Police in Los Angeles

Several armed militants, wielding AK-47s and similar assault rifles, rushed into the plane from the cargo door, only to emerge shortly after, loudly speaking in a language the others couldn't understand.

"Where is the captain, and where are the other passengers? Why are there only three of you?"

The small, monkey-like leader, wrapped in a headscarf, shouted at the three people, his English heavily accented.

These militants seemed to have at least basic training. About seven or eight of them surrounded the couple from the big country and the bald old white man, while others spread out, vigilantly watching the surroundings. Someone always stood on the pickup with the mounted M2 machine gun.

Jack, hiding in the bushes, sighed softly; things were indeed turning for the worse.

The passengers on the northern hill could clearly see everything happening below. Even those with poor eyesight could hear the clear sound of gunshots.

The women covered their mouths, trying to hide their bodies in the grass or behind trees, fearing they would be spotted by the militants.

Seeing the three remain silent, the monkey-like leader sneered, pressing the gun barrel against the bald man's head.

The bald man, trembling, pointed in the direction they had come from. "They said they were going to the southwest, to a town there for help."

"That's nonsense! Why didn't we see them on our way here?"

The leader cursed, jabbing the bald man's head with his gun, spraying him with spit.

The bald man collapsed to the ground, waving his hands in fear, terrified that a bullet would pierce his head at any moment.

Meanwhile, other militants surrounded the couple from the big country, pushing and shoving them while speaking in an unintelligible language.

"Rip."

"No, we also believe in the One."

"Ah!" As the militants' actions grew more outrageous, even tearing at their clothes, the husband let out a cry of humiliation but was firmly held down by two others.

"I saw them enter the jungle path shortly after leaving the main road. That's all I know, please don't kill me, I'm begging you."

The bald man knelt on the ground, begging pitifully, not daring to turn his head or look at the unfolding tragedy.

The monkey-like leader snorted, ignoring him, and walked around him to take a machete handed to him by one of his subordinates, standing beside the husband.

Another subordinate cleverly took out a phone, turned on the camera, and began filming.

"...Supreme!" The leader shouted this word and swung the machete forcefully, beheading the man.

"Ah!" The bald man was so frightened that he crawled away on his knees, still getting splattered with blood.

The wife, now in tattered clothes, was so terrified by her husband's beheading that she collapsed to the ground, screaming before losing consciousness.

"Ali Ura... gabbled the gibberish."

A burly man with long hair then stepped out of the vehicle, smacking the monkey-like leader on the back of the head as if angry, seemingly the real leader of these militants.

The burly leader gestured for the surviving hostages to be taken to the vehicle and scolded the monkey-like leader before motioning for him to clean up the mess.

The monkey-like leader summoned two subordinates to help him load the headless body and the severed head onto a pickup truck.

The burly leader shouted at the remaining men, "You stay here. Take the computers, jewelry, tablets, and anything valuable. Check the plane for anything else valuable. Return before dark."

With that, he left with the others, including the pickup truck with the M2 machine gun, leaving four men and two vehicles at the scene.

The sun was now overhead, and the temperature was rising. The four bandits lazily rummaged through the passengers' luggage, collecting anything they deemed valuable.

Occasionally, they would find a watch or something similar and excitedly huddle together to examine it, discussing its value before handing it to a man with shoulder-length hair for safekeeping.

Jack secretly cast a healing spell on himself to remove the various sizes of bumps left by the mosquitoes. Then he took out his Glock 17, checked the gun's condition, and found it well-maintained.

"What are you planning to do?" Gaspare widened his eyes in disbelief. The other side had four armed bandits, and this guy was thinking of attacking them with just a handgun?

"I need your help," Jack said seriously.

"There's no way I'm going to help you commit suicide. I don't even have a knife, and they have four assault rifles. Am I supposed to hope they all jam?" Gaspare protested angrily.

"Are you good at shooting handguns? We're at least 50 meters away from them. Before alerting them, I need you to take out at least three, leaving one alive for me."

Jack calmly offered the Glock to him, grip first.

"Can you do it?" Gaspare didn't take the gun, instead asking angrily, his voice low.

"Does Bali have internet?" Jack's question seemed unrelated to his explanation.

"Of course. What are you getting at?" Gaspare was confused.

Jack took a water bottle from his backpack, smiling slightly. "Did you see that video from half a month ago? The shooting in Los Angeles."

Gaspare's eyes flickered between Jack's face and the water bottle in his hand. After a while, he hesitantly asked, "You're that Starbucks warrior? Don't lie to me. Wasn't your first shot just lucky? Even though the video wasn't very clear, anyone who knows shooting could see that the guy was headshot on the first try."

"We were at least 30 or 40 meters apart," Gaspare emphasized.

"It was 41 meters. Someone measured it afterward. The guy with the dual pistols in the suit was my boss. Do you think I dared rely on luck?"

Jack snorted dismissively, took a sip of water, and put the bottle back. Those with the system are that confident.

He pointed to the long-haired man keeping the valuables, "He seems to be their leader. I'll take care of the other three. You control him, okay?"

Gaspare carefully observed the positions of the four men, hesitated for a long time, and then gritted his teeth and nodded.

"I can crawl closer and get as near as possible, but you better be as good as you claim."

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