1 Chapter 1 Limit Counterkill_1

The gun in front of him was a Glock 17, recognizable at a glance.

Gao Guang could also tell that this gun was a fourth-generation Glock 17.

There are five generations of the Glock 17. The first and second generations have no significant differences, the third generation added a tactical rail at the front of the slide, the fourth-generation started adding markings on the slide, and the fifth-generation removed the finger grooves from the grip, these are the more prominent exterior changes of the Glock 17 pistol.

But it's rather embarrassing to say, it was only because the gun was pressed against his forehead, allowing him to see the 'gen 4' marking on the slide, that Gao Guang confirmed that this gun was the fourth-generation Glock.

What kind of person, when having a gun pointed at their head, would still differentiate what model of pistol was being pointed at them?

That kind of person was Gao Guang.

It doesn't matter if he was being held at gunpoint or even if he had been shot, as long as he wasn't dead, Gao Guang would need to figure out whether he was hit by a 9mm Parabellum round or a .45 ACP bullet.

As a military enthusiast, as one without a gun in hand but with a profound understanding of firearms in his heart, being able to identify the model of the gun was the limit of what Gao Guang could do at the moment.

With his hands tied behind his back and his mouth taped, Gao Guang, a gun pressed against his forehead, was forced to kneel on the ground.

At this moment, Gao Guang felt nothing but regret and fear.

He regretted coming to Mexico and especially to Tijuana, otherwise he wouldn't have been kidnapped.

His fear was that if he were to be shot dead by the kidnappers here, not even his body would be left behind, and nobody would even know that he had been killed.

After forcing Gao Guang to kneel with the gun, seeing that Gao Guang was obediently still, the thug who had bound him put away the gun and then turned to the only person sitting in the room, saying, "Boss, we found him in the city. He had just gotten out of a taxi, then I brought him here."

The kidnapper delivered a small bag to the boss, it contained Gao Guang's passport, cellphone, plane tickets, and a wallet.

The boss sat on a white plastic chair, feet adorned with Air Force Ones, wearing jeans below and a light grey linen suit above. Underneath the blazer was a light pink shirt. His hair was meticulously groomed, and a carefully trimmed mustache adorned his upper lip. He also had a strong scent of cologne about him.

From his appearance, the kidnapper's boss seemed like a man who pursued fashion, and he didn't appear to be particularly mean-looking.

But behind the kidnapper's boss stood another person who looked very fierce, likely a bodyguard, and the bodyguard was holding a submachine gun, never having set it down.

Almost as a matter of faith, Gao Guang couldn't help but identify the submachine gun, confirming that it was an MP7.

Gao Guang dared not look too much at the kidnapper's boss, but the kidnapper's boss carefully examined Gao Guang, then unzipped the small bag, rummaged through it, and pulled out Gao Guang's passport from the compartment designated for documents.

Without even opening the passport, just by looking at the cover, the boss began to shake his head. When he meticulously examined the visa pages inside the passport, he immediately threw it onto a table with a look of disgust.

"He's from Huaxia. You idiots have kidnapped a Huaxia person!" the boss exclaimed.

The person who brought Gao Guang seemed confused and asked, "What's wrong with a Huaxia person?"

"What's wrong? Because if a Huaxia person gets kidnapped, the Huaxia consulate in Tijuana will contact the Mexican Foreign Ministry, the Mexican Foreign Ministry will contact the Tijuana Police Department, and the police will come to me for the person. This way, not only will I not get any money, but it will also be very troublesome, understand?" the boss explained.

Still confused, the kidnapper made a gesture of incomprehension, "But he can't call the police, and he has no chance to contact the consulate, right?"

The boss picked up Gao Guang's passport, flipped to the page with the visa, and said, "Look at his visa, he just entered Tijuana today, and this passport only has one visa stamped in it, and it's a tourist visa. Typically, this means there's nobody in Tijuana willing to pay his ransom, so we can only have him or his family ask for a ransom. If his family is smart, they'll contact the embassy. It's very simple logic. Do you understand now?"

After hearing the boss's explanation, the kidnapper fell silent for a moment, and then he pointed to Gao Guang's bag, "There's his bank card inside. Get the pin, then we can withdraw all the money from his account."

The boss shrugged his shoulders and said, "This guy is clearly a broke fool, there won't be much money on his bank card, it's not worth the trouble going to an ATM and drawing unnecessary attention."

Looking skeptically at Gao Guang, the kidnapper asked, "He's a broke fool?"

Pointing at Gao Guang, the boss replied, "His coat, his T-shirt, his pants, and his shoes, although I don't know the brands, the material and craftsmanship tell me they're all cheap stuff. His entire outfit wouldn't add up to more than a hundred US dollars."

After assessing Gao Guang's clothes, the boss pulled out Gao Guang's damaged phone from the bag, showed it to the others, and said with disdain, "A phone brand I don't recognize. But no matter the brand, a young person using a cracked screen phone is definitely not rich."

