I Have Returned, but I Cannot Lay down My Gun-Chapter 735: Insurgency (6)

"What the hell is going on?!"

"I... I don’t know! Something flew up and exploded in the sky!"

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"Is that what you’re calling an explanation?!"

"The debris... Aaaaagh!"

Boom!

The remains of the UAV exploded brilliantly in the early morning sky, scattering like fireworks. The deafening noise that filled the night sky forced even those who hadn’t been looking up to tilt their heads.

Everyone stared blankly at the sky, as if buffering. Several tons of debris split into thousands of large and small fragments, pouring down to the ground. Fortunately, it wasn’t deep in Manhattan, so no buildings were struck.

The fragments, each weighing several kilograms, tens of kilograms, or in some cases, hundreds of kilograms, hit the ground randomly. The moment they touched, another deafening sound rang out, accompanied by the screams of the unlucky few who were hit.

However, the issue of someone being injured by the debris was secondary.

The situation was spiraling out of control.

In fact, it was very serious.

"Who did this?! Who fired the missile?!"

"What happened?! Who did this?! How do you plan to handle this?!"

"Someone fired a missile from outside! It seems someone fired our hidden ground-to-air missile into the sky!"

"So who was it?!"

"I don’t know! It was hard to see because of the silhouette in the dark!"

At that moment, with a loud crash, Agent Jensen burst into the room where the protest leaders were gathered, his face pale, raising his voice.

It didn’t take long for the expression of panic that Agent Jensen was – or rather, was pretending to be – to spread to the Chinese protest leaders in the room.

No one would want to create a scene at this timing. Shooting down something with a missile should have been a last resort, even for the most radical of radicals among the protesters.

"But why... why now...?!"

Something that should have never happened had just occurred.

In the minds of the protest leaders, thoughts were racing like a storm. But one fact was as clear as day: They had successfully shot down a U.S. military asset, and HQ would be coming after the culprit.

All the public relations work they had built up beforehand had been completely shattered by this one event. The narrative of their persecution – which was actually false – no longer mattered.

The situation was clear. They had attacked U.S. assets, and by extension, the U.S. military.

Without a declaration of war.

Moments after, the Islamists stormed into the hotel lobby, where the Chinese leadership had been gathered.

"What the hell is going on here?! Who gave the order to fire the missile?!"

"We don’t know! Don’t blame the wrong people!"

"Then who was it?!"

"I told you, we don’t know, you bastards!"

The expected outcome happened.

In an instant, the hotel lobby was in chaos. If the people there had been wise, they would have been discussing where the blame should fall and how to clean up the mess, but humans aren’t always that smart.

The languages, which had been mostly English, suddenly split into three or more: Chinese, Arabic, and English. The conversation, which went off in all directions, was a mess.

Everyone began to shift blame onto each other.

"So who was it?! If you really didn’t do it, you wouldn’t be reacting like this! You must be guilty of something!"

"You terrorists are the ones trying to pin this on us!"

"These fucking Chinese bastards...!"

The atmosphere turned hostile in an instant.

Those who had initially wondered what to do now had no choice but to react, and the conversation, filled with illogic and insults, became even more hostile.

They had no idea how to resolve the situation. They instinctively felt that everything had already fallen apart and that they had to somehow use someone else as a scapegoat to escape.

The alliance between the Chinese and Islamic protesters, who had always been like oil and water, had started to crumble spectacularly.

And then—

"Don’t fuck with me, you bastards! Do you think we’re stupid?!"

"Shit, that guy pulled out a gun!"

"Put your guns down, you bastards!"

"Shut up! You put yours down first!"

Swish!

The moment one of them pulled out a menacing-looking piece of metal from his waist, everyone, having seen the scene, instinctively started to follow suit.

With just the pull of a trigger, a life could be taken. Moreover, most of them had only stolen firearms, and except for the protest leaders, no one was wearing body armor.

