The drone was equipped with an assault rifle and a high-capacity drum magazine, ruthlessly sweeping the room with bullets.
Evidently, this second drone was here to assess the damage to the target and, if necessary, deliver a follow-up shot.
After the glass on the balcony shattered, the living room of the suite had beco uninhabitable. All the agents fled in various directions, but the next second, they all scrambled back in.
Because outside, sothing even more terrifying had appeared—five or six chanical dogs had erged from sowhere.
These chanical dogs were equipped with rifles, grenade launchers, and even flathrowers. Their firepower was strong, and they were fearless; whoever engaged in a shootout with them was in for bad luck.
Especially the flathrowers, which, though they seed ordinary, were like those used in Arican country hos for burning dead leaves, their power was chilling.
The flas could stretch five or six ters, the searing heat far more terrifying than bullets. Even the bravest person could only run away covering their head.
Director Schmidt had just reached the suite door when he was t face-to-face with the flathrower of a chanical dog.
Flas instantly engulfed him, and he let out a piercing scream. His eyebrows, beard, and hair were all singed as he fled back miserably, his face full of fear and pain.
The room was in chaos, with agents dodging everywhere, the chanical dogs’ footsteps and the roar of flathrowers intertwining, as if the apocalypse had arrived.
Zhou Qingfeng lay behind the sofa, his heart pounding like a drum, the comical footsteps of the chanical dogs and the whizzing of bullets filling his ears, with the occasional rush of flas bursting in front of his eyes.
Nobody had expected the attacks to keep coming in waves, seemingly without end.
He could only stick close to the ground, minimizing his exposure, while observing his surroundings to find any possible place to hide.
At this mont, Director Schmidt fled back in a panic, his eyes quickly locking onto the leather sofa by the wall in the living room.
The sofa was large and thick, its heavy leather and solid wood fra making it the sturdiest cover in the room.
The director almost dived behind the sofa, hiding while shouting, "I’m Director Schmidt, cover . Take down these chanical bastards."
Zhou Qingfeng glanced at the person who suddenly appeared beside him, without ti to think, he directly asked, "Do you have a gun?"
Even though he could legally purchase and own a rifle, handguns were strictly controlled. He hadn’t brought any weapons when he boarded the cruise ship.
Director Schmidt didn’t hesitate, quickly pulling out a "P320" handgun from his waist and handing it to Zhou Qingfeng, shouting, "Counterattack, imdiately counterattack."
Zhou Qingfeng took the gun, feeling slightly more reassured.
However, the situation in the suite was growing increasingly dire.
All six chanical dogs had charged into the Presidential Suite, working in pairs with perfect coordination, forcing the federal agents into a continual retreat.
These chanical dogs could not only carry a load of forty or fifty kilograms and maneuver at high speed, but they were also fully modified with ample ammunition and fierce firepower.
More frighteningly, their critical parts were reinforced with heavy armor, making them hard to completely destroy unless the caras, communication antennas, or control panels were directly hit.
So agents had already emptied their magazines and, in desperation, tried to kick the chanical dogs over, only to find their balance was extrely stable, making them impossible to topple.
Their four legs skillfully adjusted their center of gravity, and they were strong with keen sensory abilities. Sensing soone trying to kick them, they would imdiately turn around and seek out their target.
Suddenly, a chanical dog rushed to the side of the sofa, its gun muzzle pointing directly behind it.
Zhou Qingfeng had just gotten the handgun and hadn’t even had ti to adjust his posture when he heard the approaching footsteps of the chanical dog.
His heart tightened, and without hesitation, he gave Director Schmidt a hard push on the lower back.
The already panicked director, crouching behind the sofa, was flung face-first to the ground, his head hitting the floor heavily.
He had just lifted his head when he saw the cold muzzle of the chanical dog’s gun pointing at him, no more than two ters away.
"I am Director Schmidt!" he shouted almost instinctively, hoping that his identity might bring a glimr of hope.
The chanical dog didn’t react at all, its head lowering slightly as the machine gun on its back adjusted position, followed by a burst of rapid-fire "tat-tat-tat-tat."
The director’s head was instantly blown apart, blood and brain matter splattering everywhere.
Seizing the mont that the director offered as cover, Zhou Qingfeng had a chance to adjust his posture, aiming the gun steadily at the cara beneath the chanical dog’s head, and pulled the trigger calmly.
"Bang bang"—two shots, the cara shattered on impact.
Without its eyes, the chanical dog didn’t fall imdiately.
Instead, it went into a berserk state, its back machine gun wildly spraying bullets, pouring them out like rain.
Its customized machine gun was connected to a two-hundred-round ammo box, granting it imnse sustained firepower.
The bullets whizzed over Zhou Qingfeng’s head, the muzzle flashes sweeping back and forth, not only suppressing his escape but also threatening to turn him into a sieve at any mont.
Zhou Qingfeng dared not lift his head, only raising the handgun slightly, shooting continuously towards the chanical dog’s direction. However, even after emptying the magazine, the chanical dog still didn’t fall.
Just as he was trying to drag Director Schmidt’s body over for cover, a buzzing sound suddenly ca from behind his head.
Zhou Qingfeng’s heart sank—this was when he realized with horror that he had overlooked a deadly presence: the second drone from the balcony had already co inside.
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