Chapter 145 Good Brothers

The Rhino stood there like a cold, unfeeling robot, making no movement and uttering not a single word.

He simply watched George in silence.

A faint red light still flickered within his pupils.

George drew a deep breath inward, then consciously pulled his right hand back, said nothing at all, and obediently trotted back to his bed.

He had no choice but to be obedient!

The very moment the Rhino appeared, George did not even have the luxury of wishing for death.

No one else could bring such an intense sense of oppression to George as this fellow.

George clearly remembered how this entity had grabbed him effortlessly like an eagle snatching a chick, dragging him away directly. Back then, no matter how fiercely he resisted, even using every ounce of his strength, it was all to no avail.

The Rhino's hands were like iron vices, locking him firmly in place.

Before this Rhino, George even had the illusion that he was merely an infant in swaddling clothes, entirely devoid of any means to retaliate.

With this freak guarding the door,

It seemed his route of escape was completely blocked off...

Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, casting a sidelong glance at that towering figure that seemed to blot out the sky, George thought with helpless resignation.

Immediately afterward, he began to pray:

I can only pin my hopes on those brothers of mine. I hope they've come to rescue me...

***

As for the brothers George was yearning for so dearly, they were currently engaged in a heated firefight.

The two sides had been at a stalemate for some time, but it had only been probing exchanges thus far, without any substantial clash. As of yet, there were no casualties.

Perhaps factoring in the nearly tenfold disparity in numbers between the two parties, this battle seemed somewhat abstract.

Yet when brought into reality, one would find such an outcome entirely normal.

In modern firearms warfare, manpower might still hold a fairly significant share, but compared to the era of cold weapons like swords and bows, its weight had drastically decreased.

Ten well-trained crack shots versus one hundred novices firing at stationary targets, assuming both sides possessed perfect cover—not to say the ten crack shots would inevitably win, because firearms warfare is inherently a conflict of overflowing lethality. One hundred people are not terrifying, but one hundred firearms are terrifying indeed.

One thing, however, was certain:

This was by no means a situation where victory could be easily decided.

The forty-eight well-trained combat operatives cared only about preserving their ammunition and numbers for defense while waiting for reinforcements to arrive.

On the other side, the New York police officers—whose actual primary profession did not lean toward combat—had no intention of risking their lives to annihilate the enemy either; their main objective was likewise self-preservation.

Consequently, with both sides prioritizing self-preservation above all else, the stalemate naturally persisted.

The Deputy Chief sat inside a specially modified command police vehicle, watching the flickering dots of light on the constantly operating infrared and thermal imaging systems around him.

After a short while, an officer approached the vehicle and reported: "Deputy Chief, no sign of the Rhino has been found, nor have we seen Captain George. I suspect our intelligence might be wrong."

The Deputy Chief, however, shook his head and said: "The intelligence is correct. These men are accomplices of the Rhino who abducted Captain George."

As the Deputy Chief of the New York Police Department, he naturally knew about the prison break orchestrated by the Rhino, which had drawn hundreds of well-trained terrorists using heavy weapons to stall the vanguard troops for a full ten minutes.

"Then what should we do now?" the officer asked.

The Deputy Chief glanced at the screen in front of him again and replied: "First, surround this group here. Even if we cannot rescue Captain George this time, apprehending terrorists of this caliber is still contributing a brick and tile to the security infrastructure of New York."

"But these men's defenses are extremely tight, and for some damn reason, their coordination is so seamless. We've been probing for so long, and yet we can't find a single breakthrough..." the officer voiced his concern.

He also wanted to capture these terrorists, but if it required sacrificing the lives of numerous police officers, that was something he could never accept.

To his surprise, the Deputy Chief shook his head and said: "No need for a breakthrough."

"Huh? What?" The officer thought he might have misheard.

No breakthrough? Just grinding it out like this?

The Deputy Chief's decision clearly baffled the officer, leaving him temporarily unable to grasp the Chief's line of thinking.

"Just surround them. If we truly engage in a head-on collision, there's no telling who will win or lose. Furthermore, based on my first impression of those terrorists, it's clear they are exceptionally well-trained. Therefore, if it comes down to a desperate final showdown, even if we emerge victorious, we will lose many of our brothers, and that is something I cannot accept." The Deputy Chief replied.

Hearing this, the officer nodded. Naturally, he could not accept a "pyrrhic victory"—after all, they were good brothers who ate and patrolled together daily; losing even one of them would bring prolonged agony.

"But it will be dawn soon... If we drag this out, once daybreak arrives and blows this matter wide open, public opinion will be hard for us to handle. After all, terrorists with this kind of equipment are operating right under our noses.

"If word really gets out, next year our department's citizen satisfaction rating is bound to hit a new low..."

Hearing this, the Deputy Chief turned his head toward the officer and said: "Reputation and such things are superficial; those are matters to be considered at the very end."

Looking into the Deputy Chief's eyes, the officer immediately lowered his head and said: "It seems I was too preoccupied with reputation..."

"Still, you make a valid point, which is why I won't drag this battle out until dawn. I will wipe out this group of terrorists entirely before daybreak," the Deputy Chief stated.

Without beating around the bush, he explained: "In fact, General Ross has been searching for someone in New York with his troops. I just notified him, and he is willing to lend a hand.

"So as long as we stall until General Ross arrives, this battle is ours.

"After all... fighting is those guys' actual profession..."

***

"As long as we hold out until reinforcements arrive, we will definitely be able to break through."

Commander One said to the combat operatives under his command.

One of the operatives had a rather impatient temperament. Having been surrounded for only a short while, he was already growing restless, demanding to go out and engage in a real, lead-slinging battle with these cowardly New York cops.

Hence, Commander One directly revealed the matter of reinforcements to his squad members.

As soon as these words were spoken, the squad calmed down considerably.

"Besides that, our squad has a special mission: we must keep a close eye on the target and absolutely not let him escape. Do you hear me?"

"Copy that!"

While responding, the two combat operatives holding submachine guns fixed an even more intense stare on Bruce Banner.

Meanwhile, Bruce Banner was frantically plotting his own escape in his mind.

He had just heard the commander's words as well.

In other words, reinforcements would arrive before long.

When that time came, escaping would become even harder—Bruce Banner thought to himself.

Which meant his time was running out...