Tossing the phone on the table, the boss waved his hand with dissatisfaction, "You still have a lot to learn about identifying rich people, so you don't kidnap a foreigner who will only bring trouble and brings hardly any profit."

Gao Guang felt like applauding this perceptive boss because every single thing the kidnapper leader said was spot-on. He was indeed a broke fool, the kind of hostage who wouldn't yield much profit but would cause a lot of trouble.

Now, Gao Guang was beginning to feel some hope, perhaps these kidnappers would let him go because he was too poor.

But the gang leader remained indifferent, "Since he's not worth the ransom, and letting him go would be a hassle, just kill him."

Just kill him?

Gao Guang, who had dared not to make a move, suddenly acted. He hadn't dared to show any sign of peculiarity before, but now Gao Guang just wanted to let the kidnappers know that he could speak Spanish, then get a chance to say a few words, hoping to pay his way out of disaster to save his own life. So he started to struggle, making muffled sounds from his mouth.

Looking at Gao Guang, the boss said with a look of surprise, "You can understand Spanish?"

Gao Guang nodded repeatedly to prove that he indeed understood Spanish. He felt that this would make him someone they could communicate with, at least giving the kidnappers a chance to ask how much they could squeeze out of him before deciding whether to kill him or not.

But these kidnappers were utterly inhumane and had no patience. They were not at all interested in letting Gao Guang speak a word.

The boss waved his hand casually, "If you can speak Spanish, then you're even more of a liability. Kill him."

The kidnapper by Gao Guang's side immediately pulled a pistol from his waist and once again aimed it at his head.

"What are you doing? Do you want blood everywhere? Strangle him, no, take him outside to deal with it, so he doesn't pee his pants."

Hearing the boss's words, Gao Guang fell into complete despair.

Out of despair, Gao Guang was no longer afraid, nor did he have any regrets. He was now furious.

But meaningless struggling was futile. At this moment, although Gao Guang was extremely angry, he was also extremely calm. With his brain working at high speed, he lowered his head with a look of dejection and despair, submissively standing up as two kidnappers held his arms.

Gao Guang didn't struggle or resist, which saved the kidnappers a lot of trouble. So instead of dragging him, they just held his arms as they walked him out the door.

Being able to walk on his own meant he had grounding; strength arose from the ground; only when his feet were planted could he take action.

Gao Guang hung his head low, allowing him to see the kidnappers' feet and thereby gauge their position and distance.

"This will do."

One of the kidnappers spoke, and then both of them stopped walking and released their hold.

There was no more time to delay. The moment the kidnappers stopped, Gao Guang suddenly crouched, using his left foot as a pivot, his right leg sweeping across the ground, unleashing a sweeping leg kick.

He had no hope of escape, but Gao Guang, even if he was going to die, wanted to hit the kidnappers hard first. Even if he couldn't kill them, he wanted to make them feel pain, or at least startle them big time with his kick.

His martial arts training wasn't for nothing. Gao Guang had practiced martial arts since he was young, and today it finally came in handy.

The kick had found its mark. A kidnapper at Gao Guang's side had raised his gun, but caught off guard, he was struck hard by Gao Guang's leg on the ankle and was flung to one side, crashing onto the ground.

With a swift leap, Gao Guang delivered a crisp, airborne roundhouse kick to the neck of the other kidnapper beside him.

A sweeping leg followed by a roundhouse kick—this was the routine Gao Guang had well-rehearsed.

Who said martial arts routines were useless?

Even if martial arts routines weren't for the ring or real combat, having become a performing art, at least they made Gao Guang agile and quick in response. Even with his hands bound behind him, he could bring down two kidnappers with a sweeping leg and a roundhouse kick.

But Gao Guang, with his hands bound behind him, also lost his balance and fell to the ground as well.

On closer examination, it became clear that the practicality of martial arts routines was somewhat lacking. Indeed, two kidnappers were on the ground, but the one kicked in the ankle was just down, and the one kicked in the neck had not lost the ability to move; lying on the ground did not prevent them from shooting.

Gao Guang quickly adjusted his posture, trying to get up. At this moment, the kidnapper who had been taken down by the sweeping leg aimed his gun at him.

With no time to get up, Gao Guang kicked out fiercely, but the kidnapper was out of range of his feet, and he missed with all his might.

Without time for any mental reaction, in the instant of missing his kick, Gao Guang knew he was going to die.

The gunshot rang out, and Gao Guang instinctively shrunk his head, but he soon realized in astonishment that a burst of blood had erupted from the head of the kidnapper aiming the gun at him.

The gun in the kidnapper's hand fell to the ground, followed by a booted foot passing in front of Gao Guang's eyes.

In Gao Guang's gaze, filled with extreme surprise and relief, a person clad in black, holding a rifle, flashed by in front of him.