The helicopter, targeted by bullets, quickly gained altitude and sped away.
The pilot was utterly shocked!
He had just felt as if he'd been shot at twice.
But...
He seemed to have gotten lucky and wasn't hit.
*Boom!*
After a harrowing jump, where the car barely cleared the two separated sections of the bridge, it finally landed on the other side.
Wesley, seated in the passenger seat, was immediately slammed back into his seat.
For a moment, Fox considered simply shooting the helicopter pilot in the head.
But...
That would only lead to an endless hunt for her by the NYPD.
Last year, a single audacious individual had killed a police officer, prompting the cancellation of all police leave and a city-wide lockdown of almost every street. The lockdown was only lifted once the killer was found hiding in a public restroom.
— Damn it.
— How did it come to this?! — Fox grumbled.
Apparently, they had an incredibly simple task, so how did it turn into this?
Wesley, who had barely recovered from their incredible airborne stunt, suddenly froze. In the rearview mirror, he saw a brilliant white light that seemed to hover above the ground, slowly descending. His eyes wide with terror, he screamed: — He's coming after us!
Fox quickly turned her head.
Behind them!
A silver Audi R8 sliced through the air like a crow spreading its wings, audibly clipping one of the raised bridge sections before thundering down onto the road.
That's advanced driving skills, baby!
— Fuck!
Fox leaned out the window, drew her pistol, and fired a shot at the Audi R8, which had just landed.
But...
Boom!
Bang! Bang!
Countless bullets clashed mid-air, falling harmlessly.
— What?
— Curved bullets?
Fox was stunned. She retracted her pistol and floored the accelerator, desperate to create distance.
— How does he know curved bullets?
Curved bullets had always been the Brotherhood's signature technique.
It was no secret that anyone who mastered the art of curved bullets was an assassin of the Brotherhood. There was only one way to acquire the skill, and anyone who attempted to leave the Brotherhood was eliminated to prevent the technique from spreading.
Lock smirked faintly.
Surprised?
Good!
Because I'm coming for you!
Boom!
With a flick of his right hand, Lock swiftly reloaded his Silver Dancer. He shifted the pistol to his left hand, placing his right firmly on the steering wheel. Tires squealing, he surged forward once more, chasing the Maserati, which had landed with a jolt, scattering several parts.
But...
Even after clearing the bridge, they still had an abundance of unwelcome spectators.
At least one more police helicopter rose from the island, its distinctive rotor hum growing louder as it approached. And it wasn't just the helicopter; the wail of police sirens also began to cleave the air.
— The criminals have entered the tunnel!
— Deploy more officers!
— Quickly!
— Block them off!
In the NYPD command center, the director's brow was deeply furrowed. Especially galling was the news that journalists had already caught wind of the incident. But when a helicopter was targeted, his anger truly flared.
He had just booked a five-star hotel room; his mistress was waiting there.
— Damn it.
— Mobilize SWAT! — the director roared.
— We've sent them a message, but lowering the Manhattan Bridge will take time!
— ...
If these two vehicles escape through the tunnel and emerge on the New Jersey side, the case will fall under the jurisdiction of the New Jersey police, and the NYPD will suffer a significant loss of face.
Boom!
Boom!
A red sports car sped down the road, with a silver Audi hot on its heels.
Like a cat chasing a mouse.
Boom!
Boom!
— Damn it!
Hahaha!
Lock drove with one hand on the wheel, Fox's outraged shouts seemingly echoing in his ear.
Just then...
Lock's sixth sense suddenly flared. A blue pickup truck suddenly swerved out in front of him, narrowly avoiding a collision with Lock's car only because Lock slammed on the brakes and executed a perfect spot-drift to dodge.
— Cross!
Lock, behind the wheel, stared at the man in the Raptor pickup ahead. His brow arched, and a corner of his mouth twitched as he uttered the name of the driver in the vehicle in front of him.
Cross. The traitor.
He's not dead yet.
Still mid-drift, Lock hadn't come to a complete stop. He stomped on the accelerator, straightened the car, and once again surged after Fox, who had gained two hundred meters on him in the brief moment he'd slowed.
Cross, expressionless, turned his vehicle around and joined the chase.
— HQ! They've got another one joining them!
— License plate number...
— The vehicle's owner just called us. He reported some lunatic threatened him with a gun and forced him out of his car.
— Damn it!
Cross, in fact, should have been in hiding at this very moment.
He had even been planning to meet his son and tell him the truth: that pretty girls like Fox were liars, and that she'd actually had her sights set on his father, not Wesley.
But...
Cross couldn't simply wait. On a breaking news broadcast, he'd seen his foolish son, face contorted in terror, as he soared over the separated bridge.
So...
Cross immediately rushed to him.
If it had just been Fox in trouble, Cross wouldn't have helped her; he probably would've aided her pursuer. That bitch was a bad woman, she'd led his son astray.
His son's previous life had been perfectly normal.
But what went wrong?
Why did this happen instead of a normal life?
Boom!
The Raptor pickup was pure power.
With Cross now in the mix, three vehicles tore through the streets of New York: a fiery red Maserati leading the pack, followed by a silver Audi R8, and close behind them, a blue Raptor pickup, refusing to be outpaced!
— Breaking news!
— Tomorrow, this chase is guaranteed to be on the front pages of every newspaper!
News reporters in the helicopters were practically ecstatic.
The reporters in the helicopters couldn't wait to lean fully out, eager to witness the chase with their own eyes rather than through their cameras. They yearned to be inside those three cars themselves, feeling like protagonists in a "Fast and Furious" movie—that's how utterly captivating the pursuit was.
At that very moment.
George was driving.
When he heard that the criminals were speeding towards the drawbridge, George's first thought was the tunnel leading to New Jersey. Even before the NYPD could fully react, he was already tearing in that direction.
Suddenly...
George spotted three bright vehicle lights in the distance, hurtling toward him at a furious pace.
Boom!
Lock glanced in the rearview mirror at the impassive Cross, still in the Raptor pickup behind him, and frowned.
"You son of a bitch, you didn't dare to face the Brotherhood alone, but you dare to face me?"
"Suddenly got bold, have we?"
A surge of power pulsed through Lock's body. He squinted, feeling the kinetic force of the Raptor pickup closing in behind him. He extended his left hand straight out, pistol aimed forward, then fired!
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
The Silver Dancer instantly delivered three precise hits: the first struck the Maserati's right rear wheel, followed swiftly by the second and third, all finding their mark.
In an instant...
The Maserati's right rear wheel exploded!