Jimmy, wrapped in a blanket, fell beside the bed and immediately continued rolling to the corner of the room, not even having a chance to free himself from the blanket and toss it aside.

Once hidden in the corner, Jimmy twisted his head to look outside but could see nothing; the street was just outside, only part of the building across could be seen, not the roof.

This damn life was unbearable; even sleeping at night wasn't safe, someone was sniping at him from a building across.

Jimmy looked towards the head of the bed and realized he had rolled too quickly to grab the pistol under his pillow, and now he didn't dare to get up. The shooter could accurately fire through the curtains to the bed, and he couldn't rule out the possibility of the gunman using an infrared scope.

Jimmy's room windows were open, only curtained off, and although the air in New York wasn't great, he still liked to ventilate his room.

The open window might have doomed Jimmy because glass windows can block some infrared rays. If the shooter across really was using an infrared scope, Jimmy couldn't risk standing up without closing the window, for fear of becoming a target. He had to stay out of the firing range as much as possible.

It was difficult; he was uncertain whether the shooter had moved positions and whether he could observe Jimmy's location.

Jimmy made the blanket into a long strip, turned the side close to his body outwards, and extended a part of it as a test. Before he could react, a bullet had already hit the blanket.

Indeed, the sniper's scope was infrared, that was now almost certain.

Jimmy heard no distinct gunshot; the sniper rifle was fitted with a silencer, the mark of a complete professional, not just anyone. Jimmy didn't feel confident enough to bet on the shooter's aim.

After throwing the blanket on the floor, Jimmy carefully gauged the scope of the fan-shaped area formed by the window. Luckily, it hadn't covered the entire room. He crawled along the floor towards the other side of the wall, then dashed towards the bed and quickly dropped to the floor, reaching first for the Python under the pillow and then for the FBI badge on the bedside table. He crawled to the door, stood up, opened it, and rushed towards the elevator.

The shooter didn't fire during the whole process, and Jimmy had no idea if they were still in the original position.

Standing in the elevator pressing for the first floor, Jimmy felt the weakness in his body. Although not pronounced, he knew he had to be careful not to engage in any strenuous activity, partly because of his strength and partly because of the wound, which had almost healed. Any vigorous movement that would cause the stitches to burst would be disastrous.

Arriving on the first floor, the lobby attendants were all stunned; a man in only underwear, brandishing a revolver, had charged out of the elevator, making quite a shocking scene.

Jimmy ignored these people; as soon as the elevator doors opened, he started dashing toward the exit, out the door, and across the sidewalk towards the opposite building.

He had already tentatively located the shooter's position based on the trajectory, assuming it was somewhere in that building, but he wasn't sure of the exact spot.

Jimmy, holding the revolver, charged towards the building, only to be stopped by the locked doors. He pushed the door a couple of times but couldn't open it.

He looked at the security guard sitting at the front desk inside, pressed his FBI badge against the glass door, and shouted, "FBI, open the door."

The guard was shocked, too; it wasn't every day that a nearly naked man, holding a revolver, demanded to have the door opened.

The building was an office building, and the security guard didn't carry a gun. He immediately got down from his chair, crouched behind the desk, only showing a bit of his head and yelled, "Who are you? What do you want?"

Jimmy: "FBI, open the door right now. There's an active shooter in your building."

Only then did the guard notice the badge Jimmy had stuck on the door, too far to see clearly. The guard didn't dare show his head; he pressed the alarm button under the front desk and said, "I've called the police already, get away from here now."

Jimmy looked up at the building. At least within his 'Heart Eye' range, he didn't spot anything unusual. The shooter was either still up there or had already fled.

"FBI, open the door now. Someone from your building just shot at me. Now, open the main doors."

Jimmy knocked on the glass door persistently, unable to shoot the glass open directly due to the implications of his identity. It would cause too much impact; he could only knock to make the guard open it.

The guard completely ducked behind the front desk, ready to play the ostrich.

It only took two or three minutes for Jimmy to hear the siren. He sighed, turned to view the street, and a police car came speeding toward him with its lights flashing.

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