Chapter 268: Mantlescramble Battle (Iii)
Chapter 268: Mantlescramble Battle (Iii)
Sweat dripped from Officer Ke Le Pu Dun’s temple as he spoke, his voice taut with tension and disbelief: “What exactly are you trying to do?”
“I’m simply helping you see the situation clearly, Officer,” Feng Bu Jue replied calmly. “From what I understand, Gotham’s police force is severely understaffed right now. The casualties among your officers would be a cost you can’t afford. At this point, we’ve already prepared thoroughly. Sneaking into this building without alerting us is impossible. If you insist on a forced entry, the price will be devastating.”
“Also, I should clarify—this bank’s vault is an imported model, designed with a fascinating mechanism. Once the power cuts, the internal ventilation system shuts down completely. Simultaneously, the electronic lock on the door randomly generates a numeric code at the moment of power loss. Our set password becomes useless. To reopen the vault, you’d have to contact the European manufacturer, go through a complex identity verification process, obtain a special decryption program, and then decode that random number. Only then could the vault be opened again.”
“Unfortunately, the hostages inside won’t last that long. Cut the power, and even if you restore it immediately, the air won’t flow back in. They’ll suffocate in about two minutes. Five minutes without oxygen causes irreversible brain damage. Ten minutes later, you’ll have to explain their deaths to the media and their families.”
“Of course, you could pray for a miracle—like one of your men, or some superhero, being strong enough to breach this place without cutting the power while we’re on guard.”
“I personally doubt that scenario, but even if it happened, I’d still regret to inform you—the situation wouldn’t change. The hostages’ lives remain in our hands. For the next twenty-five minutes… sorry, twenty-five minutes, forcing the vault open is impossible. Without our password, you’ll just have to watch the hostages suffocate helplessly.”
“Fine, fine!” Ke Le Pu Dun turned sharply, shouting at his men, “Halt the tactical team! Hold position!” He exhaled heavily, then barked into the phone, “There! You heard that, didn’t you? Are you satisfied now?!”
“Yes, crystal clear,” Feng Bu Jue said with a chuckle. “Ten points for making the wise choice, Officer Ke Le Pu Dun.” He paused a beat before adding, “Now… call me back in ten minutes. By then, I’ll tell you our demands.” With that, he hung up.
...
The bank lobby remained brightly lit. Though the front entrance’s glass doors were sealed behind metal shutters, the artificial lights on the ceiling stayed on, casting no shadows.
Feng Bu Jue stood by the counter, placing the phone receiver down after finishing his call.
The submachine gun thug had kept his weapon trained on Feng Bu Jue the entire time. Naturally, he wouldn’t easily trust this sudden stranger. If Feng Bu Jue uttered even a hint of a coded phrase, he’d be shot dead instantly.
The other two thugs stood farther away, each guarding a wing of the lobby, their guns aimed at the dozens of hostages gathered in the center.
“Told you so, right? Just spouting some nonsense was enough to stop their forced entry,” Feng Bu Jue said casually, shrugging his shoulders.
“Alright, you bought us ten minutes of safety. So what? You still haven’t told me how we’re getting out of this,” the submachine gun thug asked, his tone now less aggressive than before.
“In a hostage situation against the police, the kidnapper’s primary and most basic task is to count the hostages,” Feng Bu Jue replied. Without waiting for a response, he continued, “From my observation, you three haven’t done that yet. Fortunately, I’ve already counted for you—excluding the three of you and myself, there are twenty-nine others.” He raised his hand, palm outward, as if to emphasize. “Mind lowering your gun from my face?”
The thug stared into Feng Bu Jue’s eyes for a few seconds, a silent threat in his gaze, before slowly lowering the barrel.
Feng Bu Jue strolled to the bank manager—a bald, middle-aged man in glasses crouched nearby—and poked the man’s back. “You’re the manager?”
“Y-yes…” the manager stammered, his voice trembling. Moments ago, he’d been crouched on the floor, hands over his head, barely daring to breathe. At Feng Bu Jue’s approaching footsteps, his nerves had tightened. The poke had nearly made him jump out of his skin.
“Relax, staff,” Feng Bu Jue patted his shoulder. “I just need to ask—where are the cash bags and the plastic security seals?”
“O-oh… they’re… through the door behind the counter, in the vault room…” The manager hesitated, recalling.
“Hand over the keys and access card,” Feng Bu Jue ordered.
The bald manager blinked twice, then nodded and complied.
While speaking to Officer Ke Le Pu Dun on the phone, Feng Bu Jue had already observed every person in the lobby. From their appearances and subtle details, he’d deduced crucial information—like identifying the bank manager and knowing the keys and access card for the staff areas were in this man’s pocket.
