Superhunt - Chapter 11: "Target spotted"

Chapter 11: “Target spotted”

“Moss, show the footage from the hospital”

“Yes.”

In the all-white treatment room, the chief psychiatrist was seated behind a desk, facing Sean, a mentally ill criminal, across the table.

Sean’s face was gaunt, unshaven, his eyes hollowed and underlined with heavy bags. He was bound to a chair, straining his eyes wide, clenching his fists. “I’m not from the Black Sea city,” he strained against the restraints desperately, “I am Sean, that’s true, but I haven’t committed any crimes. I’m not a mentally ill criminal. I’m not crazy!”

“Alright, I understand. Please try to stay calm, Mr. Sean.” The psychiatrist leaned back, his tone cautious as if afraid to upset the emotionally charged Sean.

“What do you understand?” Sean burst out. “I’m not lying! I’m no criminal! I haven’t committed a crime! I’m not mentally ill!”

“Mr. Sean, I understand your sentiments.” The psychiatrist’s hand stealthily pressed the emergency button beneath the table, ready to summon the guards outside the door if Sean showed signs of aggression.

“You understand nothing! I just went to sleep, and when I woke up, I found myself in this hellhole! I am Sean, from Detroit, I haven’t committed any crime!” Sean yelled, in a state of collapse. His despair and confusion were palpable even through the holographic projection, “Lawyer! Get me a lawyer! I want to call the police!”

“Mr. Sean, as a level six citizen, your political rights have been stripped. You have no right to appeal, and we cannot get a lawyer for you.”

“Bullshit! What is this hellhole?” Sean broke free and lunged, but the psychiatrist hit the button. Guards rushed in, forcibly pinning Sean down.

“I’m not a criminal, I’m not!”

The psychiatrist swiftly drew a sedative from his coat pocket and injected it into Sean’s neck.

Sean murmured blankly, “Let me…go home…”

Sedatives quickly plunged him into unconsciousness.

Jonathan watched this unfold with a blank expression.

His own beginning had been dangerous enough, but compared to Sean’s, he still was the lucky one.

Sean was extremely agitated and in an irrational state. If he could find calm, he should be able to summon the game system’s interface and understand his current status. His panic and fear had cost him his judgment.

Jonathan wondered, how many players had actually read the notices and documents before signing their consent to play the game? How many had remembered and decided to heed the six pieces of advice? He knew that many players didn’t even glance at the agreement notifications before clicking confirm.

Sean probably hadn’t read the game’s email. He was ignorant of the survival rules, and that put him at a disadvantage.

Jonathan knew that federal capital punishment had been abolished eighty years ago. If Sean chose to stay in the mental hospital and undergo treatment, he would be safe for life, albeit devoid of freedom.

But Sean had chosen to run.

So the enforcement department was allowed to use lethal force during his capture, even kill him if needed.

Jonathan had killed two robbers without facing any repercussions. If Squad Seven members were to kill Sean, they might even be awarded a commendation.

“Criminal Sean lacks experience in evading pursuit. After escaping from the mental hospital, he’s been spotted on the streets multiple times. The city surveillance network has tracked his whereabouts,” Martin stated. “Map.”

Moss presented a city map, marking Sean’s locations and routes with small red dots and lines.

“He’s active in the northern district. An hour ago, he attempted to buy food at a convenience store, but his account was frozen so he couldn’t make the purchase. Based on my estimations, Sean is still in the northern district. He can’t take public transport or enter public spaces.” Martin zoomed in on the map. “The slums in the north district are scantily monitored, an ideal hiding place for fugitives. We need to focus our search there.”

“Sean’s mental state is highly unstable, his superpowers don’t have lethal force, but their effects are unclear,” Martin continued. “We’ll be using a combination of long-range and close-range tactics. Myself, Luke, and Simon are on the ground. Robert operates drones. Jonathan, you’re sniper support. Any problems?”

Long-range sniper? That was a big problem. He’d never even handled a gun!

Jonathan stayed silent, and Martin took his silence as a newbie’s stage fright. He encouraged him, “If the capture goes smoothly, there won’t be a need for a sniper. Your scores were perfect, I’m confident you can do it.”

