Chapter 105

Chapter 105

"What? The worldwide live feed is down?"

Under the scorching Abu Dhabi sun, Laura frowned, pushing up her sunglasses to glance at the communications specialist and the security chief.

To ensure a smooth global broadcast signal, the Arabs had arranged for three signal augmentation trucks to enter the hotel at 10 a.m. However, due to security concerns, Laura from the AGB side refused and instead negotiated with the security head. Eventually, they agreed to park the vehicles at the southeast corner outside the hotel—the closest straight-line distance to the auditorium.

Barring physical obstructions, the straight-line distance was only 200 meters.

Laura had only brought Lynn, a second-rank Officer under Lance’s command. Normally, such a trivial matter wouldn’t require her presence, but she had always hated meetings and stepped outside for fresh air.

Meanwhile, high-ranking AGB Officers like Lance and Samuel were presumably all inside the auditorium, listening to the young Chinese presenter's cross-century presentation.

An accented technician leaned out and urgently shouted at Lynn, "Our vehicle’s dead! All the equipment’s shut down!"

Lynn frowned in confusion. "Dead? What about the other vehicles?"

Just then, the door of another signal truck swung open, and an accented technician jumped out, yelling, "No, all electronic devices are down!"

"Impossible," Lynn muttered, pulling out his bricked phone—only to find it completely unresponsive despite pressing the power button.

Laura stood beside the signal truck’s door, while Hamid next to her wiped sweat from his brow, gripping his useless phone. "Mine’s bricked too. What’s going on? How could such a major disruption happen during the closing ceremony?"

In the 40-degree heat, Lynn broke into a cold sweat—this was the globally watched LSA Conference. Frantic, he kept restarting his phone, desperate to contact Blake and the others inside the venue for updates.

"Stop trying to reboot."

Lynn turned to the alpha female Police Superintendent beside him, her voice icy. He looked up to see Laura staring intently at the hotel’s dome, her face twisted into a terrifyingly cold expression—as if she had just witnessed the most horrifying thing in the world.

"Electromagnetic pulse bomb."

Lynn could hardly believe his ears. What was this first-class Police Superintendent saying? Why would there be an EMP bomb inside the venue—a location under strict lockdown for half a month with no outsiders allowed?

"Notify AGB headquarters and government authorities immediately—this is a Code Red terrorist incident!"

"Yes!" Lynn, panic-stricken, instinctively sprinted toward his car—only to hear Laura roar behind him less than a second later, "Don’t drive! All vehicle ignition systems here are disabled—run on foot, grab a tourist’s phone, or flag down someone else’s car. There’s no time!"

Weapons, phones, networks, vehicles—any modern equipment would turn into nonfunctional debris the moment an EMP detonated. High-powered electromagnetic waves would fry all nearby electronic components, meaning the hall packed with international attendees had now become an isolated zone. Within a 200-meter radius, the world had reverted to a pre-modern state.

The interior had become a black box.

Hamid, the security chief, nearly collapsed to his knees in shock.

Then, a vise-like grip seized his collar. He looked up into the steely face of the alpha female, her gray eyes dark with suppressed frenzy.

"How many people do you still have available? I need to get in—my colleagues and the kids are all in there."

Meanwhile.

Inside the thousand-seat conference hall, brutal suppressing fire from MP7s and screams filled the enclosed space. Every terrified attendee felt as if they had stumbled into a glitching virtual nightmare, the scene before them like a suddenly corrupted game world.

Fully armed terrorists wearing expressionless plaster masks emerged like ghosts from every corner at the back of the hall. They seemed to have prior knowledge of AGB and IGO’s arrangements, preemptively neutralizing armed Officers with overwhelming firepower.

Zhao Yang had always believed that as an elite from the Major Crime Unit, he had witnessed the most brutal and horrifying scenes. But when the gunfire of submachine guns erupted right beside him, an all-consuming terror rendered him immobile.

This was not the kind of carnage a peaceful national police force was equipped to handle.

The moment the gunfire started, the detail of bodyguards for the eight IGO Councillors at the front of the hall reacted the fastest, drawing their weapons and returning fire. Before the terrorists could close in from behind, they urgently evacuated the highest-ranking dignitaries to safety.

Meanwhile, the five Police Commissioners and dozens of senior Police Superintendents inside the venue also reacted swiftly. Their seats were close to high-ranking officials from various international organizations, such as the AGB Security Council and honorary scientists from the LSA. They immediately led these individuals toward the nearest exits.