Not just pistols, but shotguns and semi-auto rifles were drawn as well, and a standoff continued. It was a situation where only the words "tension" and "precarious" were necessary.

But, just as the tension peaked, a moment of silence followed, and you could hear the sound of people swallowing their saliva.

‘...If this keeps going, we’re all dead!’

This wasn’t why they had left Central Park.

Despite being from different cultures and not trusting each other, both sides of the protest group shared one common thought: they didn’t want to die.

As everyone hesitated, the ones in the front, one by one, lowered their guns and raised their hands in surrender. The Chinese side was the first to give in.

The Islamists, looking suspiciously at this, exchanged glances, and once again, a tense silence overtook the hotel lobby. But soon, the looks turned into silent agreement.

A shaky attempt at reconciliation was about to take place.

"...Put your guns down."

"What are you saying, Caliph?!"

"Don’t you get it? We’re all going to die if we don’t do something!"

His words, blunt and without care, were not wrong.

Human instinct, which was stronger than religion or culture, temporarily sealed the tension, and before long, most of them slowly started lowering their weapons. A few did not, and it was hard to get everyone to lower their guns.

When the heartbeats that had been racing at full speed gradually slowed, faint sighs of relief could be heard. At least, not dying seemed like enough of a reason to feel some relief.

Watching all this with the sharpest of eyes, Agent Illich Jensen quietly timed his move.

He triggered the fake blood pack hidden near his abdomen, and remotely activated one of the Islamists’ firearms that had been prepped earlier.

And then—

[Alert: Dagger Team assault prep and UAV ready. Commence operation.]

Bang!

"What—ugh, what’s...?"

"...What, what’s going on? Who fired the shot?!"

"These fucking bastards! The religious nuts shot first—!"

"It wasn’t us! It wasn’t us—cough!"

"Don’t make me laugh! Counterattack! Counterattack! Hide!"

The fake blood pack ignited, creating a gunshot-sized hole in his clothing while simultaneously firing the Islamist’s weapon remotely, creating the illusion that he had been shot.

Agent Illich Jensen, struggling to stay conscious as he collapsed, began to understand what was happening in the most dangerous spot.

Within a few seconds, as the bonds between the groups shattered, gunshots rang out in all directions, and bullets scraped against the marble walls. The protesters at the front fell like bees to the hive.

In the hotel lobby, there were fountains and many places to take cover. Many were instantly killed, but some continued fighting from their hiding spots.

Meanwhile, Jensen, who had seemed to be dead, activated his optical camouflage as the air filled with smoke and dust.

He stepped carefully, leaving footprints on the floor, but no one paid attention. They had already gone to the afterlife.

He quickly made his way outside, hearing the gunfire inside as Chinese refugees started rushing in.

The message was clear.

"The religious bastards shot at us first! Arm yourselves and attack!"

With that, he collapsed again, feeling the vibrations as dozens of people rushed to the armory.

Agent Jensen was about to disappear.

Like smoke.

Bang!

“What a mess. Central Park must have declared martial law by now.”

"From a distance, this doesn't seem as pleasant. Is this really the right thing?"

"Not my problem. I just want to live another day. I can’t just sit here while the country falls apart."

Meanwhile, several kilometers away over Manhattan.

The Dagger Team was arriving.

To clean everything up.

"Nothing happened here this morning. Understand what I mean? I think everyone knows why we left the rookie behind in the helicopter, so do your best."

"Yeah, yeah... the world’s half destroyed, and this is the first mission we’ve had like this. Let’s wrap it up and go home. I don't want to be here any longer."

"Commencing descent. The strike team will head around the area and put holes in the heads of everyone nearby. As you heard, the rookie stays in the helicopter and provides aerial surveillance. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah..."

Wheee!

The Silent Hawk descended low, and three members of the team grabbed thick ropes, descending. This process was repeated three times, and by the end, only two pilots and Eugene were left in the helicopter.

The Dagger Team's official mission was one of the closest things to Black Ops. The operation itself could be interpreted in many ways, but that didn’t matter.

