Gamers Are Fierce
Chapter 92 Goods

Chapter 92: Chapter 92 Goods

The apartment building was U-shaped and had ten floors. The first five were rented out to residents, while Tama Riyadi’s men occupied the sixth and seventh. The eighth floor housed an ice-making factory, the ninth a warehouse, and the tenth contained Tama Riyadi’s residence and safe house.

Considering that most of the building’s residents were likely drug addicts, the threat posed by these so-called "civilians" had to be considered. Illegal firearms were rampant here. Even if these addicts couldn’t produce automatic rifles, they could still pull out a few small handguns or homemade shotguns. Failing that, everyone had a machete.

At the moment, our biggest advantage is that the enemy can’t use the surveillance system, Li Ang thought. They can only communicate through a limited number of walkie-talkies. As long as we avoid large-scale engagements and stick to guerrilla warfare, depleting their effective strength, we’ll eventually wear them down.

Li Ang gathered his thoughts and, holding his gun, casually walked to the door. He first swept the hallway left and right with the muzzle, making sure it was clear of enemies before stepping out and advancing along the wall.

Footsteps echoed from the distant staircase—gang members, presumably drawn by the recent gunshots.

Li Ang reached into his inventory, pulled out the Ruitu Military knife 300, and used its lock-picking tool to quickly pry open a nearby apartment door.

Inside was a family of three: a man, a woman, and a child, huddling together at the far end of the living room, trembling as they watched the operator break in.

Li Ang gave them a cold glance and waved his hand dismissively.

The relieved family hurried into a side bedroom and locked the door with a bang.

Li Ang closed the apartment’s main door and listened as footsteps emerged from the staircase and ran through the hallway.

He pressed himself against the concrete wall beside the apartment door, his gun in his right hand. With his left, he pulled a grenade from his belt.

The instant the footsteps passed by the door, Li Ang fired diagonally through the wooden door, killing two men.

The enemies in the hallway fired in panic, but their bullets hit only the concrete wall, resulting in nothing more than a shower of cement scraps.

The lead man in a yellow shirt started to shout, "There’s—" but a bullet tore through his throat. He stared helplessly, clutching his throat as he stumbled backward.

Two companions tried to drag him away, but two bullets, seemingly from nowhere, struck them precisely in their eye sockets.

Three dead, seven remaining.

Li Ang crouched down, letting cement fragments scatter above his head, calmly assessing the situation.

Unlike what most people imagine, very few things in real life can stop rifle bullets. Furniture, appliances, doors, windows, stairs, cars, vans, trucks—all the things shown in movies and TV shows to be bulletproof are easily penetrated by rifle bullets in the real world. Only dense trees, steel, or robust building materials can withstand them.

Li Ang had some understanding of architecture. He had noticed that the walls adjacent to the corridor on both sides of this building were load-bearing walls. With a thickness of around 300 mm, they could easily stop rifle bullets fired from within one hundred meters. Furthermore, the spot Li Ang had chosen, in the corner between the doorway and the main bedroom wall, meant that even if bullets passed through the wooden door, they wouldn’t ricochet and harm him.

In the corridor, the thin wooden door was completely torn apart. Gunfire roared, bullets flew, and debris scattered.

Li Ang, pinpointing the positions of the seven rifles by sound, silently pulled the grenade’s pin and lobbed it into the hallway.

Two seconds later, the blast echoed down the corridor. Li Ang took out the Ruitu Military knife 300, extended it out the doorway, and used its polished steel surface as a mirror to observe the scene.

The corridor was awash with blood, with a pile of charred bodies strewn about.

Li Ang extended his pistol and shot each body once more. After making sure there was no movement, he stepped out from the doorway.

The smell of barbecue.

He indifferently stepped over the pile of corpses and ascended the stairs.

On the tenth floor of the apartment, within the safe house, Malawi City’s top drug lord, Tama Riyadi, sat leisurely in a chair, slowly flipping through a newspaper.

The safe house was quite spacious, with homogeneous steel plates embedded in the ceiling, walls, and floor. The door, crafted to bank vault standards from 100 mm thick steel, was exceedingly robust and could withstand machine-gun fire. Inside, the décor was understated yet luxurious, complete with bookshelves, a desk, a computer, and a weapon rack. In the center of the living room stood a round table laden with various dishes.

At that moment, the massive monitoring panel at the back of the safe house went completely dark, but an emergency gasoline generator still provided lighting.

Surrounded by a dozen loyal subordinates, Tama Riyadi sat behind the round table. He was a middle-aged man in his forties or fifties, somewhat bald, with dark skin, a round face, and a benevolent, mild-mannered appearance. He wore a floral shirt and loose casual pants. Tama Riyadi looked no different from an ordinary middle-aged uncle running a small neighborhood shop, but those who knew him were aware that this was just his disguise.

He hailed from a background of extreme poverty; his father was a cripple, an alcoholic prone to domestic violence, and his mother was mentally challenged. From a young age, he took up boxing, attempting to fight his way to a better future.

At the age of fourteen, Tama Riyadi accidentally killed his father, who routinely abused his mother. After fleeing to the city, his bravery and ruthlessness earned him the appreciation of a minor gang leader. He then climbed his way up within the gangs of Malawi City to his current position.

As the years went by, the aging Tama Riyadi, like other gang leaders, began to embrace religion. Yet, perhaps not even he believed that after committing so many heinous and evil deeds, he could truly ascend to heaven after death.

Tama Riyadi put down the newspaper. "Sorry about that, Santos," he said to the man in a suit sitting opposite him. "The noise downstairs is a bit much."

The young man known as Santos Aquino gave a slight smile but said nothing.

Santos was the brother of rebel leader Cruz Aquino. Unlike his brother, who had joined the military, Santos had studied abroad, majoring in medicine and holding a dental license. After returning to the country, Santos assisted his brother by liaising with major drug lords within the Philippines. He utilized hidden ports controlled by the rebels to transport the Philippines’ "special medicine" overseas.

"Cha Cha, go downstairs and check how the cleanup is going." Tama Riyadi waved his hand. The short man standing behind him nodded, grabbed a walkie-talkie, pushed open the safe house door, and went downstairs.

The two bodyguards at the door closed it once more. Tama Riyadi glanced at the shut door and smiled at Santos. "These special forces guys can be quite a hassle," he said. "But in three days, this city will be ours."

"Heh." Santos shook his head, adjusted his tie, and said in a measured tone, "Don’t get our priorities mixed up, Tama. If your excessively brash assassination of the Malawi Mayor hadn’t drawn official attention and threatened this batch of ’goods,’ my brother wouldn’t have had to launch a preemptive strike and engage directly with the Philippine military."

In the eyes of the Philippine authorities, the rebel forces represented by Santos and the major drug lord Tama Riyadi were merely partners. However, Santos’s words implied their relationship extended beyond that. In fact, the large-scale assault by the rebels wasn’t aimed at taking over Malawi City, but specifically for a batch of "goods" inside Tama Riyadi’s apartment building! They were willing to risk a potential subsequent siege and engage directly with Philippine military forces, all to protect these items.

Hearing the implicit accusation in Santos’s words, Tama Riyadi maintained his smile, though his eyes and brows betrayed a hint of darkness. He glanced surreptitiously toward the bedroom at the back of the safe house, where neatly arranged alloy boxes were stacked.

Each box’s side bore the imprint of a Datura flower.