Chapter 149: Metal Storm

"Sir, the green monster has fled along with that group of terrorists. Should we pursue them?" a police officer asked the deputy chief.

The deputy chief remained silent for a moment before saying, "Pursue!"

Then he added, "Maintain a safe distance, however. We currently have no effective weapons to deal with that monster, so observing must remain our primary objective. Make sure this order is passed down: no one is to open fire without my explicit permission."

Provoking that monster's wrath was no laughing matter—the deputy chief kept these words to himself.

He felt that speaking them aloud would deal a severe blow to everyone's morale.

To be honest, the combat effectiveness of their police force was indeed lacking. Many of them were nearing retirement in their forties or fifties, pudgy and barely capable of shooting accurately from a distance, let alone running a few steps without gasping for breath.

This was the current reality for most police departments across America.

After all, their officers rarely had anything to do with large-scale warfare involving heavy weaponry; that was the domain of soldiers who underwent rigorous daily training. At most, the New York police only dealt with petty skirmishes among neighborhood gangs.

So their weak combat readiness was only natural.

Weak as they might be, saying it out loud was still out of the question.

After all, it would be too discouraging.

The morale of the entire squad had barely been mustered by the rallying cry of rescuing the police chief. Now, not only was the chief nowhere to be found, but they had also run into a green monster. Probably no one had any desire to keep fighting.

To be honest, neither did the deputy chief.

His instincts told him that when faced with a monster against which even bullets were utterly useless, the wisest course of action was to run as far away as possible, as fast as possible.

Yet, the reason he had attained his position and earned the appreciation of Chief George was precisely because of the same steadfast sense of duty that defined Chief George.

Therefore, his reason told him he could not run.

If such a monster were left to rampage through residential areas, the unpredictable consequences that followed would be catastrophic, potentially resulting in countless deaths and shattered families.

This was not alarmism on the deputy chief's part; it was the genuine realization that had formed in his mind after watching forty-eight well-trained terrorists render themselves utterly helpless before the creature.

This monster possessed terrifying destructive power!

Consequently.

They, as police officers, absolutely could not retreat. Even if no reinforcements were to arrive, they had to keep their eyes locked firmly on this monster and closely monitor its whereabouts.

When the time came, they would initiate evacuations ahead of schedule to minimize the damage as much as possible.

That was the duty of a police officer.

Thus, at the deputy chief's command, the police cruisers roared back to life, continuing their pursuit of the Hulk, who was currently playing a deadly game of tag with the terrorists.

Yet they strictly adhered to the deputy chief's instructions, maintaining a constant distance from the creature.

It was a prudent distance—close enough to track the Hulk's movements in real time, yet far enough to flee the moment danger struck.

......

Commander Number Eight was running for his very life.

Behind him felt like a vengeful ghost seeking his soul... No! That damn green monster was far more terrifying than any vengeful ghost!

Driven by an overwhelming survival instinct, Commander Number Eight felt as though he had surpassed Usain Bolt in a single instant, sprinting the hundred-meter dash in 8.88 seconds, his legs blurring into phantom afterimages.

He took the lead at the front of the pack, followed by his remaining subordinates, and trailing far behind them was the Hulk, whose eyes blazed with a fury exclusively reserved for these terrorists.

Fate did not play any cruel jokes on Commander Number Eight. He did not have to run much longer before he saw his salvation—

A long convoy of dark transport trucks!

Driving these unremarkable transport trucks out in the middle of the night, anyone stumbling upon them would likely mistake them for agricultural produce being hauled off to market.

Yet Commander Number Eight, having spent considerable time within the base, naturally knew that beneath those unassuming canvas tarps could lie dozens of elite soldiers or a metal storm capable of annihilating heaven and earth!

A fierce desire to survive prevented him from stopping; instead, he ran toward the convoy, waving his arms frantically and shouting at the top of his lungs.

"It's me, it's me! Hurry up and deploy the metal storm, fire at that green monster right behind me!"

Seeing no immediate reaction from the convoy, Commander Number Eight grew desperate. He stamped his foot hard against the ground and bellowed, "Hurry up!!!"

Still, the convoy did not execute the order.

Because Commander Number Eight was only the commander of those forty-eight men, not the commander of these reinforcements. Regarding a weapon of mass destruction like the metal storm, they held the authority to judge whether its deployment was warranted.

Unless faced with a truly critical emergency, it would not be unleashed.

This calm detachment among the reinforcements lasted only until the Hulk entered their field of vision.

An order was suddenly barked from within one of the transport trucks.

With a series of mechanical clicks, the canvas flap at the rear of the third truck dropped away, revealing a menacing metal storm within. Its densely packed barrels looked at a glance like a honeycomb... Dual-purpose in a way, meaning even if it struck a steel plate, it would instantly turn that plate into a matching honeycomb.

However, the immense recoil prevented the weapon from unleashing its full terrifying firepower atop such a small truck.

Four terrorists, exhibiting practiced familiarity, leaped down the moment the truck's rear flap opened.

Instantly, they pulled stabilizing struts from the four corners of the truck, operating the mechanisms so that the bases drove themselves deep into the ground like pile drivers.

Only after all four stabilizing struts were fully secured did the metal storm officially activate.

It swiveled its barrels, locking onto the Hulk as its primary target, while electronic systems calculated the target's trajectory to determine the optimal firing angle...

Through a complex yet highly efficient series of calculations, the metal storm locked firmly onto the Hulk.

And then.

It was...

Open fire!

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat————

Endless torrents of bullets instantly spewed from the rotating barrels. The muzzle flashes were so dense they merged into striking streaks of fire, hurtling toward the Hulk like spears of the fire god at blinding speed.

Naturally, the Hulk, whose mind was currently consumed by blind rage, did not choose to cower and dodge cowardly.

Instead, he lifted his head, intending to face the onslaught head-on like a true man!

His head-on confrontation proved remarkably successful... right up until he turned himself into a sieve.....

When the first "spear of the fire god" struck the Hulk, his abnormal defensive durability—which easily shrugged off ordinary bullets—seemed to fail entirely.

The armor-piercing rounds unleashed by the metal storm tore straight through him.

Without the slightest resistance, it cut through flesh as effortlessly as a knife slicing through tofu.

Immediately afterward, the overwhelming tempest of bullets rained down, plunging into the Hulk's body one after another.

Green blood spurted continuously.

A flicker of astonishment crossed the Hulk's fury-filled eyes. This was the first time since his brief existence that he had truly experienced what humans called technology...

With a heavy thud, the Hulk's massive body crashed to the ground.

Seeing this, Commander Number Eight nearby was overjoyed. He halted his frantic dash and panted heavily.

Was it over?

Though he knew the true situation remained uncertain, the boundless sense of safety rushed over his heart the moment their cutting-edge weapon inflicted damage on such a monster.

Only...

None of the observers present noticed at that moment.

Although the Hulk had fallen, his muscles were gradually swelling and expanding even further......

The true terror of the Hulk had never been his superhuman strength, nor his formidable regenerative healing factor.

Rather, it was... his ability to continuously grow, continually strengthen, and become ever more terrifying without any upper limit, fueled entirely by his rage!