BOOM!
The severed tripwire detonated the pipe bombs mounted on both sides of the escalator. The blast launched Balke off his feet, his body shredded into a mangled ruin that tumbled back down the steps.
The handful of survivors at the bottom gaped in horror at what was left of him, their bodies shaking uncontrollably.
"I surrender! Don't kill me!"
One of them — the youngest, barely more than a teenager — cracked completely. Hands thrust above his head, he bolted up the escalator, screaming his surrender, tears of terror streaming down his face.
The others watched, and several of them shifted forward, ready to follow his lead.
Bang.
A single gunshot from the second floor. A muffled grunt from the teenager. Then silence.
Moments later, a thin stream of crimson began trickling down the escalator steps.
The survivors at the bottom stood rooted to the spot, trembling so violently that their teeth chattered. It was as if Death itself were descending those stairs, one deliberate step at a time.
The message was crystal clear.
These QZ soldiers had never intended to let anyone leave alive.
...
Crash!
Lyle shoved aside the debris covering him and dragged himself upright. Behind him, the fire roared and the agonized screams of his people filled the air. He spared them not a single glance, gripped his pistol, and ran for the front entrance.
His mind was a churning mix of regret and relief. Regret that he'd ignored his instincts — knowing something was wrong but proceeding anyway, feeding every capable fighter straight into the enemy's trap.
Relief that he'd had the presence of mind to stay at the back of the group. The moment things went wrong, he'd spun on his heel and bolted, barely escaping the inferno.
He had no idea how long the people inside could hold out. All that mattered now was reaching the sentries outside and getting as far away as possible.
He slammed through the front doors, thick smoke billowing out behind him, and gulped the fresh night air. "Ban! BAN!"
The dark street answered with silence.
Lyle swallowed hard, raised his pistol, and started toward where he'd posted the tattooed man and his group.
Halfway there, he stopped dead. Then he pivoted and sprinted in the opposite direction — abandoning any thought of finding his people, choosing to run alone.
Lungs burning, legs pumping, Lyle fled through the pitch-black streets. He'd spent nearly a year in this town and knew the layout well enough to navigate blind. Every few seconds he glanced over his shoulder, checking for pursuit.
He was almost at the far end of the street when a figure lunged from the downslope ahead, tackling him.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Instinct took over. Lyle fired three wild shots into the charging silhouette.
"Nnngh—!"
The bullets struck home. The figure's eyes went wide with dying fury, a choked groan escaping its lips. Momentum carried it forward until it crashed into Lyle, bringing them both to the ground.
He shoved the body off, scrambled backward, and aimed his trembling pistol at the dark shape on the pavement.
It didn't move.
He rose slowly, trying to make out the face of whoever had attacked him — but the darkness was too thick to see anything beyond a vague outline. Something about the build seemed familiar.
Then the clouds parted, and moonlight flooded the street.
"AHHH—!"
Lyle's pupils contracted to pinpoints. He stumbled backward, horror clawing up his throat.
The moonlight revealed a face covered in tattoos. Hands bound behind his back. A cloth gag in his mouth. Crimson eyes staring accusingly at Lyle from a face he knew all too well — Ban, the tattooed man he'd left on guard outside.
Shff, shff, shff—
While Lyle's attention was locked on the corpse, rapid footsteps closed in from behind. A sharp pain flared at the base of his neck, and the world went black.
Kim Seong-min looked down at Lyle's crumpled form with undisguised contempt. He couldn't fathom how someone this pathetic had ended up leading a survivor group.
His gaze shifted to Ban's body. "Don't blame me. I gave you a chance. Not my fault your boss shot first and didn't bother looking."
He hoisted Lyle onto his shoulder and headed back toward the shopping center.
...
On the other side — outside the shopping center entrance.
Bryan sat quietly on a bench, watching the ground floor slowly consumed by flames. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. The radio had already given him the full picture.
This so-called battle had been even easier than his most optimistic projection. No — battle was the wrong word. It had been a one-sided slaughter. The people inside were nothing but a leaderless mob, as cohesive as loose sand.
"Squad Leader — all hostiles neutralized. We've got everyone rounded up. That middle-aged guy who tried to run looks like he was the leader. Kim's bringing him in now."
Elton jogged over from the perimeter, delivering his report.
"Good. What about the guy Kim grabbed earlier — the one with the tattoos?"
"Uh..." Elton coughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "You know how Kim is. That guy's probably already dead."
"Tch. That man."
Bryan shook his head, stood, and straightened up. "Alright, let's go have a look at our prisoners."
The two made their way around the shopping center's exterior to a clearing on the southeast side.
Five people knelt in the center of the open ground — three men, two women — hands bound behind their backs, heads bowed, faces pale with fear. Norman stood over them, sniper rifle in hand.
Bryan sent Norman to check on the vehicles and the QZ civilians — make sure no one was panicking and nothing had gone sideways.
Then he approached the five prisoners, scanning each face in turn. An older man. A scrawny young man. A heavyset, bearded guy. A short-haired middle-aged woman. A woman wearing black-framed glasses.
Bryan leaned down, a pleasant smile on his face, his voice gentle. "So — who'd like to tell me about your camp? Location, layout, manpower. Cooperate, and I have the authority to let you go."
The older man squinted at Bryan, studied the seemingly friendly young face — and when he raised his head, it was with exaggerated fear. "I — I'll talk. Please don't hurt us..."
His companions stared at him in disbelief, shocked by how quickly he'd folded.
Bryan shifted his attention to the man, nodding approvingly. "Smart choice. Go ahead."
"Our — our camp is in the Line Creek Nature Area, to the west. This operation tonight — we brought almost everyone. The camp's basically empty now. Just a few guards and the old folks, women, and children."
"Is that so?"
"Y-yes!" The man caught what he interpreted as ignorance on Bryan's face. A flicker of sly satisfaction crossed his features. "If you don't believe me, you can bring your men and—"
BANG.
The sentence died with its speaker. Bryan's expression had turned to ice mid-word. In one fluid motion, he drew his pistol and, before the horrified eyes of the other four, put a bullet through the man's skull.
The body toppled sideways, eyes wide and glassy with confusion — as if wondering, even in death, what had gone wrong.
Bryan holstered the pistol and swept his cold gaze across the remaining four. "There's always someone who thinks everyone else is stupid. I hope... you're not that kind of person."
...
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