Three hundred wealthy guests watched a maid stop Vanessa’s attack with one hand, never realizing the woman in the gray uniform had once been trained to dismantle dangerous threats. / Chapter 114 / 130

Chapter 114 - Blood on the Turnpike

The first burst of heavy machine gun fire shredded the sedan’s hood, sparks erupting in geysers as heavy 12.7mm rounds chewed through the radiator. Naomi didn't flinch. She stomped the emergency brake, threw the door open into the line of fire, using the reinforced door armor—retrofitted with Level IV ballistic plating—to absorb the initial barrage.

She rolled out into the dark tarmac before the gunner could correct his trajectory.

To Vanessa, peering terrified from beneath the dashboard, Naomi was scarcely human. She moved with a frightening economy of motion—no wasted steps, no theatrical rolls. She advanced through the blinding glare of the spotlight, firing three-round bursts from her carbine with mechanical precision.

The first gray-uniformed sweeper dropped before he could raise his shield, a round passing cleanly through the joint between his helmet and tactical collar. The second sweeper fell an instant later, clutching his thigh as Naomi closed the distance in less than two seconds.

When the squad attempted to cross-fire, Naomi used the dead soldiers as physical cover, shifting their bodies with inhuman leverage. A mercenary tried to tackle her with an electrified stun baton; she caught his wrist with her left hand—the exact same iron grip that had stopped Vanessa's heel at the gala—twisted his forearm until the bone splintered through the skin, and drove his own baton into the side of his neck. The mercenary convulsed, crashing to the asphalt in violent spasms.

"Flank right! Flank right!" an officer screamed through a tactical headset. "Suppress her! She's an 09! Keep the distance!"

They knew what she was. That made them slower; fear infected their tactical coordination.

Naomi pulled a thermite canister from her belt, primed the magnetic collar, and hurled it directly onto the turret ring of the primary APC. The chemical compound ignited with a blinding white hiss, burning through six inches of hardened steel in less than three seconds. The interior ammunition rack detonated with a muffled roar, blowing the vehicle’s rear doors outward and sending a shockwave of heat across the roadway.

In the ensuing smoke and chaos, Naomi eliminated the remaining three operatives with cold, surgical headshots.

Total elapsed time: forty-four seconds.

The highway was silent again, save for the crackle of burning rubber and the steady hiss of the punctured radiator behind her. Naomi walked back to the sedan, her face streaked with soot, her gray eyes dead and unblinking.