The Dagger Team always assessed whether the operation proposed by the higher-ups was necessary, and if so, they would carry it out flawlessly.

Now that the mission was nearly over, the team had made the decision that it was right to eliminate those who had once been refugees.

As the descent ended, the team checked the functionality of their firearms and prioritized the locations where people were still alive.

It wouldn’t take long.

The sounds of gunfire in the vicinity served as their navigation.

"Looks like we won’t need to go down and shoot. There’s a firefight near the Manhattan Bridge. Our first target is to clear the area around there."

"Right. Starting combat. Disengage safety. Free use of weapons is authorized."

From the rooftops nearby, the scene was clearly visible.

The Dagger Team, now on the ground, activated their low-magnification optics, adjusted their vertical angles, and aimed at the enemies in the distance who were engaged in combat without body armor or helmets.

The sound of a bullet as it flew and pierced the head of someone over 100 meters away didn’t take long. The scene was messy, but that’s just how 6.8mm Fury rounds were.

The gangs, the Artemis Corporation, or the Russian-Chinese units, none of them mattered. They were no longer the threat.

These were once the civilians of Central Park.

But now...

"...Good shot, good kill. Smooth."

"Let's finish this and go. I finally got my body rhythm back, but now I’m sleepy after a night mission."

"How long are we going to keep doing this..."

They grumbled as they continued to decrease the number of enemies in their sights.

These were once civilians. But that was in the past. Not anymore.

The Dagger Team had reached the conclusion that sometimes, such things were necessary.

The conclusion wasn’t new.

"Enemies coming from the other side."

"Don’t let any of them escape. That’s the objective. If they run, it’s less risky, but we don’t need any unnecessary future problems."

"Got it... Ugh. This is so troublesome."

Is there a better way?

A way with less bloodshed?

Perhaps someone might have thought about that, but for the Dagger Team, that wasn’t their concern. It wasn’t their problem to think about.

Chinatown's name was slowly turning into a no-man’s land, and reconnaissance UAVs, far superior to the one that had been intentionally shot down, were buzzing in the skies over Lower Manhattan.

The Dagger Team marked the locations of the bodies as they fell one by one. Once the operation was finished, the bodies would be disposed of. After all, there could not be skeletal remains left in buildings or streets where people would eventually walk again.

Psychologically speaking, this operation was simpler than anything the Dagger Team had done in recent times.

The enemy was armed with only firearms, and they had no substantial body armor, grenades, or rocket launchers—though they did have them, they didn’t know how to use them properly.

As the number of people around them dwindled, the Dagger Team felt an odd sense of bitterness, but that was all.

When the kill count reached the target set by their superiors, someone stopped the surveillance.

Aside from the Dagger Team, no one else was alive.

"...Alright. It’s almost time to go."

"Tonight’s sleep is going to be rough. I’ll need to take some sleeping pills."

"So, is this it?"

"Yeah. It’s done."

For an operation that had been planned for so long, the conclusion was disappointingly simple.

However, they weren’t unaware that this emptiness was the result of a smoothly executed plan. While they felt some discomfort, their expressions showed they would never let it weigh them down as they waited for the helicopter to descend.

The thick rope descended once more, and as the Dagger Team gathered their gear, one of them added:

"Let’s go. I wonder how many more times we’ll have to do this... I’m not sure what the world will say to us later."

"Not our problem."

"TOC, this is Dagger 1. We’re returning to base. The operation has been completed successfully. Agent Jensen will return by another method."

-Understood. Martial law has been lifted, and the command is preparing a pamphlet on yesterday’s situation, which will be distributed tomorrow morning. Please return soon. Is there anything else you need?

"Something sweet would be nice."

Everyone laughed quietly at that.

As the Silent Hawk rose again, carrying ten more passengers, the last remnants of the destroyed UAV, still burning, were in their sights.

New York, after a brief moment of chaos, remained silent and dark.

As though nothing had happened.