“What are you planning?” the money-counting thug asked.
“Naturally, to take better control of the situation,” Feng Bu Jue answered. “Would you mind fetching those items?” He casually handed the keys and card to the thug.
“Since when did you start giving me orders—” the thug grumbled.
The submachine gun thug cut him off: “Just do it. And don’t forget to follow him.”
The leader had spoken. The money-counting thug sighed, shot Feng Bu Jue a glare, then took the keys and vaulted over the counter toward the vault room.
As the thug departed, the submachine gun thug spoke two words: “Now what?”
Feng Bu Jue’s lips curled into a smile. A golden glint flashed in his hand as a gleaming playing card flew toward the nearest thug, mere meters away.
At this distance, the Death Poker’s precision was flawless. A streak of light tore through the air, slicing the target’s throat open.
The submachine gun thug never understood how a seemingly unarmed man, who hadn’t even made a throwing motion, could suddenly launch a lethal weapon.
“You!” The handgun thug at the far end saw the scene unfold. Reacting swiftly, he raised his gun and fired.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Gunshots echoed. Feng Bu Jue stood his ground, not dodging. He didn’t even activate the Poker’s Shield special effect, merely raising his arms to shield his face.
Events unfolded exactly as Feng Bu Jue predicted. The thug’s marksmanship was abysmal. Panicked, he emptied his entire magazine in one burst, hitting only twice. The bullets, slowed by the Echo Armor’s sound barrier, left shallow wounds in Feng Bu Jue’s abdomen and thigh—24% vitality loss, nothing critical.
Feng Bu Jue mentally counted the shots. As the last bullet fired, he calmly lowered his arms, pulled his submachine gun, [Moxxi’s Bad Temper], from his satchel, and ignored the now-empty-handed thug. Instead, he aimed at the door the money-counting thug had entered. Listening to the approaching footsteps, he fired the moment the thug’s head appeared.
“What the—” The thug’s words were cut short by the staccato gunfire. As he stepped out, bullets shredded his face, killing him instantly.
“Drop the gun,” Feng Bu Jue said, having just killed two men with icy calm. This command was clearly directed at the remaining handgun thug.
“Dream on, bastard!” The handgun thug roared back, already ducking behind the western wall of the lobby. He’d taken cover in a compartment housing an embedded Atm—a booth-like space, one meter square, with three sides of bulletproof glass printed with patterns. The glass door could be locked from the inside.
He didn’t know where Feng Bu Jue had pulled his weapon from or what had killed his leader. All he knew was that this cold-blooded killer wouldn’t hesitate to kill hostages. The gun in his hands was his last bargaining chip. Dropping it would leave him defenseless.
“I’ll count to ten,” Feng Bu Jue shouted. “If you don’t come out and surrender by then, you’ll never get another chance.”
Handgun’s hands trembled uncontrollably, slowing his reloading. He feared the opponent might charge at any moment. Now that Feng Bu Jue had announced a ten-second countdown, he felt a sliver of relief, thinking he’d bought himself time.
“One… two… three… four…” Feng Bu Jue counted one number per second, timing each beat with pinpoint precision. During the seven seconds it took to reach “seven,” he did the following: holstered his submachine gun, retrieved the [Endless Grenade Magazine] from his satchel, pulled a [Mark II Grenade (Generated)] from the grenade magazine, stowed the [Endless Grenade Magazine], yanked the grenade’s pin, swung his arm back, and aimed at the open-topped compartment six or seven meters away…
“Eight…” Feng Bu Jue reached the number and hurled the grenade.
Handgun had just finished reloading, panting heavily as he muttered, “Stay calm. I’ve got this. That guy’s already injured. If I rush out fast enough…”
Thud, thud, crack, rumble…
The grenade had bounced twice after being thrown into the compartment before landing.
Handgun stared at the grenade’s discarded pin at his feet. After a split-second mental blank, he uttered his final words—four letters that summed up everything: “F*.”
………
Boom! The explosion roared.
Even through the sealed iron door, the blast’s force was unmistakable.
“What’s going on in there? First gunfire, now an explosion? Is this a terrorist attack?” Ke Le Pu Dun could wait no longer. Four minutes remained until the deadline, but he grabbed the phone and signaled his colleagues in the surveillance van.
Beep… beep… beep…
“The hostages are fine,” Feng Bu Jue said, lifting the receiver. “But the time’s not up yet, officer. I hate people with no sense of punctuality. You’ll have to wait another ten minutes—starting now.” He left no room for interruption. “If you call again early, I’ll kill a few hostages for every minute you’re ahead.” He slammed down the phone.