The remaining unarmed attendees were less fortunate. Screaming, they ducked under tables, clutching their heads. A few brave souls who ventured near the exits attempted to flee but were tragically struck by stray bullets in the crossfire, instantly falling silent.

However, such resistance lasted only seconds in the face of the sudden terrorist attack. Soon, the gunfire gradually ceased—after over a dozen high-ranking officials and armed security personnel managed to escape the venue, the remaining AGB Officers trapped inside had no means left to fight back.

At 1:31 p.m., operatives from Life suddenly took control of the world-famous LSA Conference, gaining dominance over the entire hall in just 45 seconds and holding over 900 hostages.

No one knew how they had appeared.

Every member of the LSA and AGB, despite having implemented comprehensive security measures, was overcome with terror and confusion.

The moment the gunfire stopped, Zhao Yang, who had tackled Lin Shuhua to the ground, instinctively reached behind him to check on Qi Feng.

Fortunately, Qi Feng squeezed his hand in response, signaling that he was okay. After all, he was a more professionally trained officer than the average person, with quicker reflexes.

The silence following the gunfire was even more terrifying. The vast space, plunged into darkness after the sudden power outage, echoed with sobs and groans from every corner. Based on the gunfire, Zhao Yang estimated that at least ten submachine gun-wielding terrorists had infiltrated the venue.

A few minutes later, Zhao Yang suddenly heard a bizarre, bone-chilling laugh—coming from roughly his ten o'clock direction.

Glancing at Lin Shuhua, whose face was ashen beneath him, he cautiously rose and peered out under cover of darkness.

There were far more plaster mask-wearing figures than he had imagined—fifteen in total, clad in black combat gear, each armed with at least an MP7 or Bizon-2 submachine gun. This overwhelming firepower disparity was the primary reason the remaining armed personnel had ceased resistance—fighting back would be suicide.

At that moment, Zhao Yang spotted several enormous black crates—so large that two people were needed to carry each one. Seven terrorists had already taken positions on the stage, taking up positions to control the entire hall.

The terrorists gathered on the stage were retrieving items from the crates. Zhao Yang’s heart pounded. Their seats in the southwest corner were about 20 meters from the stage, far from any exits, which was why Mei Mingxuan had ordered them to take cover rather than engage.

Otherwise, their heads—along with those of Xu Zhangying’s team—wouldn’t have survived a single volley.

Then, Zhao Yang finally saw what the masked figures were retrieving—likely communication devices and something resembling shock collars. Once worn, an eerie electronic voice emitted—a voice distorter.

Strange. A sudden realization crossed Zhao Yang’s mind—why had they gone to such lengths to don these devices only now?

But a second later, glancing at his dead phone screen, a startling theory struck him—could it have been an electromagnetic pulse bomb?

The electromagnetic pulse had instantly fried all electronics within hundreds of meters, so they must have stored their mission-critical gear in specially shielded metal crates.

But EMP bombs were highly restricted military tech—how had these cultists obtained one?

Gripping his dead phone, Zhao Yang couldn’t help but recall the email from three minutes prior.

His heart sank like a stone. He had no idea under what circumstances Xu Zhangying had detected Life’s approach, getting out a last warning just before their arrival.

It was possible he had stumbled upon Life while searching for the missing officials. But with all communications severed, Zhao Yang dreaded to imagine whether Xu Zhangying was still safe.

As his hands trembled, footsteps echoed again. A spotlight beam swept over his face—the terrorists had reactivated their devices and were now sweeping the hall with flashlights.

Zhao Yang realized they were searching for Xia Qing—Zeiss must have evacuated with him upon receiving the alert.

Sure enough, after roughly three minutes, the terrorists finished sweeping the hall without finding their target. Their leader savagely kicked a scientist in white from the China Gene Team—none of them had been escorted out by security earlier.

The scientist cried out in pain. Qiao Bingxin immediately rushed to shield him, but she was no match physically—she was yanked back by her hair and thrown to the ground.

At the same time, Zhao Yang heard Shao Qiaoqiao let out a choked sob nearby—she had seen it too.

*Damn bastards.* Rage surged through Zhao Yang, but he hated being powerless even more.

He still couldn’t discern the terrorists’ true motives. If their goal had been mass killing, they wouldn’t have stopped shooting earlier.

"Drag them out." The lead plaster mask rasped in an eerie electronic voice.

In the conference hall where the metallic tang of blood began permeating, four scientists from the gene teams were the first to be dragged onto the stage. The terrorists efficiently zip-tied their wrists behind their backs and pressed the muzzles of their submachine guns against their heads, forcing them to kneel with bowed heads.

