Just when everyone thought the Shield of George’s ejection system malfunctioned, causing Augustus’ escape show to fail, George Augustus had efficiently kicked apart the solidified foaming gel and drilled out of the escape pod.
The impact of slamming into the Phantom Pain at speeds exceeding 120 km/h had clearly caused him substantial injuries. From the cockpit’s internal perspective, one could clearly see the shards of tal that embedded in his body before the foaming gel filled the chamber after the collision.
However, even in such a state with blood streaming down, he slid smoothly to locate the ergency valve of the Phantom Pain. As the panic-stricken driver frantically tried to release the master-slave control system’s hold on his body, George Augustus didn’t hesitate to snap his neck.
"Tch..."
Augustus pressed on his wound, letting out an annoyed cry of pain, but instead of crawling back into the cha, he reached into a hidden compartnt beneath the cockpit and pulled out a small box. He slid down from the Phantom Pain and, while retrieving a vacuum-sealed film ball wrapped around the gambler from his wrecked escape pod, he controlled the drones with a remote controller to focus the sound collection on himself. Only then did he say:
"When can my ch be delivered?"
[What ch?]
[Who’s sending it?]
[Did I miss sothing?]
Myriads of comnts flooded the live stream, but soon, a colorful top-of-screen VIP comnt popped up—
[The transport missile is ready. Please set the launch coordinates; it is expected to arrive within three minutes.]
[Damn, is Constantin Company entering the fray?]
[Boss, aren’t you confused? Now that you’ve said this, won’t it definitely be intercepted?]
[Right, right, Augustus must have prepared to intercept the missile! This Phantom Pain should still be operable, why not just steal it?]
[Stop kidding, where does the strear get a Phantom Pain ch identification code?]
[You’re all being naive. Anyways, the Constantin’s household is enormous, they won’t miss a few chs. They won’t personally show up, so if the strear succeeds, they earn big; if he fails, they still earn advertisent fees...]
[Damn, you make a lot of sense...]
...
"Set the coordinates for this building. If it’s just two Phantom Pains, we can hold out for three minutes."
Augustus didn’t have ti to respond to the viewers’ comnts. Watching them ask and answer each other, he turned and dived into a pile of rubble, casually pulling out the tal fragnt lodged under his ribs. Opening the first aid kit he had extracted from the Phantom Pain’s cockpit earlier, he used a dical stapler to staple the wound shut.
The dical treatnt that appeared on the screen was as smooth yet as horrific as a CG animation, to the point where one might wonder whether Mr. George Augustus had completely lost his sense of pain.
Feeling the [Tough Guy] tag generating a large influx of [Identity] credits, Mr. George dangerously grinned, ignoring the comnts suggesting he was overestimating himself. Clambering up the damaged walls, he positioned himself in the corner where the ceiling and wall t, facing outwards in a cicada-like wall posture.
[Laughing to death, how can you avoid infrared scans like that?]
[Plus, you’re still live-streaming. Purple Light’s guys have long spotted you.]
[Forget Purple Light; from the city surveillance, it looks like people from several other companies have also started heading that way.]
[Damn, aren’t you afraid the strear will just shut off the live broadcast?]
...
Watching the barrage of comnts flash by, Augustus had no intention of ending the live stream; on the contrary, he wanted to attract the two Phantom Pain cha to co find him.
As the gambler, now an unprotected target, was tied up with just two pieces of cloth in his hands and with no cha protection, these people definitely wouldn’t dare to use heavy artillery against him.
It’s the old story of not wanting to damage sothing precious even as you try to catch a mouse.
As for the possibility of so idiot just firing away...
Open Mouth and Close Eyes, learn sothing about it!
But as it turned out, none of the soldiers paid to fight were that foolish. The two Phantom Pain cha soon ca to a halt near the ruins. Although conventional wisdom would suggest waiting for reinforcents at this point, considering the savagery displayed by this operator, the two pilots decided to take him out before his cha could be deployed.
With such a thought in mind, the two cha reached for the ergency valves, entering the ruins with a motion that looked almost like a salute.
[Damn, the strear’s can-opening technique was blocked!]
[But seriously, do you need to defend against that in regular combat?]
[Ask the guys who got canned before if it was necessary!]
[But those two got hit first, right? In normal circumstances, avoiding being canned is just like swatting a mosquito. Even if you don’t hit it, you can still drive the mosquito away, right?]
...
As one comnt after another helped count down for George, he slowly adjusted his breathing while slipping his hand into his bulging pockets.
George’s current state was quite disheveled, but no one doubted his ability to pull off another trick.
Inside the live stream, in an effort to boost viewer ratings (stoke the fire), the platform deliberately placed a countdown tir in the upper left corner of the main screen. As a third of the 180 seconds quickly passed, the two Phantom Pain finally reached a position where they could see human outlines on their infrared sensors.
"Two minutes left, how to stall?"
Everyone pondered this question at the sa ti, whether they were comntators or viewers. Even the two Phantom Pain pilots were considering how this man might extricate himself under these circumstances.
"Damn, if I had known, I would’ve brought a couple of net grenades!" one driver muttered under his breath, taking the lead while his teammate maintained a distance of about five ters, ready to cover him at any ti and avoiding the risk of both stepping into a trap at once.
"What can possibly fit into a pair of dress pants? At most it’s a hand grenade or foaming gel. I’ve got the anti-jamming system on; I’m not even afraid of your graphite bombs!" The leading pilot psyched himself up as he controlled the cha. As ten seconds elapsed, he stood only a wall away from Augustus, without any intention of walking over, but instead wound up his fist and punched toward the wall, hitting it at waist height.
However...
"Pop!"
A very odd sound suddenly erupted among the shattered building debris and a colorful ball of about two ters in diater also appeared on cara.
This was...
"A buffer ball? How did he get one of those things on him?" The pilot’s face darkened. Obviously, the impact from the wall-breaking punch had all landed on this ball!
The ball didn’t fly far in the air before it burst with a pop, but it had already served its purpose in cushioning the punch. Following that, George Augustus hooked his arm around the wall, flipped over agilely, and once again widened the distance between himself and the cha by several ters.
Although theoretically, even an outdated third-generation cha should have no problem traversing five ters with a light tap of the foot, the nine-ter-tall cha faced significant obstacles in the half-ruined buildings.
The tal giant swung its arm, forcefully tearing off a slab of flooring, and under the guidance of the fire control system, threw it at the agile little pest. However, imdiately following that, another rapidly inflating buffer ball appeared between Augustus and the slab...
[Oh! Another buffer ball, wait, is the strear singing? Microphone, microphone!]
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