"What the f*ck?!"
Rorschach stared at the words "Gun-Fu Mastery" in his mind, full of surprise and confusion.
He understood what "Kung Fu" meant, but "Gun-Fu" was a new one.
He had thought that once Firearms Mastery leveled up, he might unlock something like "Master Marksman" or "Special Weapons Expert"—skills he actually lacked or had never trained. But "Gun-Fu" just made him think of clips from some movies he had seen in his previous life.
Curving bullets?
Was that even possible?
He eagerly checked the system's description, but to his disappointment, there was nothing in there about bending shots.
Gun-Fu Mastery (1/1000):
Close-quarters shooting: The ability to shoot with high precision at extremely close range, and even use firearms to block or counter melee attacks.
Rapid response: The ability to instantly switch between shooting and hand-to-hand combat when enemies close in.
Combo techniques: Combining gunfire and unarmed fighting into smooth, continuous attack chains.
Applicable scenarios: Ideal for situations requiring frequent switching between close and long range, especially in surprise attacks or tight spaces.
Rorschach narrowed his eyes and thought for a moment.
Judging by the description, this skill clearly boosted his ability to fight with a gun at close range and gave him the kind of reaction speed needed to use a firearm to deflect bullets.
He had not tested it in real combat yet, but if it worked the way the notes claimed, his overall strength had just gotten a serious upgrade.
Maybe he would not even need body armor anymore.
The problem was that leveling this skill again would require a full thousand points of Justice Value—that meant killing a thousand criminals with sin scores over ninety.
Motherf*cker. This Eye of Judgment was hell-bent on turning him into Ghost Rider.
Rorschach shook his head helplessly. Even the Punisher in the comics probably had not executed that many people.
It was not that he could not; it was that if he dropped more than a dozen bodies, law enforcement would be all over him.
To level Gun-Fu up, he might have to join some anti-American terror group.
He still had thirteen red streaks of Justice left over after maxing out Firearms Mastery, and he dumped them all straight into Hand-to-Hand Mastery.
The number in the brackets shot up to (93/100). With how rotten this city was, he figured it would not be long before that hit an upgrade too.
"Boss Rorschach…"
The Connor brothers cut into his thoughts, picking their way over the scattered corpses with a suitcase in their arms.
They had barely had time to exchange a few words with him earlier before teaming up to wipe out all the gunmen in the warehouse.
Now that Tuku's crew was down, they finally had a chance to report what they had found.
One look inside the case at the stacks of cash, and Rorschach's face darkened with anger too.
He had only managed to pull thirteen kids out of Gus's plant. That was nowhere near the missing-children numbers the Irish brothers had given him.
At first, he had tried to comfort himself by thinking maybe the rest had not been sold yet.
But this much money made one thing very clear—Gus had already shipped out multiple batches.
In the South Side, thirteen kids did not fetch two hundred and sixty grand.
"One of these days I'm going to carve that bastard to pieces myself."
Rorschach let out a slow breath and shoved the suitcase back into the brothers' arms. "You two have been running yourselves ragged for me, doing all the dirty work. Take it. You've earned it."
"That's way too much." Connor hurried to grab half out of the pile for Rorschach. "You're the one who tracked down the trafficking ring. We were just helping you."
Murphy added his own protests. In the end, Rorschach had no choice but to walk away with sixty grand.
It was not that he was rolling in money; he just did not have many places to spend it.
Aside from his vices—booze and cigarettes—his only big expenses were guns and ammo off the black market. As for women, in all his years, he had never paid for one.
With a hard American body, a detective's badge, and bedroom skills sitting somewhere north of ninety-nine, all he had to do at a bar was crook a finger and ask, "Wanna come see my commendations?" and there would be no shortage of volunteers.
Connor and Murphy were not the type to argue this to death. Once they saw Rorschach take his cut, they closed the case and got ready to ask about the next move.
Click.
The lighter snapped open, a tongue of flame licking up.
Rorschach gave them a look, then flicked the lighter onto the canvas sheets draped over the stacks of product.
The fire spread fast, lapping over the cloth like a tongue, breathing out waves of heat.
The three of them bolted out of the warehouse and watched from a distance as the place turned into a roaring inferno under the night wind.
Nobody knew how long they stood there before one of them suddenly started laughing.
Connor threw his arms around Rorschach and Murphy's shoulders, cackling like he had just hit the jackpot.
Murphy burst out laughing with him. Both their faces were flushed, eyes bright with manic excitement.
"R-Rorschach, what the hell was in that stash?" Murphy gasped between laughs.
"What else? Ice, powder, weed…"
Rorschach trailed off as a memory from an old article in his previous life floated up in his mind.
Then—
"Holy… shiiiit. Hahahaha…"
Under the night sky, in front of the burning warehouse, the three of them clung to each other, jumping and shouting like they were high, their crazed laughter drowning out even the distant wail of sirens.
——————————
Dry-cleaning plant.
Gus watched the surveillance footage with a blank face. On-screen, a masked man had walked in and, in under ninety seconds, killed every one of his men.
Right before leaving with the kids, the guy had even raised his hand and flipped the camera off.
Gus stared coldly at the eyes on the screen. "Mike, know who did it?"
Even battle-hardened Mike tensed at the ice in his voice.
After a moment's hesitation, he answered honestly. "In all of Chicago, I've only ever seen one man move like that."
Gus sat in silence for a while, then the corner of his mouth curled up. "Kid even wore a mask. Funny, isn't it?"
"…Maybe he doesn't want to break with us completely?" Mike ventured carefully.
Gus said nothing. Whatever he was thinking stayed behind his eyes.
Then a harsh ringtone cut through the room.
The name Hector Salamanca flashed on the screen, and a wave of anger surged through Gus's chest.
If the Salamancas had not decided to make trouble, none of this would have spiraled this far.
He was just about to dial back when the shriek of sirens rose around the plant.
Thanks to the children's statements, the cops had the place surrounded.
(End of Chapter)
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