I Have Returned, but I Cannot Lay down My Gun Chapter 693

"Dammit, how the hell am I supposed to handle this... Calm down, you bastards! Calm down!"

"Zodiac! The gangs are pouring in from above! Mad Island, Vice Crips, and Bloodhood are definitely involved, and The Numbers and Salvatore are pushing in from the opposite side!"

"Damn, ugh... I see all the bastards gathered inside the gym, I'll mark their positions and be back!"

"Positions? What positions?"

"Damn it, just do it! I'll be right back!"

Her hands, legs, and body trembled uncontrollably.

It felt like her breath would stop at any mont, and her chest felt like it was being squeezed by a hydraulic press.

The tension was so overwhelming that she felt like she might throw up at any second.

And then Zodiac—real na Laplace Randia—finally felt the weight of being responsible for the lives of hundreds of others. The pressure was so intense it almost felt like her head was about to explode.

She struggled to bear it and stepped outside.

Her strong limbs, capable of crushing an adult with a single kick, trembled like aspen trees, but she forced herself to overco the pressure and fumbled inside her jacket pocket.

There, she found a gun.

But this was no ordinary handgun. In fact, it was much rarer and should only be used in the most critical situations. A regular handgun was strapped to her thigh in a holster, but this one was special.

Inside the pocket was a flare gun.

It was sothing she had acquired along with the ear-mounted communicator, a piece of equipnt indicated by Icarus’ team.

According to Icarus, there were two rounds of ammo, and they explained how to use them.

"Ha, ha..."

Click.

With great effort, she loaded one round. The cylinder opened, and a round, thicker than her thumb, slid into place. Then, she had to make sure nothing in her line of sight would obstruct her shot.

And then—bang. A piercing red flare shot out of the darkness. The first round ignited in mid-air, revealing the exact location of Zodiac’s group.

The next part was crucial. Laplace, now more adept, swiftly loaded the second round and took a deep breath. The air was thick with a variety of slls, and she, a mutant gray wolf, could sll them all.

The strongest odor among the gangsters was gunpowder, blood, and body odor. She aid at the direction where it was most potent—north—and pulled the trigger.

A green flare arced through the sky, and the communicator in her ear crackled with static before a human voice took over.

"Green flare confird. Over 700 enemy soldiers identified. Attack scheduled. Warning: Danger close due to debris from explosions."

"Danger close? What the hell is that..."

But her words didn’t continue.

At that mont, Zodiac looked up at the sky. A tiny spark fell, drifting slowly as if it were gliding through the air. After about seven seconds, it shattered into hundreds of fragnts.

Dozens of canisters filled with flammable aerosol. The so-called "cluster incendiary pressure missiles."

In other words, napalm.

She realized that what was falling from the sky wasn’t exactly the "white flas rising from the ground" seen in Lower Manhattan, but it didn’t matter much to the gang coalition that was about to be caught in the blast radius.

Zodiac instinctively dropped to the ground.

At that mont, a terrifying vibration, hot wind, and deafening noise erupted.

—KABOOM!

"You crazy bastards…!"

Upon reaching a certain altitude, the devices triggered.

At the sa ti, the aerosols dispersed and ignited, sending a trendous shockwave in all directions. As the flas and shockwaves poured through the air, the gangs caught in the blast were turned into re bloodstains.

And that was just one of six. As the grim reaper dropped them one by one from the sky, each explosive release sent out waves of intense heat and shockwaves that were nearly unbearable.

Vibrations shook the ground, and pillars of fire rose up from the north, about 300 ters away.

'...I couldn’t wipe them all out due to lack of resources.'

Although the U.S. military had weakened, that was mainly due to a shortage of personnel.

It was the broken remnants of military power. But it was still enough.

Gangsters, who were just holding firearms to satisfy their own desires, couldn’t possibly defeat modern weaponry that was designed to kill efficiently.

Zodiac was grateful that she wasn’t standing in the blast zone.

But that wasn’t the end.

While the gangs approached from the opposite side of the explosion, three tilt-jet transport aircraft began flying toward the red flare with incredible speed.

The roar of air being torn apart hit Zodiac’s ears as she lay face down on the ground.