“You up for it, rookie?” The man to Jonathan’s left sized him up, provoking him.

Jonathan combined his features with the information he’d read and recognized him as Robert, the technician of Squad Seven, responsible for repairing and operating various tech devices. He’d studied the profiles of everyone in this room thoroughly.

“I’m ready, Captain,” Jonathan gritted his teeth and accepted the order.

“Good, let’s not delay. Go change into your gear,” Martin said.

Everyone stood and exited the office one by one, turning right to approach a door marked “Equipment Room”, scanning their irises individually.

Jonathan also scanned his iris, then entered.

Moss’s voice came, “This mission requires bulletproof combat suits, standard firearms, standard close combat knives, K80 new type long-lens sniper rifles, mini drones, data monitors, backup communicators, explosion-resistant helmets, and emergency medical kits.”

“Please check everything before leaving the equipment room.”

The equipment room was filled with the smell of gunpowder and the scent of gun maintenance oil. Rows of firearms hung from racks, bullets, and clips gleaming coldly innumerable. Jonathan also spotted many oddly shaped pieces of equipment, the purposes of which he couldn’t discern at a glance.

Jonathan followed his teammates to pick out a bulletproof combat suit of the right size. The black combat suit was simple and without any extra decorations. It was slightly tight after putting it on, the fabric thin but elastic. Jonathan wore a belt, which had many hidden buttons apparently designed for holding guns and magazines.

He walked over to the gun display after changing his clothes, learning from his teammates’ actions, and picking a standard pistol according to the weapon label to attach to his waist. He also picked two magazines and a short blade with a sharp edge and anti-reflective treatment on the blade surface.

Jonathan came to the rack that held the explosion-resistant helmets and put one on. This helmet wasn’t fully enclosed, mainly protecting the back of the head.

As a sniper, he needed to carry an additional K80 long-lens sniper rifle.

Upon seeing the disassembled sniper rifle in the display case, Jonathan’s head began to spin. This gun… was huge, and worse, it was in a disassembled state!

He felt a prickling sensation on his scalp, staring at the components of the K80, lost.

“What’s up?” Robert asked, coming closer, “Assemble it and let’s go. The Captain said your shooting was perfect. I haven’t seen you assemble a gun in all the days we’ve been teammates, let me see.”

Jonathan closed his eyes and touched the gun parts.

Shutting his eyes briefly to brace himself, Jonathan’s hands flew over the components – barrel, receiver, stock, scope…assembling at dizzying speeds.

Robert was dumbstruck, mouth agape.

When the last component was assembled, Jonathan’s fingers spasmed unintentionally.

The god of luck was on Jonathan’s side. His inherent talent for battle instinctively covered weapons assembly. After assembling a gun a thousand times, ten thousand times, even with closed eyes, one could rely on muscle memory to assemble it.

Jonathan hoisted the K80 onto his shoulder, asking Robert, “Well, how was that?”

“You’re incredible!” Robert grinned, Robert sidled up to hang the spare communicator Jonathan had forgotten on his belt.”Your hands are occupied with the gun, I’ll help you with the communicator.” This chapter was first shared on the Ñøv€lß1n platform.

“Thanks,” Jonathan said.

He couldn’t rely too much on his battle instinct, without some theory in his mind it wouldn’t work. The textbooks from when “Security Officer Jonathan” studied Criminal Investigation technology in university were still in his bedroom on his desk. He definitely needed to take the time to read them thoroughly and fill in the blank spaces in his brain.

After leaving the equipment room and entering the corridor with his teammates, Moss said, “Please, Team 7, proceed according to the yellow indicator light. Captain Martin has arrived at the helipad.”

“Jonathan, you forgot to turn on your helmet.” Robert stood shoulder to shoulder with Jonathan.

“No hands…” Jonathan said, struggling with the weight of the K80.

Fortunately, this body had physical capabilities far beyond ordinary people, which allowed him to walk briskly down the corridor with a several dozen-kilogram heavy gun.

Robert, grinning, reached over, “I’ll turn on your helmet for you.” He tapped on the side of Jonathan’s helmet.

