Sure! Here's the English translation:
Bang——
A pursuer unexpectedly rolled directly off the rooftop and landed in front of the doorway, just two meters ahead of Song Heping as he was about to charge out.
Both sides froze for a moment, caught off guard.
The man had been shot twice but wasn't dead yet.
Upon seeing Song Heping, the man sluggishly tried to raise his gun to shoot.
Song Heping didn't give him the chance, firing two shots first and taking him out.
Then, he swiftly replaced the magazine.
He liked the Glock 17—not to mention its performance—the ammo capacity was sufficient.
Both sides were fighting like madmen.
The men on the rooftop clearly understood that Song Heping had discovered their position, so they began firing wildly at the buildings below through the steel sheets.
This reckless, massacre-style attack would achieve nothing but cause more innocent casualties.
Everyone was consumed by bloodlust.
The CIA agents chasing Song Heping couldn't believe that so many of them couldn't trap or kill one person.
Meanwhile, Song Heping was acutely aware that his life hung by a thread—any mistake could mean death, and he'd die far from home.
"Where did he go? Did anyone see him?!"
Very soon, amid the chaotic cluster of single-story houses, the "Watchers" lost track of Song Heping.
It was like trying to catch a mouse from above a sewer cover—the mouse scurrying through the drains while those above could do nothing but flail around fruitlessly.
After running for an unclear amount of time, Song Heping's surroundings suddenly opened up.
It turned out to be a brightly lit boulevard.
He quickly scanned the area, relying on the memory he'd built up from aimlessly wandering around during the day to make a judgment—
His choice of breakout direction was correct.
This was Hacanim Street near the docks. If he continued westward across four more blocks, he'd reach the port.
Of course, he wasn't planning to board a ship directly at the port.
The agreed pickup point was at a small, remote fishing wharf, where a small boat would meet him and transport him to the larger ship offshore.
Keeping his usual low profile, Song Heping hid the hand holding his gun behind his canvas backpack as he hurriedly crossed the street to the other side with his head down.
He planned to pass the crossroads ahead, turn into a street to the right, and then keep going along the left-hand side; the path would lead directly to the coastline.
This stretch seemed surprisingly smooth, with no pursuers disturbing him.
Song Heping hurried along, sticking close to the edges of buildings on the street.
He was now quite close to the sea; in the distance, he could already see the massive oil storage tanks and crane tops at the shoreline.
Following the perimeter wall of the port to an isolated spot, Song Heping planned to enter the port area and move along the coastline. It was much less likely he'd be spotted there compared to walking on open roads.
The two-meter-high wall posed no challenge at all for Song Heping.
At a secluded section of the wall, he effortlessly climbed over into the port area.
Some parts of the port were quiet; the busier sections were the cargo yards near the harbor.
Song Heping chose to stick to the secluded areas, occasionally passing by a truck. Its massive wheels ground against the concrete ground, producing a piercing screeching sound.
At an intersection, just as Song Heping thought he'd finally shaken off those pesky CIA agents, he suddenly heard the roar of an engine. To his right, two black Chevrolet SUVs were racing toward him, crushing rotten dates fallen from a cargo truck along the road.
"Shit!"
Judging by the speed and direction of the vehicles, he knew these were people coming for his life.
There was no need for words.
He drew his pistol and fired repeatedly at the cars.
Bang, bang, bang—
Bang, bang, bang—
Glass shards sprayed from the windshields, bullet holes blossoming across the glass like spiderwebs.
The Chevrolets swerved hard, veering toward the container yard by the roadside, hiding behind the stacks to avoid Song Heping's bullets.
Song Heping had no interest in drawn-out battles with them.
He was outnumbered, and direct confrontation wasn't a wise move. Mobility and tactical strikes were the best approach.
He turned and sprinted toward the warehouse zone with all his speed.
His heart thundered like an engine pushed to its limits; Song Heping felt like it might burst out of his chest.
His physical stamina was depleted beyond measure after such a long encounter.
Walking the streets and scouting the terrain during the day, then this endless chase at night—it all added up.