37 Russian-Style Counterterrorism

In truth, C4 is an exceptionally stable substance; whether shot at or set on fire, it’s very difficult to detonate. Yet, knowing this is one thing; not being afraid is quite another. After all, being hard to set off is one thing, but whether it can be set off or not is still a question—and who could say for sure that Jos hadn’t planted a detonator of some sort in his backpack? One careless move and an accidental discharge could level this entire ruined city.

“I’m telling you! The hundred or so of you are already surrounded! If you know what’s good for you, put down your weapons and surrender!” Jos bellowed, arms crossed and head held high.

“Attack! All of you, go! Kill him!” Clearly, the leader had no intention of accepting Jos’s offer.

A gunfight was avoided, but neither side was going to back away so easily. At the leader’s hoarse command, his men drew iron rods and steel blades, surging toward Jos.

Jos, unafraid of close combat, sneered and charged to meet them. With a swift motion, he pulled from his chest a pair of black gloves and slipped them on. But as he threw a punch, the gloves transformed into razor-sharp claws, slashing down the nearest man in an instant.

The crowd assumed these were simply his weapons, but none could have guessed that they were in fact one of the most dangerous symbiotic organisms in the Marvel universe! Though the modified Symbiote could no longer fully fuse with a host, it could now be used as equipment, which for Jos proved even more convenient.

Still, to avoid drawing suspicion and to conceal one of his trump cards, Jos kept the transformation minimal—only extending the attack range by about half a meter and turning his ten fingers into claws.

Even so, in the midst of these terrorists, Jos was a wolf among sheep, felling his enemies one after another with each swipe of his claws. His speed and reflexes left him virtually untouched.

After dispatching one foe with a claw, Jos deftly slipped a grenade from the man’s belt, pulled the pin with a flick of his finger, and without a backward glance, tossed it into the crowd. The explosion tore through the ranks, leaving devastation in its wake.

Bang!

A crisp gunshot rang out. Jos glanced askance to see a would-be attacker aiming at his back, only to have his head blown apart by a sniper round from who-knew-where.

It was Jos’s teammates!

Although they were a bit slow to react for certain reasons, each was an elite soldier, and now they had all switched to cold weapons, joining the fray.

Atlas swung a massive iron rod—no one knew where he’d found it—breaking bones with every swing. Obanu weaved through the enemy ranks, twin blades flashing, dispatching foes with swift efficiency.

Truth be told, without firearms, these scattered, ill-prepared militants were no match for Jos’s crew in close-quarters combat. Meanwhile, Simon’s ghostly sniper shots kept everyone safe, giving them the confidence to fight without fear of their exposed backs.

While both sides avoided using firearms, Simon wielded his sniper rifle without the slightest hesitation—a testament to his absolute confidence in his marksmanship.

Boom!!!

In the distance, Jos detonated several more grenades, shrapnel and fire raining down everywhere. His hands, cloaked in black claws, shredded the terrorists’ bodies with effortless ease.

While everyone else hesitated to use explosives, Jos flung grenades without a second thought—a testament to his mysterious confidence in his own reckless methods.

For some reason, watching Jos spurred his teammates on; their morale soared, and the four of them began to gain the upper hand against their hundred-strong adversaries.

“If we don’t end this soon, that lunatic is going to set off all thirteen hundred pounds of C4 right here! Push harder, take them down!” Though Atlas and the others couldn’t communicate telepathically, in that moment, they exchanged this very message through glances, posture, and even the flight of bullets.

Even among regular people, a professional boxer can dodge attacks and beat an amateur with ease. Here, the difference was even starker. Atlas and his companions were special forces; their enemies, mere foot soldiers in a terrorist group. If guns were involved, the outcome might be uncertain, but in hand-to-hand combat, the result was inevitable.

“Damn it, forget it! Use your guns! Do you hear me? Use your guns, you idiots!” When the leader finally realized what was happening, he saw there were hardly any of his men left standing.

Seeing the tide had turned, he wasted no time abandoning his last subordinates, spinning on his heel and fleeing without a trace.

Unfortunately, while the man was a coward, he had decent tactical sense. Once he realized there was a sniper among Jos’s group, he kept to cover the entire time—otherwise, Simon would have ended him long ago.

“After him! Don’t let him get away!” Atlas roared, dashing after the fleeing leader.

Though their mission was only to draw the enemy’s attention, there was no reason to let the chance to kill an enemy lieutenant slip by.

Jos nodded, finished off the last enemy with a swipe of his claw, and followed close behind, while Obanu, instead of chasing, turned back to protect Simon, the sniper.

“Hahahahaha! What’s wrong? Surprised?”

Suddenly, the leader’s grating laughter reached Jos’s ears. He looked up and saw Atlas standing frozen, like a statue.

“What’s going on?” Jos frowned and approached, but then understood why Atlas wore such an expression.

The leader had seized a little girl with his left hand, pressing a pistol to her head with his right.

He had found a hostage!

No one knew where he’d pulled this girl from. Whether she was terrified beyond reason or simply numb, the child’s face was utterly blank, her hollow eyes staring emptily ahead—a heart-wrenching sight.

“Hehehe… Brave American soldiers, I don’t suppose you want to stoop to our level, do you? So if you don’t want her to die, don’t do anything rash. Drop all your weapons, every last one—”

Bang!

A gunshot. The girl crumpled to the ground.

“The hostage is already dead. I suggest you surrender,” Jos said, blowing imaginary smoke from the barrel of his gun.