Police in Los Angeles

Gaspare's stealth skills were at least advanced, as he managed to move stealthily even in daylight.

Jack, closely observing, could barely detect any movement. In no time, he saw Gaspare's dark head emerge from the closest bush to the four men.

Seeing Gaspare signal 'OK' silently, Jack boldly stepped out of hiding, knelt on one knee, and raised his hands in a standard kneeling shooting posture, aiming at the four busy bandits.

"Wait a minute."

"Bam!"

One bandit, reaching for the AK on his back and starting to speak, had his head blown off mid-sentence.

The other three, alerted, quickly turned around. Seeing only Jack with a handgun, one lunged for a nearby rifle, another reached for his waist.

"Bam... Bam..."

Their reactions were quick, but Jack's shooting was faster. Within nearly a second, two more shots rang out, both hitting their targets in the head. Only the long-haired man, whom Jack had deliberately spared, was left standing.

Simultaneously, Gaspare sprang out from the bushes like an agile panther, tackling the long-haired man to the ground.

When Jack rushed over, the long-haired man was already lying on the ground, unconscious. Worried, Jack quickly checked his pulse and was relieved to find him still alive, though just unconscious.

Gaspare, nearly as tall as Jack, easily overpowered the bandits, who averaged about 1.6 meters in height, like an adult bullying children.

"Couldn't you have been gentler?" Jack was relieved but concerned about the situation, especially since he had already shot the other three in the head and needed this one alive.

"I barely used any force. This guy is too weak."

Gaspare looked at his arm, somewhat puzzled and seemingly guilty.

Jack, somewhat skeptical, glanced at Gaspare's hairy armpit, wondering if the man's body odor had knocked the bandit out.

After tying up the long-haired man's hands and feet with shoelaces and tossing him aside, the two began to search for spoils.

As expected from a guerrilla-style terrorist group, each of the four carried a different model of rifle.

The long-haired man had a CQ-A5 assault rifle, resembling an M4 carbine but made in Ceris.

The second was a Russian-made AK with a chrome-lined barrel and a folding stock, looking like an old model from the Red Empire era.

The third was a QBZ97, an export version of the Type 95 assault rifle, which Jack had previously handled in its semi-automatic version, finding its ergonomics superior to the M16.

The last was an M16A1 in poor condition, with a rusted body and nearly worn-out rifling.

Jack wasn't surprised to see such a mix of rifles, indicating the Philippine government's incompetence. These models were all military aid from three different countries at different times.

The Philippines, with a population of over 100 million, had an extremely underdeveloped industry and couldn't produce firearms or ammunition independently. During the five-month-long war in Marawi, three major powers provided the country with batches of small arms and ammunition.

Apparently, these weapons ended up in the hands of the terrorists, either through capture or some other undisclosed dealings.

There were also two pistols: an M1911 in decent condition with a spare magazine and another one that Jack couldn't identify, looking like a poorly made imitation of a Type 54, rusted beyond recognition.

Such was the power of a tropical island environment; even cold weapons, if not properly maintained, would rust into useless scraps within days.

Fortunately, the M16 and QBZ97 magazines were compatible. Jack discarded the old rifle along with the three mutilated corpses into the jungle.

There were also two slightly rusted machetes, handy for clearing a path in the jungle later.

Soon, Captain Torrance and the others returned, this time taking almost a straight path and arriving in less than 20 minutes.

Though the bodies had been cleared, the bloodstains still frightened the passengers, who had never experienced a battlefield.

"My God, this is terrifying."

"How can those people be so barbaric?"

"Why are there such terrifying places in the world? I want to go home."

Fortunately, the remaining passengers were normal. Aside from being overly frightened, no one came forward to accuse Jack and Gaspare of not helping earlier.

Though the distance of several hundred meters made it hard to see clearly, the sight of a beheading was still too intense for ordinary people.

Particularly, when someone approached the spot where the Korean man had been held down and saw the long streak of red and black blood on the ground, they couldn't help but vomit.

Jeje approached Jack, hugging him briefly and taking the Glock he handed her, managing a gentle smile.

"Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not."

Jack's reply startled her, then he showed her his arm covered in various-sized bites.

He had no desire to crawl through the underbrush again, wondering why Gaspare was fine while he, despite using a healing spell, was still getting bitten all over.

"Who knows how to use a gun?" Jack patted the CQ-A5 in his hand, personally preferring the CQB95.

"I used to pilot transport planes in the Royal Air Force and received some basic training."

Captain Torrance stepped forward, another reminder of the character's military background, as even civilian roles seemed to carry a veteran status. His portrayal in the original script was uncertain.

The solitary young man also volunteered, stating he knew how to handle a gun. Jack handed him the M1911, his somewhat proficient handling indicating he wasn't likely to accidentally harm himself or others.

Next came the interrogation.

"Do you speak English?" Gaspare woke the long-haired man with several slaps.

"A little."

The man's accent was strange but understandable.

"He's all yours," Gaspare said, holding the original AK and keeping an eye on the surroundings.

The women stayed away, clustering around Jeje, occasionally whispering. A few were comforted by their husbands, still clearly unsettled.

Two college girls, bolder, stood with a few men watching the scene. Captain Torrance and Jack knelt before the long-haired man for questioning.

"Name?"

"Lorenz."

"What group are you with?"

"Abu Sayyaf."

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