Behind the two doors lay the main hall of Eteon's headquarters. The only difference was which group of enemies waited on the other side.
To Leon, it didn't matter. Left or right—either way, they'd fall.
He studied the doors briefly, then moved toward the one on the left.
The door wasn't locked by a key. He tested it—it wouldn't budge. It had been locked from the inside, a clever design. Without someone opening from within, breaking through was meant to be nearly impossible.
But Leon wasn't someone who played by the rules.
With a sharp exhale, he snapped his right leg up in a lightning-fast kick.
Boom!
The reinforced door blasted inward like it had been hit by an explosion. It slammed into a hulking man—easily over two meters tall—pinning him against the wall with a sickening crunch.
The giant slid to the ground, face twisted in agony. Two of his front teeth were shattered, blood streaming from his nose and mouth. His body was limp, bones likely broken all over, and he passed out instantly.
Leon sneered. "Big frame, but weak as a paper tiger."
On the right side of the room stood a glass partition. Behind it, fifteen men froze at the sight of Leon storming in. For two seconds, shock held them still—then the shouting began.
The glass shattered, and they charged forward—chairs in hand, pipes swinging, guns flashing. Their faces twisted with murderous intent.
But Leon? He didn't even flinch.
He drew his pistol—his seemingly infinite-ammo sidearm—and opened fire with machine-like precision. No aiming needed. Every squeeze of the trigger was a clean kill.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Each bullet struck squarely between the eyes. The weapon's penetration tore through skulls, blasting out the back of heads and punching into whoever stood behind them.
One bullet—two kills.
The hall filled with screams and collapsing bodies. Blood sprayed across the air, but Leon's clothes remained spotless. His movements were cold, methodical, unshaken.
Fifteen men down in seconds.
Had it been anyone else, they would have been shredded by crossfire before getting through the door. But Leon—Leon was something else. A one-man army.
And the fact that Eteon hadn't unleashed heavy weapons yet told him something.
"Hmph. Weak. This feels staged," Leon muttered.
Indeed, for an organization like Eteon, guns were never in short supply. Yet only five of the fifteen had firearms. The rest wielded pipes and chairs like street thugs. It screamed of a deliberate trap, meant to lure him deeper. The real firepower was waiting beyond the next set of doors.
Leon smirked. "Well, if you're so eager to welcome me… don't mind if I make myself at home."
He blew across the pistol barrel and strolled into the workshop.
Inside was a third-generation Range Rover, well-maintained and gleaming.
Leon's grin widened. He tried the ignition—the engine purred to life instantly. Steering smooth, RPM steady, fuel topped. The mechanics must have just finished servicing it.
"Perfect timing," Leon said with satisfaction.
The growl of the Range Rover's engine filled the small chamber, reverberating like the roar of a predator preparing to strike.
Outside the doors, a hundred of Eteon's elite soldiers crouched with rifles at the ready. Their faces were grim, bodies slick with nervous sweat. Leon's relentless advance had pushed the entire organization into a defensive corner, something none of them had thought possible.
Among them stood Brixton—the cybernetically enhanced "Black Superman," restored yet again after his last defeat. Each time Leon wrecked him, Eteon dragged his broken body back, repaired him, and sent him out again.
Tonight, Brixton's nerves ran higher than the others. This was his chance at redemption. If Leon crushed the base, Brixton would be nothing but scrap.
Then, from inside—
Vroom… VROOOOM!
The sound of an engine snarled through the walls. Brixton's face turned ashen. His eyes widened with dread.
"No… they left a car inside," he realized. He had forgotten about the serviced Range Rover parked in the garage.
If Leon got his hands on it…
Too late.
BOOM!
The doors burst apart, and the black Range Rover exploded out like a cannonball. Tires screeched, rubber scorched, and in less than four seconds it hit 100 km/h. The beast tore through the hall like a whirlwind of steel.
"Open fire!!" Brixton roared.
Gunfire erupted. Bullets rained like a storm, shredding the air. The Range Rover's body became pocked with dents, windows shattering under the barrage.
But miraculously, the tires held. Not a single round struck the wheels. The SUV thundered forward, unstoppable.
Leon ducked low, hugging the console, one hand steady on the wheel, one foot crushing the accelerator.
The Range Rover howled like a raging beast, drowning out the gunfire as it surged toward the panicked soldiers.
"Scatter!!" someone screamed.
"Get out of the way!!"
The formation collapsed instantly. Terror overtook discipline. Soldiers leapt aside in desperation, but a few weren't fast enough—slammed by the SUV's reinforced grille, their bodies launched like ragdolls, blood spraying as they hit the ground lifeless.
Another stumbled, falling in the SUV's path. The Range Rover rolled over him with a sickening crunch, leaving nothing but silence behind.
The squad's formation disintegrated into chaos.
Brixton's face twisted with fury. He clenched his cybernetic fists, rage burning in his eyes.
"Damn it!! With that car in his hands… Leon's a monster!"
~~----------------------
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