From Resident Evil to becoming a gacha god

"Duang!"

Inside an abandoned factory, Brian opened the weapon case Xiao Miao had brought back. Upon seeing the M240 inside, his facial expression instantly went out of control.

"Shit, don't tell me you're planning to use this stuff. The gang won't fight a positional war with you."

Xiao Miao didn't waste any words explaining anything; he simply grabbed Brian's collar with his left hand and gently lifted him up.

Brian immediately felt a tremendous force coming from his collar, and his feet instantly left the ground. Xiao Miao's palm was like a hydraulic clamp, and no matter how much he struggled, it did not budge.

Xiao Miao put Brian down: "Well, any more questions?"

Brian gasped for breath, rubbing his neck with a look of astonishment: "What terrifying power! Don't tell me you're a super soldier trained by the military, or some secret weapon from a laboratory!"

Xiao Miao, as usual, spouted nonsense: "None of that. Actually, just a moment ago, my heart rate exceeded 400 beats per minute, and my blood was filled with a large amount of adrenaline, giving me superhuman physical abilities for a short period of time."

Brian immediately understood: "So that's it, you're a member of the Brotherhood!"

Xiao Miao: "..."

Is there even such a thing as an "arrest warrant"?

This time it was Xiao Miao's turn to be stunned. After thinking about it carefully, he immediately felt relieved. It's not surprising that anything could appear in this mixed world. Even if John Wick were to transform into Neo and take off on the spot, Xiao Miao could accept it calmly and happily swallow the red pill.

After confirming Xiao Miao's combat capabilities, Brian also took action. Having spent many years on the front lines, he had an in-depth understanding of gangsters. He quickly devised a plan based on the nature of these guys, then hurriedly left to carry out the operation.

With no one around, Xiao Miao summoned Saeko Busujima, took out a katana and handed it to her. This katana was worth one gold coin and was the best product from the French branch.

Saeko Busujima was overjoyed, holding her katana and swinging it around, completely captivated by it.

Unfortunately, the katana could not immediately follow Saeko into Xiao Miao's body; it required expending magic power to assimilate it little by little. Fortunately, there was still enough time.

.........

The next morning, at Villa No. 10, Rue de Paradise, Paris, several black cars stopped in front of the vermilion gate, and a group of thugs in suits got out and knocked on the gate.

A few minutes later, the thugs in suits left laughing, while the Albanian gatekeeper turned ashen-faced, and the sounds of shattering vases and angry curses echoed from inside the villa.

"You dog, go to hell, you stupid bastard!!!"

Marco Hoxha, the gang's second-in-command, kicked over a bench and stood amidst the shards of metal, his chest heaving. His underlings around him remained silent in fear.

A videotape was playing on the television next to us, containing blood and violence.

The heads of the family's two prostitution dens were tortured while tied to chairs, and finally died a miserable death by electric shock. Their screams were too horrible for the underlings watching the video to bear.

At the end of the video, two men wearing hooded bandit masks made a threatening statement, claiming they would take over half of the family's business and inviting the family's leader to negotiate at the dock that night.

This was not a big deal originally; Marco had encountered similar incidents many times since taking over the family business.

France receives a large number of refugees every year, and inevitably some lawless individuals are mixed in, attempting to challenge the status of local gangs.

In fact, this is how the Albanian gang started. Initially, only five or six refugees entered France. They then recruited friends and went through several gang fights, swallowing up several local gangs. It took them seven years to develop to their current state.

What truly enraged Marco was that these fools who dared to challenge him had gotten the address wrong and sent the videotape to another local gang. Their second-in-command had just personally come to Marco's door to remind him not to fill in the wrong address when buying things.

Marco knew without a doubt that news of his family's current predicament had spread throughout the city, and the entire Parisian mafia was waiting to see them make a fool of themselves.

If the family fails to annihilate the challenger with overwhelming force, other gangs will pounce on them like sharks drawn by the scent of blood, tearing chunks of flesh from the family.

"Gather all the men and prepare for battle. Tonight I'm going to personally cut off the heads of those idiots!" Marco ordered.

