In the distance, at the moment he heard the gunshots, Glenn Hutchinson's heart slightly contracted.
War, from this moment on, officially began!
This was an informal war.
This was a war belonging to two people.
Everything else was merely a backdrop.
The life and death of others proved nothing; only their own life and death could determine if they could move forward.
They fought alone, yet never backed down.
That night, Glenn Hutchinson saw more enemies and bullets than he had imagined. He penetrated their death spots with bullets one by one, stabbed the enemy's heart with daggers, blood splattered everywhere, a tragic and heroic scene that seemed to cleanse the dark night.
Blood flowed like a stream.
Theirs, his, or hers.
Time seemed so fleeting, yet eternal.
Glenn Hutchinson could not remember how many he killed, only those enemies with vicious eyes and dense bullets; danger loomed everywhere, ambushes were everywhere, those occupying the city allowed no one to approach.
