As the gang swarmed toward him like a pack of feral dogs, a sly smile crept across Daniel's lips.
"Heh," he chuckled.
As the laughter faded, the cronies had already closed in on him. Using his hands and feet with zero hesitation, Daniel sent them all flying.
Thump!
Thump!
One by one, his attackers crashed to the ground—or rather, into heaps of trash. They lay there, groaning and wailing in disarray.
In under a minute, Head's lackeys were all sprawled on the ground, not a single one left standing.
Head was thunderstruck.
His cronies, all trained and ruthless, had been unbeatable on these streets. After ruling these parts for years without anyone daring to lay a finger on them, it was inconceivable that now they had been utterly defeated, ending up in a pile with garbage.
This was a monumental humiliation!
But as the boss, even if all his underlings were knocked down, Head couldn't show fear. He pointed at Daniel's nose and shouted, "You're dead, you hear me, farm boy? You are so dead!"
"Let's see how good your fighting skills are against a gun, farm boy! Hahaha..." Head gloated after his mad cackle, gun still trained on Daniel's nose.
"Get on your knees now, country boy! Or I swear this trigger is itchy, and this bullet won't discriminate! One flick of my finger, one pull of this trigger, and 'boom'—your head will bloom like a flower. One shot can turn you from a tough guy into a dead man."
To have his men tossed into trash cans on his own turf, for all the street's vendors to witness such an embarrassment—Head had to make an example out of Daniel. Otherwise, how could he possibly retain his authority on these streets?
Even with the gun to his head, Daniel remained grinning, hands in his pockets, completely unfazed.
"What's that, Head? You want me to kneel? Sorry, but my knees are bad—they don't really bend that way!" Daniel jested, not budging an inch.
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