The world of American TV series: Starting with the L.A. Patrol.

Late at night, in a villa outside Paris, several armed guards were patrolling around. Their conversations were mixed with Egyptian Arabic, Russian and even Albanian. No one knew how they were able to communicate normally.

A bullet cut through the air silently. A guard turned around and was about to say something to his companion, but the bullet just avoided the vital point.

The bullet flew past his ear, shattering the communicator hanging on his ear, and the fragments pierced his skin, causing a slight pain.

The guard uttered a light exclamation, thinking that he had been bitten by an insect or something. When he reached out to touch his hands, he found that they were covered in blood and immediately screamed in fear.

"Enemy attack!"

"careful!"

"Be careful!"

"Where is he? Has anyone seen him?"

The guards patrolling in the front yard of the villa appeared to be well-trained. They did not fire back indiscriminately, but instead sought cover as soon as possible and asked each other about the gunman's location.

"Bang!" As the faint sound of gunfire came from a distance, another bullet hit the flower bed. The splashing gravel hit another guard who was trying to look out, and his face was covered in blood. He fell to the ground, groaning in pain.

"Fire one shot and move to another place, fire three shots and leave. Fire one shot and move to another place, fire three shots and leave." Cassel kept muttering to himself and moved behind a pillar.

He was fine when he fired the first shot, but his hands were shaking badly when he fired the second shot. Now he was feeling anxious, short of breath, and had leg cramps. All the symptoms caused by tension came to him.

Only at this time did Cassell realize the value of Jack's two consecutive headshots, and he also deeply understood the meaning of not using one's own interests and hobbies to challenge other people's professions.

In fact, he was somewhat self-deprecating. If Jack saw this scene, he would be very pleased and pat him on the shoulder to tell him that being able to shoot at this level from 300 yards was enough to become an assassin.

He took several deep breaths and fired the third shot at a guard who was about to poke his head out. Without even checking whether he had hit the target, Cassel slung the L129A1 over his back, turned around, trotted back, bent down, got into a Renault 5 electric car, and disappeared silently into the night.

The villa on the other side was in complete chaos. The two groups of people who were originally patrolling in the back garden now hurried to the front yard, carefully using places like the flower bed columns as cover to search for the attacker's location.

After a while without noticing any more bullets, a guy who looked like a leader reported something using the walkie-talkie, waved to several of his companions not far away, and gave loud orders in Russian.

"Go in pairs and search around. Make sure you find the sniper."

Just as the guards were pushing and shoving, reluctantly assigning this dangerous task, no one noticed that behind them, two black figures quietly climbed over the backyard wall and approached quietly.

"Puff, puff, puff!" The "Viper" with a silencer in Jack's hand fired continuously as if there was no recoil.

The high-charge 9X21mm pistol armor-piercing bullets specially developed by the former Soviet Central Institute of Precision Mechanical Engineering easily penetrated the soft bulletproof vests of the guards, drilling fatal blood holes in their fragile flesh.

"What happened? Have you found the sniper?" Someone in the front hall of the villa noticed that something was wrong outside, so he quickly looked outside and asked vaguely.

"Hi!" A greeting came from behind. The man turned around in shock. In his last consciousness, he only saw a bald head that was still shiny and reflective even at night.

After twisting the man's neck 180 degrees, Frank reached out to take out the MP5 he was carrying and started firing at the corridor on the second floor.

An armed man who realized something was wrong and walked out of the room to check the situation screamed and climbed over the railing, and his body fell to the floor of the hall.

"Bang!" A dull explosion sounded from underground. The whole villa seemed to be shaking. The lights flashed and went out, and the surroundings fell into darkness.

"Calling Team One!"

"Team Two."

The intercom suddenly rang. A militant who was hiding behind the stairs in fear tried to turn off the sound in a panic. When he looked up again, he was horrified to find that the muzzle of a gun was pressed against his forehead.

"Where are the two girls?" Jack asked in Russian.

