The massive man didn't speak a word. He adjusted the ammo belt slung across his chest with casual ease, scanning the trapped government troops below as if they were insects—not enemies. Without so much as a glance back, he turned and walked away, his silence far more menacing than any threat.
His adjutant hurried up behind him, voice tentative, "Sir… what should we do with those men?"
The giant didn't even pause. Mounting his motorcycle, he muttered, almost with boredom,
"Do what you want with them. They're not my concern. The target's not among them. That's the real problem."
The adjutant stiffened, "What? The inspection team… escaped? That shouldn't be possible. We had the stormtroopers trailing them the entire time. We didn't spot any Americans breaking off."
"Which means," the giant replied coolly, revving the bike, "they avoided the obvious route and slipped through the trap road instead. I'm heading to cut them off."
He said it as casually as someone stepping out for coffee. But the sharpness in his deduction was unmistakable—this mountain of muscle had the wit to match his physique.
"But sir, even if they did take the trap path," the adjutant argued, "we've stationed two squads at the end. The inspection team is five people at most—one's a woman, one's a kid. They can't possibly hold up."
The giant gave a low, amused laugh, adjusting the throttle until the engine snarled like a beast.
"If they figured out our plan, they're not idiots. And if they're not idiots… then those two squads are already dead."
With that, he shifted gears and tore off down the narrow forest trail, leaving a cloud of dust and dread behind him.
Meanwhile, on the other end of the woods, gunfire rattled through the trees.
The escape route ended at a worn suspension bridge hanging over a canyon. A small enemy squad guarded the bridge, but they hadn't counted on Bronze Tiger leaping out of the treetops like a predator, landing in their midst with devastating force. Chaos erupted. The element of surprise gave Adam's team the edge—at first.
But with Adam nursing an injury and limited firepower, the imbalance quickly showed. Only three of them could truly fight. And even with the combined ferocity of Bronze Tiger and Norton, their advantage didn't last long. The enemy regrouped fast.
The clash ended with over a dozen enemy soldiers down—but at a high cost.
"Damn it," Deadshot growled, kicking aside a discarded rifle. "They threw their weapons into the canyon and blew the bridge. Now we're out of ammo, low on supplies, and they've likely called for backup."
Bronze Tiger nodded, breath heavy. "These guys didn't fold like the cowards before. They fought to stall us. Destroyed the bridge, burned their gear, probably got a message out too."
Adam winced, clutching his bandaged thigh. "Fantastic. You two storm in like action heroes, and I'm the one who gets shot hiding behind cover. This is ridiculous…"
Despite his sarcasm, his injury wasn't serious—just a deep graze. But it slowed him down.
Jason chimed in, deadpan, "Classic aggro pull. You didn't peel. ADCs always get picked off when tanks go brain-dead."
"Not helping," Adam muttered.
He looked out across the broken suspension bridge and the steep drop into the canyon below.
"We're not going back, and they're coming. But the canyon's not deep. If we can rig a vine rope, we might make it down to the riverbed and follow it downstream. Could lead us to a town—or at least cover."
"I'll handle the rope," said Ivy softly, stepping forward. She blushed under everyone's gaze. "I studied botany. I know which vines hold."
Adam arched a brow and commented, "Didn't peg you for hands-on survivalist."
"She's probably planning to use dead vines," Jason joked. "Can't bear to cut living ones."
"Whatever works—just make it strong."
Ivy got to work quickly. Within minutes, she'd woven a surprisingly sturdy rope from dried vines. Deadshot secured it to a thick tree root as anchor.
Just as they were preparing to descend, Bronze Tiger's head snapped up.
"Move! Someone's coming!"
Adam didn't hesitate. He shoved Jason toward the edge and shouted, "You first. Then Isley. Go!"
But before anyone else could move, the roar of an engine split the air.
A motorcycle flew from the forest, skidding to a halt in front of them. Smoke billowed from its overheated chassis, the frame shaking like it had been pushed beyond its limit.
A towering man dismounted.
He was as physically imposing as Bronze Tiger—maybe more. Muscles like forged steel, posture relaxed but deadly. He stepped forward, eyes scanning the group like a predator toying with its prey.
"No need to rush off," he said, his voice laced with arrogance. "We haven't even had a proper chat."
Deadshot raised his weapon immediately and threatened, "Stop right there. One more step and I'll fire."
The man didn't flinch. His cold gaze locked onto Deadshot's face.
"You must be Norton," he said with a grin. "Former special forces. Expert marksman. Shame your magazine's empty. If it weren't, you would've shot instead of posturing."
Everyone tensed.
He was right.
Deadshot's face darkened with shame.
The stranger smirked, savoring the discomfort and said, "I do my homework."
Then a cold voice cut through the moment.
"Enjoy playing prophet, Bane?" Adam said. "It's obvious, really. Who better to intercept us in South America than the monster from Peña Dura?"