From Bullets To Billions Chapter 620: Cat And Mouse

Though Darno managed to handle his Exoskeleton opponent with little difficulty, the situation proved far tougher for the rest of the core members and Rangers. Joe, especially, faced a struggle much worse than he'd ever let on.

Blood streaked his face, and agony pulsed through his entire frame from the strikes he'd already absorbed. Each inhale brought back memories of every slam, punch, and hurl he'd endured.

Joe grumbled inwardly while leaning his back against the wall in an office he'd slipped into. It seemed like he'd been fleeing endlessly, zipping down corridors and dodging around desks, yet even in this space, Gilt Rats and Black Hounds members lay sprawled on the ground. They'd been unfortunate to be present when Joe charged inside, and he'd dropped them before they grasped the situation.

Chairs lay scattered about the room, alongside a wall-mounted TV screen and an extended table, evidently from a presentation media room. Documents remained strewn over the table from the meeting interrupted by the sudden mayhem.

Joe mused darkly.

His injuries mended gradually yet steadily, though his psyche lagged behind. The edges of his mental composure were unraveling, leaving him uncertain how much more abuse he could endure before breaking. It always unfolded this way—agony piling up relentlessly until he teetered toward that loathed unstable mindset.

A deafening crash shattered his reverie. Glass fragments burst inward, scattering everywhere. Joe recoiled on reflex as a fist smashed directly through the exterior glass wall.

The Gilt Rat fighter had tracked him down once more. Concealment offered no sanctuary.

"If you’re already hiding like a rat, then this fight is already over!" the man bellowed, his tone laced with arrogance.

Joe raised his arms to shield his face and charged ahead. He unleashed a flurry of swift jabs, yet the man deflected them with ease using his exoskeleton-boosted limbs. Then came a devastating counterstrike right into Joe's gut.

Joe's form hurtled back, smashing into the table in his path.

"AHHH!" Joe howled, gripping his belly. Briefly, he pondered if something inside had truly fractured this time.

"What right do you have calling me a rat when your whole group is named the Gilt Rats, for f*ck’s sake," Joe snarled, hooking a toppled chair with his foot and flinging it at the foe. It collided hard, making him stagger a bit.

It wasn't a big move, but it counted for something.

Joe's key edge lay in the fact that the man's exoskeleton covered only his arms. His legs stayed unboosted, heavier, less agile. Joe could still evade him, just scarcely. Thus, he dashed from the room, navigating the media area.

He raced back into a glass-enclosed corridor. A Gilt Rat charged with a bat swinging wildly. Joe evaded the blow low, leaped up, and smashed his fist into the man's jaw. The force bashed the attacker's head against the wall, and he crumpled senseless.

Yet another foe kicked out, but Joe sidestepped, slammed his knuckles into the gut, then hammered three quick shots to the face. The enemy crumpled with moans, staying down.

As he fell, he had one final thought:

Joe burst from the corridor into the expansive cubicle zone, the primary clash site between the factions. Desks lay flipped, documents flung about, and figures—some stirring, others out cold—littered the ground.

A quick look back revealed the Exoskeleton wielder approaching with his smug smirk intact. The guy clung to him relentlessly, never easing off.

Rather than flee further, Joe pressed onward.

No longer merely escaping, he weaved through cubicles while lashing out punches, ducking assaults, and felling any obstacle in his path. His sight sharpened like in training drills, turning foes into practice dummies and motions into routines. His strikes blurred quicker than most Bloodline fighters could achieve.

Frustration mounted in the Exoskeleton user. He snatched an office chair, hoisted it overhead, and launched it flying. Joe evaded the bulk, though a wheel scraped his cheek, slicing it and spilling blood.

"Are you just buying time? It’s useless to keep running!" the man roared, extending both arms wide, ready to seize Joe upon approach.

"Hey!" a voice yelled.

"He’s been doing a lot more than just running," another chimed in.

The Exoskeleton user halted and scanned about. Bloodline allies had encircled him, gripping weapons, creating a rough perimeter.

"What the...? What happened to the others? Did you guys take them all down?" he barked, his assurance fading fast.

But they hadn't.

Joe had felled most foes amid their prolonged pursuit across the structure. In every passage, chamber, and nook they traversed, he'd relentlessly downed enemies despite desperately evading death. Lacking the raw power of vow-empowered comrades, Joe relied on his honed fists and lightning-fast jabs.

Moreover, his targets had already battled others beforehand.

At last, the Exoskeleton user grasped the truth—he wasn't pursuing.

He'd been the one lured along.