The gunfire frequency behind him decreased.
Flashes of light flickered behind him repeatedly.
The wall lamps illuminated the outer passage, separating the battlefield from the marketplace.
John walked to the edge, his waist lit up, and he swiftly raised the Vodka revolver, like lifting an invisible curtain, then pulled the trigger.
The robbers were wiped out before the patrol arrived.
John had no time or interest in looting.
He turned up his jacket collar, retreated into the darkness, leaving the mercenaries and bystanders behind.
Calmly, he left the scene, climbed the steps, returned to the surface, now merely a hundred meters from the bodies.
The soundwave of Silver Rider 577 swept through the streets.
Eden City's nights lacked neither noise nor engine roar, but a high-end sports car storming through the black market roads still drew attention.
