Chapter 1087: Clearing the Way with Grenades (Patreon)

With a thunderous blast, the first breaching round from Lin Zhelin’s M4 shotgun blasted open the fireproof door of the emergency corridor. The second slug round tore through the nearest enemy’s chest—armor and all—at point-blank range.

This military-issue M4, supplied by the U.S. Army, held two more rounds than standard civilian or police variants, but all eight shells were fired in just seconds. Without hesitation, Lin discarded the now-empty shotgun and smoothly transitioned to his shoulder-slung MDX508 short-barrel assault rifle.

Though Jack claimed these weapons were "borrowed" from U.S. forces stationed in Korea, they were actually funneled in through JSOC—the Joint Special Operations Command. Originally, the FBI had considered bringing in B Team, aka DEVGRU (SEAL Team 6), for direct support. But because South Korea—despite being a U.S. protectorate—remains politically sensitive, deploying American special forces on their soil without explicit coordination risked diplomatic blowback.

Especially if North Korea spun it into a story about the U.S. assassinating foreign dignitaries.

Fortunately, Rossi had full confidence in Jack’s capabilities—and, more importantly, understood Jack’s strong aversion to being micromanaged during overseas operations. Jack had never failed him and always called for backup without hesitation when needed.

Zhang Mingjun and his dozen or so men may have been caught off guard by the flashbang cluster, but they were still former military. Their ingrained reflexes kicked in immediately as they scrambled for cover around the room.

Those less affected by the blast forced themselves through the dizziness and nausea, using stairwells and support columns as cover to launch a counterattack.

Even with Lin Zhelin’s skills, he was just one man and soon found himself pinned down behind the bar. Thankfully, the bar’s sturdy marble base provided excellent protection.

The chaos was deafening: overlapping gunfire, blaring fire alarms, and water raining down from the ceiling sprinklers created a hellish scene.

In the midst of it all, Jack burst from the elevator, humming a song in his head—not to be theatrical, but because the atmosphere weirdly matched the mood.

"Raindrops outside fall drip, drip, drip—three days, three nights, and still it pours. Just like you, my love, ignoring your phone for days…”

Two precise shots took out a gunman hiding behind a column. Jack slid forward to use the body for cover, ignoring the storm of bullets tearing chunks off the column behind him.

The opposing shooters were no rookies. They weren’t foolish enough to all empty their mags at once. But Jack wasn’t looking to wait them out—he opted for the simplest solution: grenades.

U.S. standard-issue grenades come in two flavors: offensive and defensive. Offensive grenades like the MK3A2 lack fragmentation shells, using only a large explosive charge for shock effect—perfect for minimizing friendly fire during close-quarters assault.

“TAKE COVER!”

As someone shouted in panic, the can-sized MK3A2 grenade spun across the lobby floor and detonated with a massive blast.

The current battle zone was technically the lounge outside the two presidential suites, an area spanning over 300 square meters once decorative dividers and displays were ignored.

The thick exterior glass walls of this high-rise held—for the most part. A few cracked, but none shattered like the ones hit earlier by SMG fire, raining shards down from over 100 floors.

But those behind sofas, kneeling on stairs, or crouched behind flimsy wooden dividers weren’t so lucky.

Though lacking shrapnel, the concussive wave of the explosion was brutal in an enclosed space. The blast splintered wooden dividers, sending jagged slivers into anyone hiding behind them. One poor soul was instantly impaled and collapsed without a sound.

The sprinklers still rained down as blood mixed with water on the floor, painting a grotesque postmodern abstraction in crimson and silver.

“Pew pew pew!”

Lin Zhelin’s suppressed MDX508 rifle barked in quick bursts. Popping up from the bar’s far side, he nailed two enemies who were trying to flank him.

There’s a reason DEVGRU favors the .300 BLK subsonic rounds for close-quarters—they strike hard and minimize noise. Perfect for indoor suppression.

Just as Lin was repositioning, his peripheral vision caught sight of another grenade—lobbed from Jack’s position—rolling toward the pool.

Right next to Zhang Mingjun.

“Captain!”

One of Zhang’s remaining bodyguards, seeing the danger, tackled the grenade without hesitation—shielding his commander with his own body.

BOOM!

The explosion lifted the man off the ground. When he landed, blood and bits of internal organs poured from his mouth.

"Still the rain falls, your heart full of fear. So many years, never found a home…"

Jack emerged from behind the pillar like a reaper, his MDX508 spewing fire and death. Every muzzle flash dropped another enemy.

Throat. Skull. Gut. Groin.

His aim was always faster by just a hair—and that hair made the difference between life and death.

Click!—his rifle locked open on an empty mag. Without missing a beat, Jack hurled the rifle like a club, catching Zhang Mingjun in the leg as he tried to run.

Zhang stumbled, falling hard and sliding two meters across the wet floor near the pool.

Less than one song’s length of combat—and Zhang Mingjun’s entire team had been eliminated. Jack alone took out most of them. Lin hadn’t even emptied his first mag.

“Stay back!” Zhang shouted, snatching the remote still hanging from his neck.

“One push—and the VX on the roof goes off! Nothing will survive within three kilometers!”

The two men froze. Zhang’s panic slowly shifted into a maniacal grin.