nigger!

Bruce hasn't heard this word with his own ears for a long time, even in a virtual reality world where everyone doesn't know each other.

He could clearly tell that this was not the "that" or "inner" that his Chinese friends often misunderstood, nor was it the casual tone of his black brothers when they joked with each other.

But it is real, full of teasing, sharp voice, with a commanding tone, an insulting word.

So, when he heard someone shouting this word so loudly behind him and so clearly, Bruce immediately turned his head.

Behind him was a pile of supplies, including ammunition boxes, and wooden frames filled with various cans and cola bottles, which formed a pyramid more than one meter high.

A white man with a white vest was sitting on the pile of supplies with an open coat. Next to him were four other white men, all wearing military uniforms, but without guns on their backs, all looking at him with a joking look on his face.

"What did you say?" Bruce suppressed his anger. After all, he still had a little sensibility and knew that this was a military camp and that he could not fight.

"I'll call you here! Wipe my shoes!" The white man in the middle didn't seem to care about Bruce's anger at all, but threw a pair of shoes over.

This is a pair of classic American black long military boots, probably because they traveled for a long time when it rained before, and it was covered with dark brown mud.

It was only then that Bruce noticed that the reason why the white man was sitting on the pile of supplies was because he took off his shoes and only had a pair of dirty socks on his feet.

Bruce ignored the boots thrown over and continued to ask: "I said...what did you call me just now?"

The group of people across the street were stunned for a moment, then looked at each other, as if they hadn't heard Bruce's words clearly, and seemed to be full of surprises at Bruce's words.

"Nigga?" One of them expressed his questions: "Don't you understand English? You're just a nigger."

"That may not be possible. Maybe he was just caught out of the forest." Another person teased.

"Hurry up and wipe my shoes!" The white man sitting on the supplies frowned, and took out a bottle of Coke from the wooden frame while continuing to give orders: "Do you have to let me kick your ass?"

It seems that they don't know where they are wrong.

Bruce took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, and then stepped forward.

He walked past the dirty military boots on the ground and headed towards the white men, his pace getting faster and faster.

Ten meters.

Five meters.

Three meters.

One meter.

"Fake!"

Bruce shook his arm and fist, slamming the white man in the leading position hard.

"Pi Li Crazy"

Seventeen or eighteen wooden frames collapsed, cans and coke bottles scattered all over the ground, and the strong body of the white man fell into the mud.

Fortunately, he was in a good physique, not unconscious or being blinded, and the surprise on his face disappeared, and his freckled face quickly filled with full anger to redness.

While he got up, he squeezed out words from his teeth: "Bare this nigger to death!"

Only then did his friends react and surrounded Bruce.

Two of them also walked around Bruce, not knowing whether to subdue him from behind or prevent him from running away.

The other two rushed straight up and swung their fists towards Bruce.

Their response is obviously wrong and irrational.

First of all, they overestimated their own strength. The five of them were not armed with guns and lacked the means to protect themselves at the last moment.

Secondly, they lack sufficient intelligence support. The one who stands in front of them is not an ordinary nigger or a common nigger they are.

Bruce has studied Chinese Kung Fu for fifteen years, and has been modernly improved, integrating Wing Chun Fist, Taekwondo leg techniques, modern boxing techniques, a small number of fencing techniques, and a part of judo sleeping techniques. It has a complete theoretical system, modern all-round free fighting technique: Jeet Kune Do!

This is a skill he spent fifteen years of hard work and meticulously studying, and he made a living as a profession.

This body made Bruce a little uncomfortable, feeling that he was not as strong and flexible as in reality. However, after being punched by the opponent a few times, he quickly regained his rhythm and began to drive the opponent.

Front hand jab!

Mid-section side kick!

Bend down and let go!

The hind leg hook kicks the lower abdomen!

Knee bump!

Hit the back hand!

Scout the enemy with low hands!

Lift your knees and kick your waist!

Grab your hand! Clap your arm!

Straight punching head!

...

The entire battle lasted less than five minutes. Five minutes later, five white men were wailing and screaming on the mud.

Bruce clenched his fist, closed his waist, exhaled slowly, took a deep breath, restored his strength, and sootheed his muscles...

He never felt as comfortable as he is now, just like after squeezing a thousand sandbags in summer, he drank a whole bottle of iced coke.

Is this what the head coach often says "Call to taste Lily"?

This is so cool!

It's so cool to hit someone!

It's so cool to beat these racists!

To be honest, although the security situation around Chinatown where Bruce lives is not very good, it is the first time in the past fifteen years that he has been so comfortable.

Needless to say, in the National Museum of War, as an assistant teacher, he spends most of his time doing mechanical movement demonstrations to help students adjust their postures. Occasionally, he practices with his fellow disciples, and his armor is neat and he is lit until he is touched. In many cases, he is also beaten to the ground.

The same is true on the street. Due to fear of legal sanctions and the other party's consequences, if you encounter conflicts when you hang out in a bar, you often choose to give in instead of taking action.

Even the rare occasions of robbery were handed over to the wallet and cell phone, watching the robber who was obviously addicted to drugs on the other side leave. The reason was very simple. The other party had a gun in his hand, and his consciousness was not right at first sight.

Bruce raised his hand and looked at his fist.

There was a faint pain on the fist bone, which made him confirm again that this was not his body. If it were his body that had been trained for many years, it would not take so many strokes, and one punch could make the other person lie down.

What's going on with this game? Why don't we use our own bodies?

"Beep...beep...beep..."

Before Bruce could have been puzzled, suddenly, a harsh flute sounded, and followed by a group of seven or eight military policemen with steel helmets and white strips on them.

"What are you doing?" The leading military police shouted loudly, and the rest pointed their guns at Bruce.

"Who did this?" The leading military police looked around and then looked at Bruce: "Have you seen who beat them?"

"I did it." Bruce was very bachelor.

"You fucked five of them alone?" The leading military police asked: "Don't you know that our First Cavalry Division prohibits private fights? Tell me, where are your accomplices?"

Just a game, Bruce is not afraid at all: "No one else, I..."

"Swoosh...boom!"

Before he could finish his words, a shell from afar flew over and landed not far away, exploded with a bang.
Chapter completed!