When she lifted her head, the amplified voice of the speaker blasted through the air.

"We’re sending the lead operators. Stand by in your current location."

How long had passed?

Three operators descended from the transport aircraft via ropes.

The vague silhouettes of those descending made Zodiac feel they looked just like her. But she couldn’t speak, overwheld by their weapons and sharp movents.

They knew her position through the coordinates provided by the communicator and quickly approached her, asking:

"Zodiac?"

"...Yes, yes, that’s . Laplace Randia. Civilians are inside the gym…"

"Move. Can you walk?"

"Yes, I can… ugh..."

But it wasn’t easy.

Her legs were already weak, and the overwhelming power of the U.S. military, capable of easily turning any Brooklyn-based gang to ashes, left her in a daze.

Olivia, who was ex-PJ, effortlessly lifted Zodiac, and began running toward the transport aircraft that had landed in a nearby parking lot. Within less than 30 seconds, she was left alone in the empty cargo bay.

At the sa ti, a snake-like woman appeared, heavily ard like the mutants she had seen earlier, but their sharpness was less pronounced.

Instead, the surrounding operators began frisking her.

"I found a Glock in the holster. Considering she’s an Alpha-level mutant, I’ll apply special handcuffs. Any objections?"

"...None."

"Sit and rest for a mont. Want sothing to eat? A chocolate bar?"

"...I’m fine."

It wasn’t like they were trying to coax her into sothing.

While she thought about that, the deafening sounds of gunfire and rocket pods echoed from outside.

But that wasn’t the end. Operators who had attached heavy shackles to her hands quickly rushed out, and the scene was clearly visible to Laplace.

Turrets on vehicles unleashed dozens of rounds, and drones assembled behind them, shooting into the air. It was as if a shimring shield ford in front of them.

At that mont, the operators began engaging in combat.

Laplace leaned forward slightly to get a better view, but her arms were shackled to the aircraft, so she couldn’t see it clearly.

And then, the civilians she had been protecting started pouring out from the gym. So gang mbers mixed in, but in a place where cluster bombs, 20mm rounds, grenades, and the latest firearms were flying around, they couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

In addition, these civilians held endless trust in Zodiac. The cooperation she had shown in Central Park for months had returned in this form.

She was just dumbfounded.

But then, sothing unexpected happened.

When around 80 people boarded, the cargo bay door closed, and the aircraft began to lift off.

"What the—wait a minute!"

"We’re heading for Central Park, passengers. Don’t cause any trouble."

Whoosh!

It was almost unbelievable how quickly the transport aircraft took off. Within monts, the buildings of Port Hamilton seed no bigger than matchboxes, but the traces of destruction were still clear.

Zodiac was grateful for her past self.

Below her, in Brooklyn, and further down, in Lower Manhattan, the flas still burned.

Ironically, the city that never sleeps was living up to its na.

"Right side, right side! Dump everything we have! Burn it all! They’re coming from the right!"

"Don’t let them through! We still have civilians to rescue!"

"That bastard’s carrying a rocket! Shoot him! Take out anyone carrying sothing that can blow up the transport!"

anwhile, at Port Hamilton in Brooklyn.

A big match was happening, determining whether the Rikers’ spines would be broken, or Central Park’s knees would buckle.

The once mighty U.S. military, with its trendous power, had now fallen into decline, reduced to a shadow of its forr glory. Taking advantage of the collapse of society, escapees had grown in numbers, attacking police stations and weapon depots to expand their armant.

A heavyweight match was unfolding between the escapees, who made up for their lack of knowledge and experience with sheer numbers, and the operators, who were in an entirely different situation.

The numbers were overwhelmingly in favor of the escapees, but considering that so operators were evacuating civilians and personnel under Zodiac’s command, the weight of the situation leaned more towards the operators.

In fact, considering the weapons on the transport aircraft and UAVs, the escapees should have been wiped out already, but the enemy was desperately trying to push forward with their overwhelming numbers.

However, the operators had two major advantages.

The first was the Icarus gear, and the second was the presence of mutants.

"Whoa. Am I seeing this wrong?"

"Logan, take over! Cool down the barrel!"

"Goddamn, the barrel’s about to lt…!"