At a command, the entire gang sprang into action. Ten minutes later, Marco's phone rang. Looking down, he saw it was his father, Murad Hoxha, the true head of the Albanian gang.

Murad said he had received the message and was leading a dozen or so elite family members back to Paris, warning Marco not to act rashly.

"Don't worry, son, the blood of our compatriots will not be shed in vain. This is also a great opportunity to enhance our influence. I will let all of Paris see the power of Albanians!"

...........

At 10 p.m., the area around Genèveier, a large inland container port in the northwestern suburbs of Paris, was quiet, but undercurrents were swirling.

The patrolling security guard shone his flashlight around, looking surprised: "Why are there so many cars parked on the side of the road? What day is it today?"

"Stop asking questions, run!" The well-informed colleague pulled the security guard away, whispered a few words, and the two quickly made their escape.

The cars parked near the port were not from Albanians; they were observers sent by other Parisian gangs to get firsthand intelligence and assess subsequent actions.

Even the French Internal Intelligence Service received the news and dispatched agents to keep watch. The authorities had no intention of intervening in the gang fights; letting them fight amongst themselves was the outcome the bigwigs would prefer.

"Boom! Boom! Boom~~~"

The roar of numerous engines echoed from the end of the road, instantly alerting all the observers who immediately reported the situation via mobile phone:

"Here it comes!"

"There were a lot of cars; it must be that group of Albanians. I didn't see the other group."

"Hehehe, the show is about to begin! Kill them all, kill them all!"

Amidst much anticipation, a convoy of cars, centered around a Mercedes-Benz S600 and consisting of numerous Mercedes-Benz SUVs, Audi A6s, and Volkswagen Golfs, slowly drove in.

The convoy stopped at the main entrance of the port of Gennevier. A dozen or so Volkswagen Golfs drove into the port first, weaving through the steel jungle of containers. After confirming there were no ambushes, the main force... still did not approach.

Murad isn't stupid. The container terminal environment at the port is too complex. If the other party really wants to play dirty tricks, they won't be able to finish investigating even if they search all day.

The Volkswagen Golf circled back to the main gate, and the henchman got out and shouted at the Mercedes S600, "Boss, I can't see anyone! Did we get stood up?"

Whoosh!

Before Murad could answer, a rocket suddenly shot out from the top of a shipping container, streaking across the night sky and hitting the Mercedes S600 precisely!

boom!

The rocket exploded, sending flames shooting into the sky. The massive shockwave sent the Mercedes-Benz S600 flying, spinning once before crashing to the ground.

The main structure of the Mercedes-Benz S600 remained intact, although the doors were severely deformed but not broken, clearly indicating that it was a special model that was explosion-proof and bulletproof. Even so, the people inside must have had a very difficult time.

Murad poked his head out of another vehicle: "The enemy is on top of the container! Kill them!"

"Yes, boss!"

"kill!"

The Albanians showed no fear, drew their pistols, and fired.

Their human trafficking and drug smuggling businesses, which span across European countries, are absolutely inseparable from their inherent ruthlessness and bloodlust.

Bullets rained down on the container. Brian, having fired his rockets, fled in panic, unable to lift his head due to the terrifying firepower.

On the other side, atop the five-story shipping container, Xiao Miao held an M240B rifle in one hand, looking down at more than thirty vehicles and over a hundred gang members. A bloodthirsty smile crept across his lips as he pulled the triggers with both hands simultaneously.

"Da da da—da da da—!"

Under the cover of night, two streaks of fire, like the scythe of death, swept across the convoy and the crowd.

The bullet's speed, approaching three times the speed of sound, was simply too fast for the gang members to react to.

Suddenly, holes appeared in the ground, then spread through the crowd, easily tearing apart cars parked nearby. Then, a slight stinging pain, as if punched, caused me to lose all my strength and fall to the ground.

"Huh, whose lower body is that? It looks so familiar... Oh, it looks like mine..." The gang member, torn apart by bullets, had this thought flash through his mind, then the excruciating pain belatedly entered his brain, and only then did the roar of the machine gun reach him, drowning out his screams.