Super Detective in the Fictional World

ng with that driver.”

He had shot at the driver as well, but the driver had instantly slid out of the way.

Michael stopped the car smoothly.
“How did they track us down? I deliberately chose the road west because I didn’t want them to block us in the east tunnel.”

Kincaid’s lazy voice rang out.
“Surveillance cameras.
There was one back when you stole the car.”

But Michael shook his head.
“That’s impossible.
I drove east for a while before turning west.”

Luke said, “Gentlemen, it’s time to witness a miracle.
Can you show that driver some respect?”

The two chatterboxes in front also noticed that the driver of the black SUV had come out and was staggering toward them.

Kincaid: “I don’t have a gun.
Please go ahead.”

Michael said, “I’m a bodyguard, not a killer.”

Luke snorted.
“This driver isn’t human!”

As he spoke, he fired his Glock.

The driver suddenly sped up, and it was almost impossible to see his movements in the dark.

“What the f*ck?!” the two chatterboxes shouted in unison.

The driver was moving so fast that he left an afterimage behind.
This definitely wasn’t a speed that a regular person was capable of.

Luke, however, unhurriedly reloaded the Glock.

The driver who was flashing left and right as he pressed forward suddenly stopped.
He hopped about as he clutched at himself and screamed.
“Ahhhhh! How is it that you can keep hitting me?!”

The chatty duo also noticed that seven or eight bullet holes had appeared in the guy’s upper torso, and he was bleeding non-stop.

The strange thing was that despite being shot in the chest and stomach, the driver was still full of energy as he screamed in pain.

Thinking about Luke’s words, Michael raised his gun.

Pa! Pa! Pa! Pa!

He emptied his clip, but wasn’t in a hurry to check his results.
Instead, he turned to look to the side.
“WTF?”

Kincaid was leaning against the side of his head, a gun in his hand.

But Michael was blocking his line of sight.

Kincaid slapped him in the face.
“Don’t block me! Your lousy aim didn’t even hit him!”

Pa! Pa! Pa! Pa!

Kincaid quickly emptied his clip.

Michael sat up and started to mock him.
“Wow, your shooting skills are pretty bad too.”

Kincaid: “…I hit him three times, but you only hit him twice.
I hit him in the chest and stomach, and you hit him in the arm.
Is there a problem with your lousy shooting?”

Speechless, Luke ignored them and got out.

At that moment, the driver, who had more than ten bullet holes in his body, said in disbelief, “That’s impossible.
How did you hit me?”

Luke didn’t reply, but was secretly amused.

It wasn’t just Luke; Kincaid and Michael’s fighting strength weren’t ordinary, and their firearms were far better than what ordinary people had.

This driver wanted to dodge all the bullets with his speed.
He was really underestimating them.

He wasn’t good enough to dodge bullets, and rather than being able to shoot, it was more normal for him to endure being shot.

Luke flicked his right hand and shook out a retractable rod, before he walked toward the driver who was riddled with bullet holes.

The driver bared his teeth, roared, and lunged forward.

The chatty duo also got out of the car, and Michael hurriedly said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, how about we sit down and talk it out?”

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