Makarov forbade any gunfire, which provided Owen with a huge advantage in his escape. He sprinted swiftly toward the car they had arrived in, which was parked not far away. Owen remembered that when Chikalov got out, he hadn't taken the key.
He dashed into the car in a few strides. Sure enough, he remembered correctly. Owen started the engine, which roared to life. He slammed the gas pedal, and the car shot forward.
Behind him, Makarov's men also jumped into a vehicle and gave chase. Avril and Zheng Anshun, on the other hand, rode two motorcycles to flank him from the sides.
Owen led the way, followed closely by two cars. The three vehicles raced down the mountain slope. On the sides, two black off-road motorcycles gave off their distinctive engine sounds. Taking advantage of their nimbleness, they cut straight down the hillside in a direct path.
Ignoring the terrain entirely, the two motorcycles reached the mountain road exit ahead of Owen. Behind their black helmets, the two riders' eyes were sharp and focused. From the back seat, Avril laid down a strip of spike belts, and the two of them stretched it across the middle of the road. If Owen tried to pass, his tires would surely blow.
From a distance, Owen spotted the situation at the exit and slammed the brakes. Avril and the others were blocking the only road down the mountain. The car couldn't bypass the difficult terrain like the motorcycles could.
The two vehicles behind him also came to a sudden stop, blocking his retreat. In front, Avril and the others had already drawn their submachine guns. Owen had almost no way out. If the enemy didn't want to capture him alive, his car would've already been blown apart.
"Out of the car\~\~"
A shout came from one of the rear vehicles. As he spoke, the door opened and someone stepped out, slowly approaching with a pistol.
Owen looked around. There was no chance of going down the road. His car wasn't equipped with blast-proof tires, and if it hit the spike strip, the tires would surely burst.
Seeing the people behind him moving to surround him, Owen knew he only had one option left—fight.
He slammed the accelerator and yanked the steering wheel, turning the car toward a nearby shantytown.
They had made their trade just above this area. The slums of Istanbul were home to the lowest rungs of society. It was a chaotic mix where crimes occurred daily. Police presence here was minimal. Instead, order was maintained by gangs. That's why Makarov had no qualms about conducting business at the mountaintop—because the police never intervened in such places.
Owen drove the car toward the shantytown's makeshift housing area. Even in the slums, there were hierarchies. Those who lived in buildings here were like the rich, typically gang members or the wealthy. That was their turf.
As for the lowest of the low, they could only live in shanties built from thin wooden planks and plastic sheets—freezing in winter and sweltering in summer. These ramshackle constructions were packed tightly together, extending down the mountain. Smoke from cooking fires could be seen, and women were hanging freshly washed clothes to dry among the shelters.
Owen didn't have time to worry about any of that. As he slammed the gas pedal, he reached over and fastened his seatbelt. The world went dark for a moment as the car, with barely any jolt, crashed through the first structure and burst out the other side.
The flimsy makeshift homes were like paper—no match for the speeding car. One after another, Owen's vehicle smashed through the walls.
Behind him, seeing this mad dash, Makarov's men didn't hesitate. The two who had exited their vehicle quickly climbed back in and continued the chase downhill.
Avril and Zheng Anshun exchanged a glance, rose from their ambush positions, and got back on their bikes. However, unlike Owen, they didn't drive straight through the shantytown. Instead, they followed the mountain road.
Inside the shantytown, the three vehicles rampaged like mudslides, leaving destruction in their wake.
Owen crashed through another home, splitting it in two. The right side vanished completely as the car zoomed through. The crash startled a couple asleep on the left-side bed. When they opened their eyes, they found that their house had been reduced to just a bed.
What the hell just happened?
No one answered. The culprit, Owen, continued his path of destruction, crushing everything in his way. He smashed through a chicken coop, sending terrified hens fleeing. One mother hen, flapping her stubby wings in panic, fled through a broken wall, abandoning her chicks.
Suddenly, Owen felt something warm drop onto his hand. He looked down and saw an egg—still warm from the hen.
"Sorry\~\~"
Owen tried to maintain control of the car. The shantytown was built on a slope with many sudden drops. A wrong move could easily flip the vehicle. It was sheer luck he'd made it this far without incident.
The thunderous noise naturally drew attention. Many residents came out and looked up the mountain. When they saw the three vehicles careening toward them, they scrambled to get out of the way. Some, not fast enough, simply leapt in any direction, preferring a broken limb over being run over.
With a deafening crash, one of the pursuing cars vanished. Makarov's vehicle, its view blocked by hanging laundry, flew off a ledge. The front slammed into the ground, and the car flipped.
Owen continued his reckless descent. Behind him, explosions rang out—liquefied gas tanks igniting inside the shattered homes.
Owen hunched his shoulders instinctively but had no time to look back. A bed sheet had covered his windshield entirely. Fortunately, there wasn't much elevation change here, so he kept smashing through without mishap. Not even the airbags had deployed yet.
Just as he tried to pull the bed sheet off the windshield, the blind car hit something with a loud crash and came to a violent stop. If it weren't for the seatbelt, Owen would've been thrown from the car. Even so, the airbag hit him hard.
Once he recovered a little and saw the airbag wasn't deflating, he pulled out a claw knife and sliced it open. Grabbing the case containing the plutonium bomb, he crawled out of the car.
After taking a moment to catch his breath and look around, he realized he'd made it to the bottom of the mountain. Behind him, there was a visible trail of destruction—a crude path his car had carved straight down.
His car had crashed into the ground floor of a building, which explained the airbag deployment. Unfortunately, pinned between the car and the wall was a Black man, blood pouring from his mouth. He was clearly dead.
Judging from his outfit and the AK he carried, he was obviously a gang member. Owen was right. Shouts immediately rang out nearby, and more armed men in similar outfits came rushing over.
Talk about bad luck—getting in trouble even when just passing through. Clearly, he'd just pissed off the local gang. Explaining wouldn't work now. He had no choice but to flee immediately.
Behind him, the distinctive roar of motorcycle engines sounded. Avril and Zheng Anshun appeared. They had arrived quickly, almost as fast as Owen's direct descent. From the shantytown above, the booming destruction drew nearer—the remaining vehicle from Makarov's group was closing in.
(End of Chapter)
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