………
Inside the bank lobby, hostages remained on the ground. After killing three thugs, Feng Bu Jue had seized two guns from the submachine gun thug, continuing the hostage situation.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Feng Bu Jue dragged his injured leg behind the counter, collecting the cash carrier’s gun. “From now on, I’m in charge here. Cooperate, and no one gets hurt.
“If everything goes smoothly, you’ll be home in a few hours, sharing dinner with your families. For the married men here—good luck reviving your… neglected intimate lives tonight.” His tone sounded like he was joking with old friends, devoid of overt menace. “But if anyone refuses to cooperate—or worse, tries to sabotage me…” He rolled an office chair to the counter’s edge, sat, and leveled his gun. “I’ll shoot every living thing in my sight until my [Ammunition] runs out.” He paused, scanning the hostages’ faces. “Understood?”
No one expected three clumsy thieves to die, only to be replaced by a cold-blooded madman. None dared meet his gaze or answer directly. Some whispered tearful prayers to God.
“OK, the lady in the beige coat. Yes, you.” Feng Bu Jue gestured. “Could you lift your head?”
She was a blonde woman in her thirties, plain and unremarkable. Tears had smeared her makeup, and vomit stained her blouse. She looked up, trembling. “Please… don’t hurt me…”
“Relax, ma’am. I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Feng Bu Jue said. “I noticed a brown handbag on the floor beside you. Is that yours?”
She glanced at the bag, then nodded. “Y-yes… Take whatever you want… Just don’t hurt me.”
“I’d like to ask—did you bring a makeup bag today?”
“What?” She blinked instinctively, then hurried to answer, fearing delay. “Y-yes, I did.”
“Does it have a pair of tweezers for plucking eyebrows?”
“Yes… There are.”
“Please go get your handbag, find the tweezers, and bring them to me.” Feng Bu Jue paused. “No rush. I don’t want you panicking and scattering everything.”
She quickly retrieved the tweezers and handed them over, trembling.
Feng Bu Jue took them, smiling. “Thank you. Return to your spot and keep your hands visible.”
After she complied, he turned to the bald manager. “Manager, come here too.”
The manager hesitated, looking around before realizing he was the target. He stood and approached.
“Thirty cash bags and sixty plastic zip ties,” Feng Bu Jue said, pointing to the cash carrier’s corpse. “Get them from him. I’m sure he won’t mind.” He gestured toward the exit, tilting his head. “Go on.”
The corpse lay near the counter’s doorframe, a convenient detour. The manager steeled himself, retrieving the keys and access card from the headshot victim, then hurried to the vault.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Feng Bu Jue called. “Don’t keep me waiting too long… You know what happens.”
“Y-yes… I understand.” The manager stammered, trotting away.
“Hey, the man in the suit. Yes, you. Lend me your lighter, please.” Feng Bu Jue addressed another hostage. From his right hand’s nails, Feng Bu Jue deduced he was a smoker. In fact, he’d already deduced details about all twenty-nine hostages—class, marital status, habits, hobbies…
Feng Bu Jue placed the gun within reach, heated the tweezers with the lighter, and calmly extracted bullets from his wound, plucking shrapnel and bits of flesh without flinching…
The hostages who dared peek were stunned. They didn’t know players’ pain perception was weakened. In their minds, they marveled: What a tough bastard…
Feng Bu Jue swiftly removed two bullets, leaving the wounds unbandaged. His status bar’s bleeding effect stopped automatically. He checked his [Vitality Value]—68%. Not urgent.
The manager returned with the cash bags and zip ties, placing them on the floor. “Any further orders, sir?”
Feng Bu Jue nodded toward the hostages. “Use the zip ties to bind their hands behind their backs, their feet together. Then put the cash bags over their heads.”
………
Ten minutes passed—this time, a full ten. When the police techs were ready, Ke Le Pu Dun picked up the phone and dialed the bank lobby.
It rang four times before Feng Bu Jue answered. “You’re punctual this time, officer.”
“What about the hostages in the vault? Are they alive?” Ke Le Pu Dun demanded. “What do you want? You know you can’t escape. Listen… I know you didn’t kill the hostages earlier. You’re smart. If you convince your accomplices to surrender with you, I’ll plead for leniency with the judge.” He lowered his voice on the last sentence, as if the deal were real.
“Heh… Tempting offer. But between a prison sentence and the freedom of the Xiao Yao Sect, the latter’s far more appealing. I’ve got the vault password. You won’t shoot me while the hostages are alive… or dead. Isn’t that right? Ha!” He laughed, the lie a perfect shield.
Meanwhile, the bank’s closed doors creaked open again.
As the rolling shutter rose, the scene before the police was…
(End of Chapter)
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