Chapter 53: Chapter 53: Close-Quarters Melee

[West District – Electronic Vein Bar]

This place falls under the Bolago Club’s influence, right next to the busiest commercial street.

Fighters are particularly fond of this place.

[Mission Objective Updated]

[Locate the booth where Hoffman is. (Optional)]

John always felt this scene was familiar, like that gig at Nocturne Bar, the difference being that time he only had a silenced pistol, and the security level at Electronic Vein can’t compare to Nocturne.

The bar has a two-story structure.

In the middle is a large dance floor, where the sleepless men and women of Eden City gather, shaking their heads to loud music that could shatter artificial ear membranes.

The bar’s security had all begun eye-scanning.

Two eyeballs glisten in the dim corners, like high beams on the horizon.

John pulled up his hood.

He found the stairs along the wall and walked up.

The second floor is a loop corridor; leaning on the railing offers a view of the dance floor.

The spots near the walls are divided into booths, where laughter fills the dimly lit spaces.

John maneuvered around dancers and security to find a huge private room.

It even had an outer and an inner layer, with the outer being booths and the inner a soundproof room.

John activated the scan.

He suddenly saw several names from the list, thus stopping in his tracks, blocking the laser from the dance floor and disrupting the cheers and laughter inside.

Pa——

A bottle shattered against the wall.

“F*ck you, get out.”

“Stupid dumbass!”

In the booth sat several strong men, their arms modified and hair kept short, their skin covered in exaggerated tattoos.

Thud——

The metal sliding door closed.

The booth became a separate area.

“Sh*t, what’s your problem?”

“I’m gonna rip this bastard’s arm off!”

“You…”

They left the girls behind and got up with a menacing aura, immediately gunshots erupted in the room.

Two fighters fell instantly.

One collapsed on the floor, another toppled a table full of bottles and inhalant jars, prompting the girls inside to shriek and cower in the corner.

A strong man carrying a table came running out from the room.

John pulled the trigger hard; bullets pierced the glass but couldn’t land a headshot, only spatters of blood on his body, closing the gap to melee range in a blink.

The glass table was shattered to smithereens.

The strong man ripped it into two halves, swinging them with terrifying strength, sparks flying where they scraped against the metal walls.

John sidestepped, shoving the gun forward, the scope pressing right against the man’s throat.

“Cough, cough, ugh~”

The strong man’s eyes bulged wide.

John lifted his leg and kicked him over, lowered the gun and shot his head.

The room was now in utter disarray:

The red emergency lights activated, revealing ghastly corpses and black blood spreading in the dim light.

Mr. Vito’s list was extensive.

Some lay here, but none were the main target.

“Where’s Hoffman?”

A girl with a nose ring pointed to a deeper booth.

John picked up a short-nosed crocodile and left the room; chaos erupted in the bar, the dance floor was packed with people pouring out, the singer and DJ evacuating as well.

Heavily armed security was about to surround the entire second floor from all sides.

John quickly moved inward.

The second-floor security fired at him, bullets ricocheting off rails and the floor.

He raised his gun, advancing with a bent waist, taking out heads that popped up.

The sofas on the second floor were instantly riddled with bullet holes, things shattered all over the place.

John had just taken down the blocking security, two people suddenly appeared next to him, slicing through the metal rail with two swift blades.

Fortunately, he reacted quickly and dodged, instinctively pulling out his gun to retaliate.

Bullets from the short-nosed crocodile rifle pumped into the attacker’s chest, taking at least six or seven shots to barely stop one of them.

John kicked over the corpse to knock down the other one behind it.

Then he shot and blew their head off.

These goons were in flowered shirts, ukiyo-e tattoos on their chest skin, wielding the straight swords common in Sakura Cross Street for close combat.

“F*ck.”

John barged into the booth from where the goons came.

Inside were two men in suits, seemingly on a call with someone.

[Force: Owl Town Gang]

[File: East Asian, Black Boxing Scout, New Cheye Group Operative…]

They raised their guns.

John, in focus push forward mode, with faster reaction and trigger pulls, unleashed a volley to take them out.

Bam!

The booth door was kicked open, smoke and electrical arcs flickering, causing severe deformation where the slide met the metal door.

John instinctively lowered his center of gravity as something flew overhead.

Turning around, he felt a huge shadow cast over his face, his short-nosed crocodile rifle kicked away by monstrous force.

Next, being swung half a round in the air.

John drew and fired the silencer, rounds linking mid-air.

Due to angle issues, striking the jaw was impossible, and the guy’s subdermal armor was as thick as iron, each bullet drilling a bloody hole but not slowing the pace.

Alarm bells rang in John’s mind:

He’s hit a tough one!

He went for broke, aimed the gun downward at his own chest, firing at the opponent’s wrist.

Missed one shot.

Hit the prosthetic connection with another.

Bullets tore the synthetic leather protection layer, but the metal structure beneath was hard, failing to penetrate at close range.

John accomplished all this in an extremely short time.

The assailant received a slight deceleration after being hit.

John was also slammed hard against the wall by him, ignoring the pain in his back, he curled his legs up to kick the burly man off his face.

[Name: Hoffman]

[Force: Black Gold Gang]

[Scan: Heavy Subdermal Armor, Alloy Skeleton, Isaac Military Industry Muscle Fiber Bundles, etc.]

[Bounty: Violent Assault, Illegal Smuggling, Assaulting Officers, etc.]

Hoffman, over two meters tall, bald, wrapped in cybernetic muscles and two massive prosthetic limbs, appeared more intimidating than his promotional poster image.

The moment John hit the ground, he pulled the trigger.

Hoffman caught his wrist, forcibly twisting the trajectory to the floor, then swiping away the silencer from his hand.

Bam, bam!

John used his other hand to hug Hoffman, pulling up a knee to smack into his ribs.

They both separated again.

The damned bastard charged up like nothing, bullet holes on him bleeding, but reaction speed was monstrous.

A small room, like an octagon cage.

John retreated to dodge a fast hook punch.

Hoffman magically produced a forearm-long straight blade.

The sharp edge had just swiped through John’s coat during the punch sneak, tearing the outer fibers of his bulletproof vest; fortunately, the newly made insert was tough enough not to injure him.

John didn’t think, directly drawing the Gambler.

His rifle and sidearms being seized, close combat weapons were meant for this moment.

In the cramped room, only short breaths could be heard.

They briefly probed each other’s moves, metal collisions resonating several times, leaving scratches on their faces and limbs.

Blood began wetting the clothes too.

John handed control to his subconscious, letting the [Ranger] chip from Raqi Industry take effect, his tense muscles squeezing every last drop of strength.

His heart pounded, muscles strained for one last push.

John couldn’t recall if he blocked Hoffman’s blade, suddenly abandoning the Ranger’s moves and switching to CQC techniques, reversing the knife handle to open up his opponent’s throat.

Hoffman grappled with John, bursting out of the room, both covered in blood, skin with visible black veins, crashing down with a thud at the edge of the first-floor dance floor in a frenzy.

Thud!

The glass floor shattered spectacularly.

“””

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