Before Zhao Yang could react, he saw the masked leader raise a hand, and five masked men strode uniformly toward their direction.

The harsh flashlight glare first struck the faces of Blake and others. In the next moment, the AGB Officers were yanked out one after another. Three of the European Officers had fled during the initial chaos, leaving seven behind.

These seven Officers, now at gunpoint, were disarmed the moment they were yanked from their seats. The foremost terrorist seemed to be counting, grunting, "Still three short."

Even Zhao Yang could understand this simple English phrase. He locked eyes with Lin Shuhua, who shook his head in response.

Beside Lin Shuhua were the Tang brothers. Tang Youan was pale but composed, clutching the Tang family’s prized heir close. Tang Youning, however, was either frozen in terror or passed out, crouching silently under the table with his head in his hands.

Though unsure what "three" referred to, Zhao Yang pulled Qi Feng deeper under the table, sensing overwhelming dread.

The seven Officers were led to the front—not onto the stage but below it. The flashlight beam swept over Zhao Yang's area again, sparing Shao Qiaoqiao and Li Jiali by sheer luck. But then it fixed directly on Mei Mingxuan's face.

Mei Mingxuan was also disarmed and taken. True to his military training, he stayed eerily calm. He glanced coolly at the terrorist, who seemed displeased by his composure and slammed the rifle butt into his forehead.

Blinded by the searing light, Zhao Yang watched blood stream down Mei Mingxuan's forehead, fists clenched. Before he could react, the distorted voice crackled, "You three, stand up!"

His blood ran cold. Numb with dread, he rose at the rifle butt's blow to his shoulder, clutching at straws. Lin Shuhua stood beside him as ordered.

But the masked man wasn't done. The flashlight dug under the table to Zhao Yang's right, illuminating Qi Feng. "That one too—stand up!"

Zhao Yang saw red, but Lin Shuhua squeezed his hand, warning against provocation.

Tang Youan, shielding Tang Youning, dared not look up. Qi Feng, to her credit as a cop, rose despite her fear, steadying herself against the table.

"A woman?"

The flashlight lingered on Qi Feng's androgynous beauty. The masked man snorted and waved her off—he hadn’t expected such stature from a woman.

Zhao Yang instantly shoved Qi Feng back down.

"Then you stand."

Sparing Qi Feng, the flashlight now landed on Tang Youning beside Lin Shuhua.

"Huh?" Tang Youning lifted his bloodless, exquisite face, locking up like a deer in headlights.

Tang Youan's expression darkened. Glancing at his younger brother, the usually composed man blurted in broken English, "I'll go instead."

"No. Him." A terrorist by the table grabbed Tang Youning's meticulously groomed hair, hauling him up with one hand while leveling a submachine gun with the other.

"Ah—I can stand!" The unlucky Tang Youning whimpered tearfully in English protest.

The masked man, disgusted by the Elite Alpha’s spinelessness, found no weapons on him. Prodding him forward with the gun, he similarly patted down Lin Shuhua and Zhao Yang before herding them ahead.

When Zhao Yang reached the stage, the dim light revealed a sight that sent ice shooting down his spine.

Ten corpses lay side by side—some faceup, others down. Several were chillingly familiar, AGB Officers he'd worked alongside these past three days.

The same horrific truth dawned on everyone as Zhao Yang's trio was shoved to the corpses' left; the seven Officers stood forced to their right.

Pale-faced, Zhao Yang looked up at the masked terrorist before him, then at the cameras and computers the group had set up.

"Move!" A terrorist jabbed Tang Youning at the edge with his gun, snatching something from him to hurl aside.

"Three hundred thousand dollars," Tang Youning sobbed.

The terrorist’s upraised hand froze, then carefully examined the Patek Philippe watch before silently pocketing it.

Yet he gave no sign of mercy toward the Tang family heir, pretending nothing had happened.

If the situation weren’t so dire, Zhao Yang, on the verge of a mental breakdown, might have laughed—Xu Zhangying’s crazy junior was truly something, actually thought to bribe a terrorist.

But the sight of the lifeless bodies on the ground, their dead, unblinking eyes, churned his stomach with terror, nearly tearing him apart.

"The number checks out."

As everyone had dreaded, a chilling robotic voice announced.

Zhao Yang caught a glimpse of Qi Feng’s horrified, anguished gaze from afar before the masked figure on the podium behind him slowly declared:

"Execute twenty first."

Tang Youning’s sobs cut off.

Strangely, in that moment, Zhao Yang felt less afraid. His only thought was—*What is Xu Zhangying doing right now?*

Gunshots rang out.

