After the fish slipped through the iron net

“This damned wreck,” the bald man cursed, slamming the steering wheel with all his might. Yet the stalled double-decker bus refused to budge.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!” Bullets struck the bus’s front windshield, their source unseen. If not for the bald man's quick reflexes, a round might’ve torn straight through his chest.

Hunched beneath the dashboard, the bald man didn’t bother searching for whoever was shooting at him. He simply keyed his radio. “Sir, the target has escaped.”

“Regrettable. Clearly, I overestimated the abilities of you useless fools,” came the curt rebuke from the other end.

“We’ve lost our vehicle and lack the ability to pursue. Sir, please grant us permission to withdraw,” the bald brute replied honestly, not daring to argue, just reporting the facts.

“If you can’t chase them down, then pull back. And listen—don’t leave me a mess to clean up.”

“Understood, sir.” With that, the bald man scrambled out of the driver’s seat. He moved to the woman who was still firing, first snatching up his own large duffel bag, then broadcasting over the squad’s comms, “Prepare to retreat. Plan Bravo.”

At his order, the attackers on the upper deck began to retreat in pairs, covering each other as they moved down to the lower level. Those already below produced silver canister grenades from their bags, then retrieved MSA gas masks, snapping them onto their faces with practiced speed.

Once the bald man had secured his own mask, he hurled the first silver grenade out of the bus. His teammates followed, tossing out more than a dozen in quick succession. Within seconds, thick clouds of smoke spewed from the grenades, shrouding a seven-hundred-and-eighty-meter radius around the bus.

The Flying Tigers and other armed police, wary that the smoke might be toxic, began to fall back. Meanwhile, the bald man quietly unlocked the bus door.

“Smoke grenades. They're making a run for it! Form on me, pincer maneuver—don’t let them slip through!” The Flying Tigers’ commander finally gave the order. But by the time his men, masks in place, advanced into the haze, the bald man and his crew had already slipped off the bus, one after another, pressed close to its side, hidden by the billowing smoke.

The last to leave, the woman, flicked her wrist and lobbed two black canister grenades onto the bus, tossing them near the hostages still bound by zip-ties at their feet.

Seconds later, as the Flying Tigers approached through the smoke, hacking coughs and desperate cries rang out from the hostages. Suddenly, two bursts of yellow flame exploded on the lower deck. In an instant, the bus was engulfed in a roaring inferno. Even a few unlucky officers, caught close by, were consumed by the flames, transformed in a heartbeat into burning phantoms.

A squad commander, knocked flat by the blast wave, clung to the ground and screamed into his radio, “Officers down! We have officers down! We need medical assistance, now! God—where are the firefighters?”

Another Tiger, closer to his burning comrades, rushed forward. But no matter how he beat at the flames, they refused to die. Instead, the fire leapt from the wounded man to his rescuer, setting his uniform ablaze.

Hearing the agonized screams, the officer ignored the flames licking up his own forearms. He seized his comrade by the legs, desperate to drag him clear. But as he pulled, his gloves came away coated in ash and the charred, sloughing flesh of his colleague, burned away by the intense heat.

While the Flying Tigers fought frantically to save their own, the bald man led his attackers, each with a gun in one hand and the other gripping the shoulder of the man ahead. Like a human chain, they moved swiftly, passing through the smoke-filled blind zone to the very edge of the police cordon.

“Thup, thup, thup.” The bald man, leading the way, silenced his shots, dropping the uniformed officers behind the barricade before anyone realized their escape route had shifted.

Once through, they ducked into a nearby building’s rear alley, stripping off their clothes, resin masks, and weapons with swift efficiency. In moments, they’d transformed into a group of Western tourists in plain clothes. Emerging from the building’s main entrance, they blended into the crowd in small, inconspicuous groups, vanishing without a trace.

Meanwhile, on Hou Rui’s side—

The gunfight outside the government building had been anticipated by Hou Rui and his companions. While police cars sped to the scene, Hou Rui, Lux, her boyfriend, and their leader—the office worker—moved at a measured pace along the street. Only when distant explosions echoed did the pedestrians around them begin to panic, quickening their pace to escape.

Seeing that few passersby remained, Hou Rui quickened his stride to catch up with the office worker. “Where are we headed?”

“To retrieve our gear. The famed Knight of Thorns may be formidable, but we must do our part. If it comes to it, we need to be ready to step in.”

“Knight of Thorns? The organization deployed a knight for this?” Ever since Hou Rui had heard the term from Old Xiao, he’d never had a chance to meet a knight in person. His curiosity was palpable.

“Don’t worry about others—focus on yourself. Two more blocks and we’re there.” The office worker was still speaking when his phone began to vibrate violently in his hand.

“Damn, the situation’s changed!” His face darkened instantly. He muttered a quick explanation to Hou Rui and the others, then hurried into a nearby stairwell. Hou Rui, Lux, and her boyfriend instinctively spread out, keeping watch.

“The Knight of Thorns failed. The target is fleeing toward your position. Intercept them—complete the mission,” came the command from the phone.

“But this is too sudden—we’re not even armed yet. We can’t fight like this!” Sweat beaded on the office worker’s brow. Anyone who could escape a Knight of Thorns was no harmless lamb. How were four unarmed people supposed to intercept them?

“The order has been given. Good luck.” The call cut off, leaving the office worker standing there in a daze.

Moments later, Hou Rui, Lux, and the others joined him in the stairwell, learning the mission’s grim new reality. Now, they needed to figure out how to accomplish this reckless, ill-prepared task.

Another police car screamed past, siren wailing. The office worker’s gaze turned cold. “No time to retrieve gear. We’ll have to get something off the cops.”

“I’ll draw their attention. You three get ready,” said Lux, already shucking off her jacket. She pressed her back to her Western boyfriend. “Darling, give me a hand, will you?”

“My pleasure.” He tugged off her shirt and bra in one swift movement, leaving Lux nearly naked in an instant. He bent down, ripped open her pants, and even tore one side of her underwear in half.

“My codename is Wolfman—assault,” he declared while tousling Lux’s hair, his ten fingers working her locks into a wild tangle. In no time, Lux looked every inch the victim of brutal assault.

“My codename is Three Seconds—close-range shooter.” Lux crossed her arms over her chest, barely maintaining her modesty, and turned to leave the stairwell.

“I’m Stray Dog—assault,” said Hou Rui, already at the stairwell door, peering out at the street.

“And I’m Necktie—sniper and tactical lead. Since everyone knows their role, let’s get ready.” The office worker tossed aside his briefcase, loosened his tie, and draped Lux’s discarded coat over her shoulders.

Quickly, the three men flanked Lux, shepherding her into a dim side alley. Hou Rui hid under a pile of bamboo baskets, Wolfman scrambled up to a rain gutter on the second floor, and Necktie waited at the alley’s mouth for a suitable target.

A few minutes later, a Hong Kong police van rolled into view. Necktie darted into the street, waving his arms, shouting, “Hey! Hey! Thank god you’re here—there’s a woman in trouble!”

Faced with a citizen flagging them down, the van slowed to a stop. The sergeant at the wheel leaned out and yelled, “Move aside, we’re on official business. Call 999—someone will help.”

“Are you kidding? If you wait, someone’s going to die! See for yourself,” Necktie insisted, his performance flawless—his face a mix of tension, anger, and disappointment as he guided the officers’ eyes to the alley.

In the gloom, Lux appeared as a portrait of despair—hair disheveled, clothing torn, her chest exposed as she clung to her ruined pants, using one hand to shield her lower half…