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Fujiwara Toru switched the automatic transmission to manual. The huge engine roared, the tachometer needle soared, and the tires of the Porsche 911 screeched against the ground. The car shot out like lightning.

"Damn it, risking his life!"

"Looking for death!"

"Who's so bold, daring to race in the metropolis!"

"..."

A flurry of curses came from the street. Fujiwara Toru, driving the 911, squeezed through gaps, weaving left and right. Cars slammed on their brakes to avoid collisions, and drivers rolled down their windows to yell curses.

Anyone seeing a sports car speeding on the street would assume it was street racing.

Fujiwara Toru completely ignored them. He was fully focused, paying no attention to red or green lights, just wanting to shake off the vehicles behind him.

Brake, shift gear. The 911 performed a beautiful drift, narrowly missing a large truck, and turned left at an intersection, trying to shake off the SUVs behind him.

But no matter how fast Fujiwara Toru drove or showcased his skills, the two Chevrolets behind him continued to pursue relentlessly.

"The driver on the other side is an expert!"

Fujiwara Toru glanced in the rearview mirror and said.

His driving skill was only B-level. It might be considered god-like among ordinary people, but it was a level that professionals could achieve through training.

Vermouth nodded slightly. She thought of Vodka, the driver who exclusively drove for Gin.

Vermouth didn't buckle her seatbelt, instead holding onto the grab handle above her head. This was in preparation to jump out of the car at a moment's notice if needed.

Fujiwara Toru continued driving through the streets and alleys. It wasn't convenient to stop and engage in a gunfight with the opponents, not because he was afraid, but because of Fujiwara Toru's identity.

He was still a public official of America, and this was American soil. He couldn't just change his identity and cause chaos whenever he wanted like he could in private.

If a gunfight broke out in a bustling area, resulting in heavy casualties, he would face enormous trouble. The higher-ups might even sell him out to quell the incident.

Those officials weren't good people.

Therefore, he had to lead these people to a less populated area!

Fujiwara Toru was familiar with the roads of the metropolis. The scenery outside the car quickly receded, and soon he drove the car near a secluded park.

Police sirens could be heard from all directions, and two helicopters were following them overhead. It seemed that GTA incidents were common in America, and the police response speed was fast enough.

However, ordinary police force was insufficient against such professionals, lacking both strength and firepower. And the response speed of the American SWAT team was relatively slow.

Screeech—

Fujiwara Toru slammed on the brakes again. The Porsche's tires screeched against the ground, creating a cloud of white smoke.

In front of Fujiwara Toru, two other Chevrolet SUVs blocked the narrow road.

He was surrounded, front and back.

A total of twelve people got out of the four SUVs. They were holding M4 assault rifles, all aimed at this Porsche 911.

Seeing this scene, Vermouth's heart tightened. Her left hand reached out and grasped Fujiwara Toru's hand, her tone calm: "Boy, we have no escape?"

Twelve M4 assault rifles, equipped with 5.56mm bullets. At this distance, they could definitely riddle the two people sitting in the car into sieves.

At this moment of life and death, Vermouth felt no fear. Her right hand rested on the car door handle, preparing to get out.

Fujiwara Toru had his CIA identity. As long as he stated it clearly, the opponents might hesitate to act against him out of fear of repercussions.

literally "hesitate to pelt a rat for fear of smashing the dishes beside it"; figuratively, "hold back from taking action against an evildoer for fear of harming good people".

As for herself, it didn't matter. She was the one who had implicated Fujiwara Toru in the first place. Vermouth didn't want the 'angel' she had finally found to have his wings broken here.

Fujiwara Toru didn't know the complex thoughts in Vermouth's mind at this moment. He just smiled confidently: "On the contrary, it's they who have no escape!"

...

Not far away, a Ford sedan was rapidly heading towards Fujiwara Toru's location.

Driving was an Asian man wearing a knit cap, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

In the passenger seat, a European-American woman with short, straight blonde hair said, "Shuichi, why the sudden rush?"

Akai Shuichi held the steering wheel, dodged the car in front, and said calmly, "Just received news from above saying there are terrorists nearby, asking me to come support urgently. But they didn't say clearly who I should support, it's all very mysterious."