Suddenly, Jonathan saw green data imaging in front of his eyes. Moss’s voice came from inside his helmet, “Hello, Trainee Security Officer Jonathan. I will be responsible for filtering team communication for you and collecting real-time data on wind direction, wind speed, humidity, obstacles, target distance, shooting elevation angle, Earth’s rotational deflection force, etc., to support your sniper accuracy.”

…This advanced?

The elevator doors opened and closed, and Jonathan and the others ascended to the rooftop helipad.

Martin stood, fully equipped, in front of a stretched police car, “Prepare to depart.”

“Yes, Captain!” Team 7 responded in unison.

Everyone got into the car one by one, and Jonathan, with his meter-long sniper rifle, took up the last row by himself.

The police car levitated into the air.

At this point, the always silent Simon said, “Everyone checks your gun’s safety, don’t misfire.”

Luke responded dryly, “You say this every time we go on a mission… my ears are calloused.”

Robert turned around from the front seat to explain to a confused Jonathan, “His gun was faulty once, and nearly shot the police car. The car was flying at the time, caught fire on the spot, and almost crashed. It caused Simon to have a psychological trauma, haha…”

After hearing this, Jonathan reflexively looked down to confirm the safety of his standard firearm was intact.

“Don’t be too nervous, Jonathan,” Martin, sitting in the driver’s seat, said. “You just need to hold your gun steady, aim at the target, and stay focused. Don’t think about anything else.”

“Yes, Captain,” Jonathan replied softly.

The heavy rain continued to pour, unceasing, reflecting the heavy mood in his heart.

The police car’s windows were covered in raindrops, obstructing Jonathan’s view. After a thirty-minute flight, the car gradually descended.

“We have reached the location where the target was last seen,” Moss said. “Best sniping position is the signal tower at Freedom Square in the north district. Security Officer Jonathan, please proceed there. Security Officer Robert can go to the signal tower to control the drone swarm. The signal tower is two hundred and thirty meters high, with a relatively open view from the top.”

“Go,” Martin said.

Members of Team 7 split off, Jonathan and Robert ascending the tower with the rifle and drones in tow.

Reaching the tower top, Jonathan took a deep breath and knelt, bracing the K80 for aiming.

Robert opened his backpack and took out a metal box. Upon opening the box, five drones, each the size of a fist, separated from the box, plunging into the rain curtain like predatory birds, flying towards the residential area below.

“These are primarily for scanning. After all, it’s a residential area. We can’t use drones equipped with weapons as they might cause accidental casualties,” Robert explained, holding a control panel and guiding the drones. ”

“Moss can also control the drone swarm, but its primary function is data aggregation and analysis. Manual operation can save computational power and allow Moss’s feedback to be faster and more meticulous. Actually, the investigation department should upgrade Moss’s core. It would save us a lot of trouble.”

Jonathan remained silent, fully focused. He was scanning the residential area below through the high-magnification sight, looking for Sean.

He moved the K80 millimeter by millimeter, catching sight of Captain Martin and Luke and Simon, and confirming their positions. Then he moved away from the sight, his finger lightly resting on the trigger. His concentration was intense, the firearm felt like an extension of his body.

Jonathan himself hadn’t noticed that his muzzle was subconsciously tracking everything that moved in his sight – whether it was his teammates or ordinary civilians moving about in the slum.

Jonathan’s “combat instinct” had been fully awakened. At this moment, he was like a hawk flying in the sky searching for prey, like a python lurking in a cave. He didn’t need to deliberately do anything; his hunting instinct controlled his body, making him a predator.

For a moment… just a brief moment, Jonathan had an impulse to shoot at everything that moved in his sight.

He took a calming breath, adjusted his mindset, and dismissed these thoughts.

“Target spotted,” Moss suddenly said.

Robert directed the drone swarm to follow.

Jonathan immediately swung his gun around, searching for the target under Moss’s direction – found him!

A figure appeared in his sight, a panicked man with bread dangling from his mouth, barefoot and bedraggled as he bolted down the street. Both are pitiful and ridiculous.

“Target is 9862 meters away, current wind strength is level 23, angle…” data streamed to Jonathan’s vision.

He locked onto Sean, his index finger resting on the trigger.