Seeing the other party shaking his head desperately, he didn't know whether this guy didn't understand or didn't know, so he switched to Arabic and asked again.

In response to him, he still shook his head desperately, mumbling something in Albanian that seemed to be because he hadn't yet activated his skills. Jack pulled the trigger mercilessly and aimed the gun at a figure that emerged from the basement.

"It's me," Brian said in a hoarse voice.

"I know." Jack tilted the muzzle of the gun slightly, and the bullet grazed Brian's ear and shot a guy behind him who was trying to struggle to get up.

"They are not locked in the basement." Brian said without turning his head.

"Not on the first floor either." Frank's bald head flashed out from a corridor on the side. In just a few minutes, he had swept through all the rooms on the first floor.

The three of them looked upstairs with a sank heart. Jack replaced the magazine for his Viper and picked up an MP5 from the corpse. "Then let's find Volkov first."

-

There was a buzzing sound, and the backup generator started automatically. The dim lights in the villa came on again. Jack just stepped into the corridor and subconsciously shrank back.

"Ta-ta-ta! Ta-ta-ta!" A series of bullets created sparks on the wall. A thin old man with sunken cheeks suddenly appeared at the other end of the corridor, holding an AK and firing wildly at the opposite side.

"Sean, I know it's you! Come out! It's time to put an end to this!"

Jack tried to stick his head out, but was instantly shot back by dense bullets. He asked in confusion, "Who is Sean?"

"Sounds like a fake name," Frank, who was across from him, complained.

Jack curled his lips, thinking that the name Frank Moses might be fake. He reached behind his waist and took out a rusty M84 stun grenade and shook it at him, "Are you sure this thing still works?"

This stun bomb comes from Frank's collection in the safe house and is at least ten years old.

"You'll know if you try it." Frank changed the magazine for the Beretta 92F pistol in his hand.

Jack pulled out the pull ring and threw his hand. The M84 bounced a few times and landed at the feet of the old man, but it only made a puff sound. It was indeed a dud.

"Hahaha, Sean, you coward, if you have the guts, stand up like a man!" The old man shuddered with fear, and then fired another burst of bullets at the other end of the corridor in revenge.

"Pfft!"

The sound of gunfire suppressed by the silencer came from behind him, and the two sturdy bodyguards beside the old man fell to the ground at the same time.

Brian climbed over the balcony and knocked down two people with two shots, then fired four more shots in a row.

The scene before him was exactly the same as what happened in the woods before. There was a bloody hole on the old man's arm and knee, and he collapsed to the ground powerlessly.

"Where did you hide those two girls? Where is my granddaughter?" Frank stepped forward quickly and stepped on Volkov, who was still trying to struggle, making his ribs crack.

"You have learned to find help? Are you really old? What should I call you, Sean, George, Roger or Timothy?" Blood was flowing from the corner of Volkov's mouth, but the expression on his face was one of anger and laughter.

Frank shot him straight through the thigh.

"Frank, my name is Frank now. Where are the two girls you kidnapped? You know the rules. Tell me and I can guarantee that you will live in prison for the rest of your life."

Volkov twitched in pain, but a grim smile still hung on his lips. "I don't want to live anymore. Send me to see Anna, just like you did to her before."

"You picked the wrong guy, asshole." Brian, who was extremely angry, leaned over and dug his fingers into the wound on his arm.

"Ah! I'll wait for you in hell, Frank!" Volkov screamed in pain, and a strange blue color appeared on his face.

"Wait." Jack tried to pry open his clenched teeth, but failed, so he simply smashed it down with the butt of his gun.

However, it was too late. An unpleasant smell of bitter almonds, along with broken teeth and blood, emanated from his mouth, and the three of them couldn't help but change color.

"He prepared cyanide poison sacs in advance." Jack almost started the healing spell subconsciously, but stopped abruptly.

"This bastard." Even though Frank always looks like a tough guy, his defense was broken at this moment, and tears welled up in his eyes.