular Asian man said, in fluent Mandarin, as he tied the rope to a steel rebar exposed in the wall.
He walked over to pick up the bag of cash that had fallen on the floor, his eyes gleaming with greed as he looked at the stacks of crisp U.S. bills. He walked slowly back to his Harley motorcycle, completely ignoring the black shooter still hanging in mid-air, struggling for breath.
To him, this man's life was no more significant than a stray dog begging for food on the street—at least with a stray dog, he might throw a piece of bread.
When the roaring sound of the Harley engine started up again, the Asian man disappeared completely from the garage's entrance.
From the moment the Asian man made his move to attack until he completed the heist and made his getaway, the entire operation took less than a minute.
It was smoother than eating a Dove chocolate.
This daring, meticulous, and precise execution showed that this Asian giant was no ordinary person.
"Interesting. Truly interesting. I haven't seen someone so interesting in many years."
As the Asian man rode off on his motorcycle, another muscular man, standing over 1.8 meters tall, slowly emerged from the small grove of trees on the right side of the garage.
He watched the motorcycle disappear into the night, then looked at the lifeless body of the black shooter still hanging in the wind.
A thoughtful smile spread across his face, revealing a row of sharp white teeth, with a deep scar on his right cheek that resembled the body of a centipede. He gave off an eerie, menacing aura, as if he could eat you alive.
In the Obo Community, one of the few remaining white neighborhoods in West City, which was almost entirely occupied by black residents, the Harley motorcycle from Austin's community stopped outside a garage with the number 205.
The Asian man rode his noisy old Harley into the garage, but no one came out to greet him.
The place was quiet, though disorganized.
On the front wall was a poster of The Expendables, with Sylvester Stallone's muscled frame and a cool thumbs-up pose.
Next to it was a line in Chinese: "Success is doing what others want to do but dare not. The Expendables, looking forward to your joining."
This wasn't just a movie poster but a recruitment ad for one of America's best private military companies—The Expendables.
"Stallone, no, Mr. Barney Ross, I look forward to the day I meet you."
The Asian man casually greeted the poster before pressing the garage door button, taking off his coat, and walking into the living room.
In this dangerous, abnormal world, to earn big money quickly, you had to live by the blade.
If he couldn't successfully join The Expendables this time, the Asian man had no other opportunity to elevate his skills. He would be forced to retire and interview for The Expendables, aiming to become a legitimate modern armed mercenary—PMC (Private Military Contractor).
A life where he could earn a fortune in the sunlight, strolling down the street, spending without care.
This had been the Asian man's dream in his previous life. Unfortunately, he died without ever realizing it.
The reason he couldn't join was simple.
Only large international companies could afford to hire PMC services, and they only wanted the best soldiers to serve them, unwilling to risk their lives on people without a solid foundation.
Such high standards made entering the field nearly impossible for most people.
Starting out required at least special forces level experience, or years of PSC (Private Security Contractor) service, or coming from a national law enforcement agency.
The Asian man had only been an ordinary soldier in a basic unit, and in China, there were hundreds of thousands of veterans entering society every year, many of whom couldn't even find work as security guards. Faced with the rising bride price, he had no choice but to venture abroad and risk his life as a mercenary.
Such "three no" personnel—no background, no experience, no connections—were never wanted by PMC companies or teams.
They feared the "bad apple" that would ruin everything.
Luckily for the Asian man, his luck turned around in this life, and he had a chance to experience something truly miraculous.