Invasion of the United States

He clamped the handgun between his legs, using his thigh for support, and extracted a fresh magazine loaded with bullets from his waist, pushing it steadily into the handgun.

With a crisp "click," the slide reset, the sound of metal colliding was especially clear against the low roar of the engine.

This modified heavy Harley was simply too eye-catching.

The silver body reflected a cold and dazzling light under the flames burning by the street.

The rough side guards added to the body were covered with scratches and dents from battles, exuding an unmasked wild aura.

The engine's thunderous roar was ear-splitting, not only stirring one's blood but also inevitably attracting hostile gazes from both sides of the road.

Those hidden predators lurking in the shadows had long regarded this motorcycle and its rider as their prey.

Just as Zhou Qingfeng finished loading, a skinny figure suddenly darted out from the dilapidated street ahead.

It was a thug with a ferocious expression, swinging a heavy iron chain in his hand, the chain slicing through the air with a sharp arc, and a whooshing sound as it came crashing down towards him.

Zhou Qingfeng caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye, the trajectory of the chain was clear to him.

He chose not to dodge, but merely twisted the handlebars lightly, the heavy motorcycle veered slightly, and actively charged towards the skinny thug.

The rough yet sturdy front shield of the motorcycle smashed fiercely into the thug's waist. The full series is hosted on My Virtual Library Empire, known as MV7LEMPYR.

The shield was welded from two thick spring steel plates, fixed at a sixty-degree angle to the engine frame, the edges unpolished, retaining a primal ferocity.

It was designed precisely to deal with such road-blocking scum.

With a dull thud, the skinny thug didn't even have time to scream, his whole body was flung into the air like a ragdoll caught in a hurricane.

His body flipped mid-air, blood spurted from his mouth, the droplets glinting crimson in the firelight, then he crashed heavily to the ground, unable to get up again.

This collision seemed to stir up a hornet's nest.

The chaos on the street was completely ignited by the heavy motorcycle's roar, anger and greed intermingling in their eyes.

They hadn't seen Zhou Qingfeng's brutal hit, only an expensive heavy-duty motorcycle bearing down on them.

In this disordered, dark world, this motorcycle was too handsome, too dazzling, too enticing.

Madness gleamed in the eyes of the rioters, they pushed and shouted, stumbling forward like blood-thirsty zombies.

Some pulled out guns, some swung iron rods and machetes, and a few guys worked together to push a freezer from an abandoned shop into the middle of the street, trying to block Zhou Qingfeng's path.

However, the Harley's speed was astonishing, maneuvering through the chaotic barricades like a swift fish.

Most of the rioters couldn't react in time, only hearing the roar of the engine whiz past their ears, catching a glimpse of a black shadow wrapped in hot wind flashing by.

Zhou Qingfeng had no intention of wasting time on these roadside scum, he glanced at the phone mounted on the bike, the city hall building icon on the electronic map was already within reach.

Just then, a gun-wielding rioter caught his attention.

The guy stood at the street corner, clutching a modified shotgun — the stock was sawed-off, the trigger guard unusually large.

It was clearly one of those lever-action shotguns, operable with a single hand, made only for show.

But the gun had significant power, spread shot, and a decent rate of fire, perfect for combat while riding.

Without hesitation, Zhou Qingfeng fired at the rioter's chest as he charged forward.

He seized the opportunity to slow down and approach, leaning over to snatch the shotgun, conveniently stowing it in the motorcycle's side compartment, and ripping the ammo belt from the rioter's waist, slinging it onto himself.

This momentary pause gave the surrounding rioters an opening, they pounced from the shadows.

Most of them were drugged up, eyes bloodshot, pupils dilated, faces twisted in grimacing smiles. The drugs burning their nerves, their minds filled with extreme excitement and frenzy, unafraid and fearless.

A burly guy had found a rusty crowbar from some abandoned corner, as thick as an arm, swinging it with a low hum towards Zhou Qingfeng's head.

Another skinny rioter pulled out a fire extinguisher from a smashed shop, clutching it with both hands, staggering from the side, intending to smash it into the motorcycle.

Then there was a third guy, charging barehanded, uttering inarticulate howls, like a demon, trying to yank Zhou Qingfeng off the Harley with brute force.

Zhou Qingfeng revved the throttle while squeezing the brake, the engine let out a deafening roar. The rear wheel skidded on the broken pavement, emitting a pungent burnt smell and billowing white smoke.

The heavy Harley's body swung wildly like an enraged bull, with tremendous inertia crashing into the crowbar-wielding brute.

With a dull "bang," the burly man and his crowbar were sent flying, the crowbar hitting the ground with a clear ringing sound.

The skinny guy with the fire extinguisher had such pitiful strength, his clumsy throw missed the motorcycle entirely and hit the pavement, posing no threat at all.

As for the barehanded attacker with long hair, Zhou Qingfeng leapt and grabbed his hair, twisting his wrist like he'd seized a wild horse's reins.