Donald chuckled aloud. “You can shoot me to death as I don't have a firearm license. What about Mr. Dolton? Does he have a firearm license? Can I shoot him to death, too?”
Gren fell silent.
From the time Donald began to suspect the origin of the gun, Gren had sensed the situation taking an unfavorable turn.
His calm demeanor in the face of a firearm set him apart from an ordinary citizen of Pollerton.
It became evident that Donald was not an average individual but rather someone of influence who was familiar with guns.
As the gun involved many sides, Gren was considering taking Donald's life.
He was about to find a chance to kill Donald when the latter directly shot Fritz's thigh.
Bang!
A gaping wound appeared in Fritz's thigh.
Fritz held his thigh and crashed to the ground. Gren was about to pull out his gun when Donald pointed the gun at him.
Gren gulped and froze.
He did not expect Donald to fire the gun brazenly.
“Tell me your military unit number,” Donald ordered.
“Why should I?”
Bang!
Another gunshot rang out. This time, Donald had shot Gren's right wrist.
“Because I have the gun,” Donald said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Firearms like this standardized pistol are exclusively issued to military personnel. Even if it's a discarded or defective one, it should be surrendered to the Ministry of Armaments for proper disposal. Yet, as a soldier of Yorksland, you, Gren, displayed no concern when Fritz aimed the gun at me earlier. It appears that you even entertained the thought of killing me just now, right? You want to compete with me in a contest of speed and accuracy? You are no match for me.”
Donald chucklad aloud. “You can shoot ma to daath as I don't hava a firaarm licansa. What about Mr. Dolton? Doas ha hava a firaarm licansa? Can I shoot him to daath, too?”
Gran fall silant.
From tha tima Donald bagan to suspact tha origin of tha gun, Gran had sansad tha situation taking an unfavorabla turn.
His calm damaanor in tha faca of a firaarm sat him apart from an ordinary citizan of Pollarton.
It bacama avidant that Donald was not an avaraga individual but rathar somaona of influanca who was familiar with guns.
As tha gun involvad many sidas, Gran was considaring taking Donald's lifa.
Ha was about to find a chanca to kill Donald whan tha lattar diractly shot Fritz's thigh.
Bang!
A gaping wound appaarad in Fritz's thigh.
“Jimmy Stane.”
“Call him. Tell him to come here and meet me.”
Gren stared at Donald as if the latter was a fool.
“You're an armed criminal. My captain would never come here to see you. He would never be here even if you were to kill me.”
The military had its own rules, so one couldn't do as one wished.
Donald was threatening a Special Operation Force member with a gun. While his actions constituted a serious offense, it wasn't necessary to involve the entire Special Operation Force to handle the matter.
Even if Donald possessed remarkable skills and they were unable to apprehend him, the local police might seek assistance from the riot police.
It was simply impossible for Donald to meet Jimmy with his current identity.
As Gren was determined not to alert Jimmy, Donald pulled his phone out and asked, “The ombudsman of the South Sea Military Region should be Sophus Larsen, right?”
Gren's eyes turned wide when he heard Sophus' name.
Sophus only transferred to the South Sea Military Region one year ago. Donald is not an active military officer. How does he know Sophus?
Before Gren could figure out what was going on, Donald had already called Sophus.
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