The moment the high beams illuminated them, Philip’s expression snapped.
He reached out and shoved Nikolai and his two sons, who were standing in a row, hard to the ground.
At the exact same time, twin Gatling gun barrels rose from the roof of the cab on the oncoming truck!
*Whir, whir—* *Rat-tat-tat!* Electric motors hummed as gunfire instantly merged into a continuous roar.
Belts of ammunition laced with tracer rounds lashed out like whips, shredding the roadside bushes and sending geysers of dirt whipping up from the raised mounds along the shoulder.
Stray rounds tore into tree trunks in the forest beyond.
Single bullets chewed away fistfuls of wood, effortlessly snapping cedars and spruces as thick as a man’s arm…
As he knocked Nikolai and his sons down, Philip dropped to the ground as well, pinning Little Broly beneath him.
They narrowly escaped the onslaught.
Nikolai’s bodyguards were not so fortunate.
Caught in the crossfire of two six-barreled Gatling guns, even their famously reliable Kalashnikov rifles proved no better than useless wooden sticks.
Without firing a single shot, they were ripped to shredded remnants by the hail of lead, scattered across the roadside.
“Alfred!” Little Broly cried out, pinned underneath his father, Philip.
Earlier, so he could help guide Nikolai’s group toward the black bear, he had left his pet dog in the care of the bodyguards.
Because the bodyguards held automatic weapons, they had drawn the brunt of the Gatling fire—leaving Alfred’s fate looking grim.
Little Broly: ( •̥́ ˍ •̀ू ) In an instant, Philip felt the surge of emotion from his son.
Hurt and aggrieved, rage began to burn within the boy’s chest.
And without a doubt, anger was the fastest catalyst for raising a Saiyan’s power level.
As Broly’s green hair stood up end on end, violent gales swept through, and the ground beneath them began to quake.
The asphalt surface of the road cracked and buckled as if gripped and crushed by a pair of invisible, gargantuan hands.
“I-Is this an earthquake?” Nikolai quavered from the ground, swallowing hard as he tried to ask Philip.
Having barely snapped out of the terror of Gatling gunfire, the unfortunate trio were now petrified by this apocalyptic calamity.
However, Philip had no time to pay him any mind—he was practically being blown away by the massive aura of Ki erupting from Little Broly.
“Broly!” Philip shouted quickly in Chinese.
Over a year ago, he had taught Broly Chinese, and the two often used it for encrypted private talks when idling around.
Philip had taught him Chinese precisely because, in high-stakes situations, the language offered unmatched clarity and speed.
“Don’t jump to conclusions!
Sense Alfred’s Ki!” Little Broly was an obedient child.
Hearing his father, he complied immediately.
With his intense Super Saiyan perception, he instantly locked onto Alfred’s condition several hundred meters away.
Being low to the ground, the dog had miraculously avoided the gunfire.
Right now, tail tucked between its legs, it was curled behind a dirt mound beside the highway, whimpering softly and afraid to move.
Although Little Broly possessed a degree of night vision, Saiyans did not have X-ray vision like Kryptonians.
He had only caught a glimpse of Nikolai’s guards exploding under fire and hadn’t seen the clever pup duck behind the mound.
He had assumed his only pet and best friend was blown to bits.
That was why the little guy hadn’t even checked Alfred’s Ki before nearly exploding in a fit of rage.
“Dad, you really are amazing,” Little Broly murmured, scratching his head sheepishly.
“What do we do now?” As the boy calmed down, the terrifying, earth-shaking phenomenon gradually subsided.
“Stay right here and don’t move.
Next…” Philip patted Broly’s head, grabbed his shotgun from the ground, and stood up.
“…I’m going to collect some interest.” Just now, Philip had once again saved the world from the brink of apocalypse.
What was wrong with collecting a little interest from the world in return?
Standing tall, he faced the modified truck stuck in the middle of the fractured asphalt.
Without even bothering to aim, he pulled the trigger twice in rapid succession.
*Bang!
Bang!* Two shells flew from the shotgun muzzle, striking true to shatter both headlights on the front grill.
The only two light sources on the entire highway were extinguished.
“Shit!” Inside the cab of the modified truck, the Hydra agent wrestling with the steering wheel—trying to force the heavy vehicle out of the deep fissures in the road—let out a furious curse.
“What the hell is wrong with SHIELD’s procurement department?!
They put bulletproof glass on the windows, but cheaped out on ordinary headlights?!” “A two-million-dollar automated weapon system, twin Gatlings extend out, shake a couple of times while firing, and immediately jam?!” “That bald black guy must have pocketed kickbacks on procurement again!” Ranting aside, he wasn’t particularly nervous anymore.
He had only panicked for a brief moment earlier when he heard three gunshots and mistook them for a SHIELD interception unit.
That was why he had immediately deployed the automated weapons, pouring a wave of fire from the twin Gatling guns toward the “enemies” by the roadside.
And while the sudden “earthquake” had startled him, it had come and gone quickly.
Now all he needed to do was get back on the road and finish the transport mission.
“I’ll focus on driving us out of here.
The rest of you finish off the remaining adults and kids.” The driver barked the order and flipped down the night-vision optics mounted on his helmet.
He wasn’t the only person in the modified truck.
The vehicle possessed an unusually long hood compared to standard heavy trucks.
Inside sat nine men including the driver—a complete, fully equipped Hydra tactical squad.
Furthermore, the unit was led by John Garrett himself—a high-ranking Hydra operative and a veteran Level 8 SHIELD agent.
Taking out a few hillbillies with hunting shotguns should have been easier than popping open a beer bottle.
What the driver didn’t realize was that as soon as he finished speaking, a flash of murderous fury crossed John Garrett’s eyes in the rear seat.
Garrett could tell that the driver, having been embedded deep within SHIELD for too long, had cracked under the pressure and picked up a drug habit.
*Fuck you.
How can Hydra succeed when I’m working with useless vermin like this?* However, considering they urgently needed to transport the “relic” stolen from the Arctic Circle to a secret Hydra facility, Garrett decided to hold off on an internal purge until after the mission was complete.
“Everyone, night vision on.
Move out…”