Tokyo: Rabbit Officer and Her Evil Partner Chapter 594 - 405: Who Am I?

A few days later.

Rainy night, overpass, a Maybach speeding.

Minamoto Tamako, in a raincoat, holding a GPS tracker, squats beside the highway’s rightmost guardrail, spotting headlights from afar.

She flings a spike strip across the highway, lightning pierces the sky, the spikes reflecting cold light.

The Maybach screeches to a halt, white smoke erging amid the rain, a piercing friction sound follows, the car body pushed by inertia gliding forward, the tires rolling over the spikes, producing several explosions followed by a series of thumping sounds.

Minamoto Tamako retrieves the spike strip and looks back, seeing the Maybach sliding, drifting ten ters ahead, finally coming to a stable stop on the highway.

The other cars stream past, Minamoto Tamako seizes the gap, reaches into her waist, grips the gun handle, jogs over, maintaining a safe distance from the Maybach, step by step adjusting her angle, looks toward the car window only to find the driver’s seat empty.

Minamoto Tamako hastily backs off, fires at the trunk, empties the bullets.

The gunshots resonate through the night sky, surrounding vehicles slow down, so people video her through the car window.

Minamoto Tamako doesn’t mind, she focuses on pursuing Fushimi Roku.

Since not in the trunk, he must have hidden under the car from the blind spot as she approached...

Minamoto Tamako reloads, bends down slowly, lies on the ground, only for the trunk to suddenly pop open, Fushimi Roku, covered in blood, leaps out, knocks her down, snatches the gun.

This guy quietly endured a few shots hiding in the trunk.

Without the gun, Minamoto Tamako was like a hedgehog without quills.

With the operation failed, she stayed put, awaiting punishnt, leaving behind a ’I’ll be back’;

Then the police took over the scene, began recording, Minamoto Tamako’s third ti, a habitual offender. Even if Fushimi Roku himself signed an understanding note, the issues of illegal gun manufacturing and possession were serious, the court ordered her parents to send Minamoto Tamako to a juvenile correction center.

Not long after, Minamoto Tamako took advantage of a school break, crafted another handgun, found a chance to ambush Fushimi Roku... She was a little anxious, not even waiting for the court’s decision, each ti released on bail, would go straight to capturing him.

Just like that, within two weeks, Fushimi Roku experienced eleven assassination attempts, each unexpectedly.

Like Minamoto Tamako hanging outside a high-rise, disguised as a window-cleaner, as soon as Fushimi Roku entered the office, she smashed through the window;

Or Minamoto Tamako working in a coffee shop, disguised as a staff mber making coffee, secretly pouring sleeping pills when Fushimi Roku bought coffee;

Or Minamoto Tamako sneaking into his apartnt, removing the sofa cushion stuffing, hiding inside, waiting for Fushimi Roku to sit, then bang-bang two shots...

Fushimi Roku was also sowhat mad, encountering so many assassinations, each ti nearly dead, yet calmly letting her go.

Finally, during the twelfth ’assassination’, Minamoto Tamako learned to set traps, installing a trigger syringe with muscle relaxant on the doorknob—not using sleeping pills, because if Fushimi Roku passed out, the whole dream would skip his sleep ti.

Fushimi Roku pricked his finger opening the door, though he imdiately chopped it off, the agent flowed through his blood, paralyzing his right hand.

Minamoto Tamako lurked in the hallway opposite the apartnt, she could now craft rifles, equipped with a homade telescope, acting as a sniper rifle. Across the looped hallway, she fired from above, breaking Fushimi Roku’s legs.

After such high-intensity combat, her marksmanship improved, Fushimi Roku couldn’t dodge in ti.

Even with Fushimi Roku left with one functioning hand, Minamoto Tamako remained cautious, wearing a thermal imager, locking onto Fushimi Roku’s location. Upon approaching, maintaining distance, when Fushimi Roku’s blood loss almost maxed out, she fired again, breaking Fushimi Roku’s remaining left hand.

Now Fushimi Roku was at on the chopping board, at her rcy.

Minamoto Tamako exhaled deeply, held the rifle, walked to Fushimi Roku, administered another muscle relaxant.

"Now I’ve got you, how do you feel?" She dragged Fushimi Roku into the apartnt, retrieved the dical kit, staunched his bleeding.

Fushimi Roku didn’t respond, Minamoto Tamako didn’t need him to.

She could see Fushimi Roku’s mood value above his head, the color shifting from black to red, red to yellow, stuck halfway, unmoving.

With half the knot untied, what a reward!

Minamoto Tamako was very pleased, not just for achieving her goal, but also because she sowhat enjoyed the pursuit process.

This feeling was like hunting, competing wits with high-end prey, finally physically conquering them, proving her courage and wisdom.

The more strenuous this pursuit, the higher the sense of accomplishnt when seizing the prey.

Extrely satisfying!

Fushimi Roku noticed it too, after a long silence, counter-questioned: "How do you feel?"

"Pretty good!" Minamoto Tamako tied a bow on the bandage: "I’ve learned a lot! Unfortunately, I’ll forget it when waking up, sigh..."

"I still can’t recall where we’ve t." Fushimi Roku said.

"Doesn’t matter."

Minamoto Tamako took out a transfusion tube, pierced the skin with the needle, giving Fushimi Roku her blood to prevent shock from excessive blood loss.