Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

The helicopter was a problem.

Tristan glanced around in search of the solution and quickly found it.

Several opportunists were looking over corpses of SWAT members lying on a sidewalk and near the entrance.

"Leave the looting for another day—we have more important things to worry about!" Tristan shouted at them, approaching the nearest thug.

He was one of Damien's people, and despite already forming an attachment to his new shiny gun, Tristan's thunderous face made him abandon the corpse in an instant.

"And give me that," Tristan said, taking the automatic rifle from his hands. "If you are not wounded, then help those who are!"

The man paled and nodded. He wasn't going to call Tristan his boss aloud, but he wasn't about to avoid a direct order—especially after seeing the way Tristan fought.

Vargas watched the exchange with curiosity.

"That's an M4 rifle, isn't it? I doubt it will do anything against that helicopter. This is a combat model—it has to be armored. And from down below, even if you hit the cockpit, the bullet will just glance off the glass. Maybe if we pick several rifles and keep shooting together… But the cops won't let us."

Tristan checked his new rifle with expert movements, making sure it was in working order, and that the magazine was still half-full.

"I know all that, Mr. Vargas."

'But this is all I have in mind! Even an armored helicopter like that—it absolutely has to have vulnerable points. The rotor?'

Tristan's eyes opened wide, staring at the far-away dot of the helicopter. There was…

103.3 meters of distance between them, slowly decreasing. The helicopter was circling around the place of the fight, which gradually brought it closer to Tristan. But it also made the angle of shooting sharper and less convenient.

'What else?'

It was too hard to make out the details of the helicopter in the backdrop of the almost fully dark sky. Tristan's ability to analyze what he could see didn't actually improve his eyesight.

"Vargas, I need an optic scope or binoculars. Anything. I think one of my scouts carries one—tell him I sent you."

"Got it. I hope you have a plan, Mr. Hayes. The people are almost ready to move out."

Tristan nodded.

"We still have a few minutes, Mr. Vargas. But also, prepare to split our forces and avoid future chase."

"Understood."

Vargas jogged away. Half a minute later, the scout Tristan mentioned earlier came in his stead, bringing his binoculars.

Tristan immediately looked at the helicopter through them.

'Much better.'

Now he could make out that the rotor blades were definitely too thick to be notably damaged by a 5.56mm bullet from an M4 rifle.

Inside the cockpit, Tristan saw the pilot's head, covered by a mask and safe behind thick glass. The wide door of the helicopter was closed, too. There were no outside weapons, but Tristan spotted silhouettes of people behind the side windows.

Black paint with white "SWAT" letters painted on the side hid the armor, but Tristan believed Vargas that it was there. The only thing thin enough to be worth aiming at was…

'The tail rotor—the one the helicopter uses for turning! If I hit it, even if the helicopter doesn't crash, it won't be able to follow us.'

There was only one problem—it was a moving target at the range of 100 meters, and it was only 1.25 meters in diameter, as Tristan could see.

Not a complicated shot, if Tristan had an actual scope, and if the rotor wasn't spinning.

'I have to hit the blades with a burst shot to deal meaningful damage, and even then, a few will definitely just fly through.' Tristan huffed. 'I wish I had a laser pointer, would've been a better guarantee.'

"Hayes!" His name made Tristan lower the binocular. He saw Damien waving a hand at him. "Are we going, or what? The cops' reinforcements must be almost here! Vargas said we are about to split apart so that the chase catches the least of us—have you already decided who will be thrown to the pigs as a distraction?

You called yourself our leader, so it's your call to make and your responsibility to carry!"

Tristan threw Damien a glare.

"I didn't spend so much time recruiting you to throw any of you under the bus! If there's a way to maximize victories and minimize losses, that's what a good leader does. And there is. Just watch, Damien."

With these words, Tristan stuffed the binoculars in his pocket and went toward the nearest car. He lied on the ground near its hood and put the barrel on his rifle on it for support.

The people inside the car watched with wide eyes.

This wasn't the best position, but it was more convenient than standing with his head lifted until his neck hurt.

Tristan looked in the sky through the rifle's iron sights.

'I absolutely can't make this shot like this. I need… System, status!'

He still had 1020 Criminal Points. Tristan tapped the buttons in the opened window.

[Ding!]

[Firearms shooting skill increased from 816 to 1836.]

Now he had 0 CP.

'This had better work…'

He still didn't feel sure. But he aimed—at this distance, he didn't have to account for wind—and he fired a burst of bullets.

The gunshots cut through the relative quiet of the street, and the bullets wheezed into the darkness. Tristan didn't even know if they hit at all.

The helicopter rapidly turned toward him and began speeding up, as if about to open its insides and let SWAT members inside shoot back.

'I need more!'

Gritting his teeth, Tristan aimed again, and fired another burst, and one more for good measure, until the helicopter's body fully hid its tail rotor from him.

'Did any of this hit?'

Tristan got to his feet and pulled out the binoculars—and paused before he lifted them to his face.

He didn't need them anymore.

The helicopter continued to spin over its axis—now clearly out of control!