MMB Chapter 71 The Death of Titus
Chapter 71 The Death of Titus
On the clock tower, Duncan frowned. The bullet had hit the target from behind, striking his heart.
However, due to the immense inertia of the Magnum bullet, the target was blasted into a dark alleyway in a blind spot.
This is an extremely terrifying thing!
The fact that the target could be propelled so far by a large-caliber Magnum sniper bullet indicates that the bullet's potential energy propelled the target there.
The fact that the bullet's potential energy acted so strongly on the target's body means that this large-caliber Magnum bullet likely did not penetrate the target's torso.
Duncan scanned all the regular exits of the alley where his target was located, but after about three minutes, not a single person appeared.
Perhaps he's dead... Should we check the body? But what if the target isn't dead and is instead crouching in a dark alley waiting for him to arrive?
Could a single .338LM enhanced custom Magnum bullet really kill this monster...?
Even though this modified sniper bullet is powerful enough to tear a Kodiak brown bear (the largest living brown bear) apart.
Duncan lit a mild Seven Stars cigarette. About six minutes later, he stubbed it out, got up, quickly packed his guns into the black box, and then put in an important piece of equipment he had prepared in advance—a bottle of Royal Danish Brown Beer.
Indeed, Duncan deployed three main types of equipment at various high vantage points: gun assembly equipment, clean cloths laid on the ground, and a bottle of alcohol.
Moreover, the alcohol at each distribution point is different; the previous C alley surveillance point used high-purity Tsar Vodka.
He would randomly jump into one of the small bottles and drink it during each action; he rarely chose the large bottles.
Because Duncan believed in a unique theory proposed by Norwegian psychologist Finnscaldrou:
Humans are born with a blood alcohol concentration that is 0.5 percent lower than normal. By making up for this tiny difference, people become more confident and energetic.
(The author has verified that this theory is fictitious and lacks concrete experimental data. Readers are advised to drink alcohol in moderation.)
Duncan had read the paper; the data wasn't complete, but the arguments seemed plausible, so he tested it on himself:
Choose a 330ml can of beer;
For wines and other low- to medium-alcohol fruit wines, choose small bottles of 200-400ml.
For high-proof spirits such as whiskey, baijiu, and vodka, choose small bottles of 50-150ml.
He often makes simple cocktails with high-proof spirits, such as 50ml vodka, blue curaçao, and sparkling water;
Or vodka, syrup, and milk—he'd try to choose something simple and easy to mix, just a few drinks mixed together.
To his surprise, the effect was surprisingly good! From then on, he got into the habit of acting in a slightly tipsy state.
If anyone questions him, Duncan will fire a 9mm bullet in response. As a top professional killer, he doesn't need to care about other people's opinions, and he is never short of big jobs coming his way.
At this moment, Duncan was chugging down amber-colored beer, the rich aroma of fermented grains filling his mouth!
After finishing a 330ml can of beer, he didn't hesitate any longer and rushed down the clock tower. He put the heavy sniper rifle in the trunk, took out a Beretta 1301 tactical shotgun, and loaded it with 12-gauge deer shells.
Duncan rested his Beretta shotgun on his lap, tucked a large-caliber pistol into his pocket, concealed a Glock pocket gun in his sleeve, and tucked a military-grade switchblade into his tactical shoes.
He took a deep breath, locked the car doors, and then stepped on the gas, driving towards the blind spot of his target.
He was very unsure of himself and only intended to glance at it quickly. The black Bentley drove at a normal speed past the alleyway, glancing at it out of the corner of his eye. Just one glance, no more.
A short while later, Duncan drove his car to the intersection. About 50 meters ahead on the left, on the side where Duncan was driving, there was a dark alley.
He stepped on the gas and drove past at about 40 km/h. The road was narrow and there were several illegally parked vehicles, so 40 km/h was a normal speed.
As I passed by, I leaned forward and glanced at him subtly out of the corner of my eye:
The target lay face up on a pile of groceries, blood seeping into the cardboard boxes, foam boards, and black garbage bags beneath him.
The target's thighs were facing him, and his head was drooping, so his face was not visible. The bullet hit him squarely in the chest, leaving a spray and a stream of blood, but strangely, it did not form a pool of blood.
He must be dead...
However, the blood flow was clearly wrong. It was right in the chest and it took almost 10 minutes to stop the bleeding. It shouldn't be this much blood loss. Is he born with low blood volume or is he using something to stop the bleeding?
This kind of monster cannot be measured by conventional standards. Perhaps he is not dead but is slowly recovering. If so, now is his weakest moment!
Duncan slammed on the brakes, steeled his resolve, and quickly reversed back to the alleyway entrance. The custom-made bulletproof car windows automatically rolled down, and the Beretta 1301 tactical shotgun, in 12-gauge caliber, was aimed at Titus at a distance of about 20 meters. He pulled the trigger, and a deer shot fired.
The target has been confirmed dead.
He took the photos and sent them to Mason Viger and the High Table Hunters website's bounty office so he could collect two bounties. Once he had the bounties, it would be time for him to retire.
……
The following morning, Duncan waited until Mason's men arrived to collect the body, receiving payment upon delivery, thus earning a bounty of $2500 million.
That afternoon, he received a remittance notification from the High Table Club's mainland hotel, which was only half of the bounty, $1000 million.
The reason given was that although Duncan could prove he was dead, he refused to provide the target's body.
However, the mainland hotel still indicated that if Mr. Duncan were willing to visit and discuss the matter, there might be room for negotiation, such as earning an extra few hundred thousand US dollars.
In response, Duncan chose to spend the rest of his life peacefully in the sparsely populated Nordic region, reading books and newspapers around the fireplace, drinking a butterbeer, and indulging in some little-known hobbies.
The morning after his scheduled flight to Northern Europe, a secret assassin report was delivered to his hotel, and a striking headline immediately caught his eye:
"The body of Jack Vizra, the walking $2000 million man and global bounty hunter, has vanished, seemingly resurrected!"
Duncan's eyes flickered, and he quickly read on:
"Whether the Undertaker will make a comeback is uncertain. According to unreliable sources in this newspaper, a mysterious assassin shot and killed the Undertaker with a sniper rifle and then handed the Undertaker's body over to Mr. Mason Viger, a New York tycoon."
"And just as Mason Viger was turning the funeral procession back inland, the procession vanished without a trace; to be precise, the entire convoy disappeared without a trace..."
Duncan suddenly tightened his grip on the newspaper and slammed it hard onto the floor!
"I guarded them all night, and nothing happened even after I fed them!"
"Who on earth organized this shipment?! That's incredibly unprofessional!"
In the days that followed, the Undertaker's $2000 million manhunt was reactivated because an anonymous bastard was willing to pay $300 million for Titus's body, but the assassins were not interested.
Until a month later...
The basement of John Wick's villa in Long Island, New York.
John looked at Jack Vizra lying in bed, sighed, and silently changed the IV drip for him to keep him alive.