When the human-boosting Icarus gear mixed with the physical abilities of the mutants, the advantage of numbers beca almost irrelevant for the advancing enemies.

They were literally human turrets. With machine-level precision, target acquisition, firing speed, and accuracy, they wiped out all visible enemies indiscriminately.

The rate of fire was so fast that even though it wasn’t continuous, the barrel beca red-hot from the excessive firing speed.

Cold water poured over the heated barrel with a sizzling sound, filling the space between gunshots. Within a mont that felt like eternity, 80 more civilians boarded the transport, and the aircraft soared toward Central Park.

One minute passed. There were zero casualties among the friendly forces, but over 800 enemy soldiers, out of the thousands that flooded into Port Hamilton, had crossed into the point of no return.

How much ti had passed?

"ssage from Central Park! In two minutes, a cluster missile will strike Port Hamilton! Prepare for evacuation!"

"What the hell is a cluster missile? When did they develop sothing like that?"

"It’s a missile that compresses conventional cluster bombs about five tis! You idiots who aren’t air force personnel don’t know this stuff! Hurry up! In two minutes, this place will be completely flattened!"

The exact details of the missile were unclear, but from the reaction of one of the operators, it was clear that there was no need for further discussion on what the cluster missile entailed.

One by one, the retreat began. Two transport aircraft took off, each carrying around 80 people, heading toward Central Park. The remaining numbers were around 40 civilians and 11 operators.

However, the last transport aircraft, equipped with a minigun and rocket pods, had to undergo additional preparations to lighten its body before it could land.

The preparations were obvious.

—BAM!

—WHOOSH!

"Ah, that’s a beautiful sight. I’ve never heard of fireworks in Brooklyn, but this surprise is warming my heart."

"...I think I need to see a shrink. Seeing the bodies flying around over there doesn’t even phase anymore."

"Well, if we’re talking like that, our rookie should be the first to go for therapy. The transport’s landing, lay down all the remaining drones and turrets!"

And with that, everyone quickly deployed their skills, setting up around the terrain.

The sound of gunfire rang out, painfully loud. Amidst that, one transport aircraft landed, releasing a massive amount of smoke. The asphalt in the parking lot, now a landing zone, had been worn down from repeated take-offs and landings.

But no one cared about that. Urgent orders kept flowing.

"The ballistic shield’s moving forward! Block the ramp! We can’t let the civilians get hit!"

"That guy’s carrying a rocket launcher! Get him! Kill him, goddammit!"

As the sound of gunfire and chaos intensified, Eugene, who was at the forefront, fired rapidly at the person holding the rocket launcher. In the blink of an eye, the enemy fell to the ground, turned into a bullet-riddled ss.

Logan and Lorentina threw grenades near the launcher to prevent anyone else from getting hold of it, while Olivia began searching the area for any other threats.

Ti continued to dwindle—from two minutes to one minute, and then to thirty seconds.

As the Icarus operators’ comms were flooded with warnings, the pilot gritted his teeth and added:

"We’re taking off, hold on tight, everyone…!"

With a deafening roar, the engines of the aircraft pushed against the ground, and once it reached the minimum speed and altitude, the jet adjusted its angle.

Rockets and bullets continued to hamr the fuselage. However, the tilt-jet accelerated to around 600 km/h, crossing New York Bay in the blink of an eye, narrowly avoiding the waters below.

Once the aircraft cleared Port Hamilton, it rapidly gained altitude and made a sharp turn toward Staten Island.

How much ti had passed?

As the aircraft passed the window, a terrifying sight was visible in the distance.

A ballistic missile, coming in low, split into dozens of fragnts in an instant, creating a massive fireball that slamd into Port Hamilton.

It was like a giant plow forged in fire, carving through the entire district, and everyone present could barely speak in response.

Of course, there were still so who managed to speak up after witnessing this scene.

"Now that’s a spectacle."

"You calling that a spectacle? You’re really sothing."

Although no one else spoke up, they all shared the sa thoughts.

"Don’t you think the lights in New York are coming back on one by one?"

"...You crazy bastard."

And as they said.

For a mont, the operators and civilians shared the sa thought, leaving behind the ruined Brooklyn and heading toward Central Park.

This was two days before the operation began.