The butcher knife flashed through the air, aiming for Jason's neck with terrifying closeness.

"Jason, look out!" Leo screamed hysterically, the young man dropping down onto the ceramic floor while clutching his laptop tightly to his chest, barely ducking in time to avoid the whistling arc of the steel blade.

Yet, Jason didn't flinch an inch from his spot. For a former black-ops operative, a fraction of a second was an eternity. Instead of dodging backward, Jason stepped forward half a step, cutting the distance before the waiter's swing could reach its maximum momentum.

Crack!

Jason's left hand lashed out like lightning, clamping onto the waiter's wrist and twisting it inward at a lethal breaking angle. Simultaneously, his right hand snatched a black ceramic cup filled with leftover hot coffee from the table. Without mercy, the thick base of the cup smashed squarely into the bridge of the waiter's nose. The sickening crunch of nasal bone blended with a stifled shriek. Fresh blood spurted instantly, soaking the waiter's white apron before his body collapsed unconscious, kissing the ceramic floor with a deafening thud.

Before Jason could even draw a breath, the restaurant atmosphere transformed into a miniature hell.

"Ten million dollars is mine!" roared a stocky man from the middle table, flipping his own café table over and sending plates and glassware crashing to the floor.

In a matter of seconds, the entire room morphed. Patrons who had looked elegant and polite moments before transformed into a pack of feral hunters, blinded by the ten-million-dollar figure glowing on their phone screens. Wooden chairs flew, condiment bottles shattered, and three men lunged blindly toward Jason's table from both the left and right flanks.

"Stay behind me, Leo!" Jason snapped sharply, his voice cutting through the rising chaos around them.

Leo nodded frantically, tears of terror pooling in his eyes. "Oh god... they've all lost their minds!"

"They haven't lost their minds. They're just greedy," Jason muttered coldly.

A massive, towering attacker charged first, swinging a steel pipe scavenged from the kitchen rack with full force. Jason dropped his center of gravity. He let the pipe whistle narrowly over his hair, then slammed a devastating elbow strike straight into the attacker's solar plexus. The big man choked, his eyes bulging wide as the air was forcefully driven from his lungs in a single second.

Before the man even hit the floor, Jason grabbed him by the jacket collar, using him as a living shield to absorb a thrown chair from a second attacker behind him. Bugh! The wooden chair splintered into pieces against the first attacker's back.

"Damn you!" cursed the third attacker, a short-haired woman leaping over the bar counter, brandishing a serrated steak knife directly toward Jason's face.

Jason didn't panic. With high-level reflexive precision, he pressed forward, swatting her wrist aside before sweeping her left leg out violently. The woman lost her balance, her body slamming hard onto the cash register counter, shattering the computer monitor and sparking short-circuited electrical spits.

The close-quarters combat was brutal, tight, and uncompromising. Jason’s Close Quarters Battle (CQB) training operated like an efficient killing machine. Every movement was calculated down to the millimeter: one parry broke a joint, one strike neutralized consciousness, with zero wasted energy in the cramped, crowded dining room.

"This way!" Jason shouted, grabbing Leo by the jacket collar and dragging the young man crawling through the scatter of broken chairs toward the back of the restaurant.

"The back door is locked from the outside!" Leo shrieked hysterically as they reached the green emergency exit door, only to find it secured by a heavy iron chain and padlock.

"Stand back!" Jason ordered.

Jason took a two-step gap, drew a deep breath, and unleashed a horse-powered double side-kick squarely at the door's locking mechanism. K-Snap! The thick iron chain snapped into pieces under the brutal impact of Jason's tactical boot. The emergency exit flew wide open, spilling the dim amber glow of the city streets mixed with a chilly night drizzle.

"Get out! Move!" Jason shoved.

Leo scrambled out first into the narrow alley behind the restaurant, followed swiftly by Jason, who spun around to deliver one final kick toward a hunter trying to pursue them through the threshold. The man crashed backward, slamming hard against the alley brick wall.

Jason was just about to step after Leo toward the end of the alley when the night air was suddenly torn apart by a familiar, terrifying mechanical wail.

Wee-woo... wee-woo... wee-woo...

The ear-piercing sirens of police patrol cars wailed, echoing harshly between the towering concrete walls of the narrow alley. The flashing red-and-blue rotator lights spun wildly, reflecting off puddles of rainwater and illuminating Jason's sweat-streaked face.

Leo, who was already a few meters ahead, froze instantly and spun around, deathly pale. "Jason... police! We're trapped!"

Jason narrowed his eyes, staring piercingly down the mouth of the alley.

No. Those weren't police cars arriving to protect civilians or quell a restaurant riot.

A black patrol car bearing unit number 704 rolled slowly to a halt with its headlights off, completely blocking the alley's only exit route. All four doors opened simultaneously. Two fully uniformed police officers stepped out in coordinated movement—not holding handcuffs, but shouldering long-barreled carbine assault rifles.

The dark muzzles of their weapons leveled straight, aiming without hesitation at Jason's chest.

Behind the patrol car's windshield, the driver—a cold-faced officer with a jagged scar on his left cheek—slowly lowered his window. He wore a cynical smirk, eyeing Jason and Leo like trapped prey inside a tiger's cage.

"Give it up, Agent," the officer's voice echoed chillingly through a handheld loudspeaker, piercing the wet night silence. "Ten million dollars is enough to pay off the debts of every police precinct in this city. Don't make your trip to the graveyard any harder."

The officer's index finger began to curve around the trigger. In that narrow three-meter space, Jason's breath grew heavy, while time seemed to slow down for a fraction of a second, awaiting the impending explosion of hot lead.