-

—

Time flashed back to 1:25.

Xu Zhangying heard a faint sound behind him. He knew it was a person.

But ankle-deep in blood, he couldn’t immediately draw his gun. His heart raced so violently that his ears buzzed.

Even so, he pulled out his gun and spun around.

Fifty meters away, a door had been opened.

Someone had seen him and retreated back inside.

Xu Zhangying went rigid.

Gun up, he was clueless. Before he could process it, he noticed the elevator display ticking in the distance—someone was coming!

With no time to think, Xu Zhangying clenched his jaw and bolted toward the open door.

The moment he shoved the door open, he met piercing blue eyes.

An elderly, silver-haired professor in a sharp silver suit stood before him—Xu Zhangying, having memorized most of the attendee list, recognized him. He was a British honorary LSA Councillor, retired for fifteen years, with a brilliant career as one of the founders of LSA’s earliest top-tier labs.

"Mr. Andre?" Xu Zhangying blurted, gun still in hand.

"Quiet," the old man said flatly in English. "Close the door. Take off your shoes."

Xu Zhangying immediately locked the door behind him. His thoughts scrambled, he obeyed and removed his shoes.

The professor also took off his leather shoes and stepped into Xu Zhangying’s bloody shoes.

"Put these on and find a place to hide. It’s the last thing I can do for this world."

The man named Andre seemed emptied of all feeling, his hollow, unmoving eyes fixed on the AGB Officer’s badge on Xu Zhangying’s chest. A cold realization hit Xu Zhangying—this man already knew his death was near.

Just like the man in that room before.

Soon, Xu Zhangying heard footsteps approaching from outside the door. With no time to think, he quickly put on the old man's shoes and dashed into the inner suite. But the more frantic he got, the more his mind blanked. In the end, he could only force himself to calm down, clutching his gun, teeth gritted, as he scrambled under the bed.

The second Xu Zhangying scrambled under it, the suite’s door was violently pounded—the knocking was so violent and terrifying, as if some monster outside was about to break in at any second.

Xu Zhangying realized something. He pulled out his phone, opened his email, and glanced at the time. His heart clenched as if squeezed by an invisible fist. Hands shaking, he barely managed to type "Run," then selected all contacts and hit send.

Come on, faster.

The progress bar finally reached 100%.

The instant "Sent" popped up, the door to the room was opened.

The LSA professor had opened it himself.

Who was there? Xu Zhangying’s grip on the pistol tightened.

The next second, he spotted his own bloodied shoes shuffling backward, followed by the appearance of combat boots in his line of sight.

Then two pairs, three pairs, four pairs.

Xu Zhangying heard the sound of submachine guns being loaded. His face went ghostly white, and he held his breath—if they found him, he was dead.

Soon, though no one spoke, chairs clattered as they were overturned. Xu Zhangying heard struggling noises. He knew they were binding the old professor to a chair, just like the previous victim.

"You knew we would come."

A deep voice spoke—in English—but Xu Zhangying caught the German accent. Instinctively, he opened the voice recorder on his phone.

Then—a faint 'click,' the barest buzz of current—and his phone died.

At the same time, all the lights, computers, and smart devices in the suite shut down. Police Superintendent Beta gaped at his phone, his worst fears realized.

"It seems the people below have already begun."

The man gave a dark chuckle before kicking the chair over. The 80-year-old, still tied to the chair, slammed onto the floor. In that instant, Xu Zhangying locked eyes with the old professor’s clouded gaze—twenty meters apart.

The combat boot dug into Professor Andre’s face, twisting ruthlessly before the man whispered, "You have two daughters, don’t you? One in London, the other in Toronto."

"They’ve been gone for years," the old man rasped, his rigid face contorting in pain and fear.

The sound of a briefcase opening followed. Thirty seconds later, the German’s voice warped into a grotesque electronic snarl—Xu Zhangying knew they had put on voice changers. "That depends on your cooperation."

"This isn’t fair," Professor Andre quavered. "You’ve violated the covenant Yahweh himself made with me. The last ten years of my life belong to myself."

At the mention of Yahweh, Xu Zhangying’s eyes widened. He also saw endless regret and shame in the old professor’s gaze.

The modern voice changer twisted human speech into something demonic, as if a devil had manifested in reality. Unearthly laughter rippled through the opulent room. As a cloudy tear streaked down the old man’s face, the German severed Andre’s first finger.

Xu Zhangying couldn’t bear to watch and closed his eyes.

Through the metallic reek of blood and tortured screams, the devil and the old man’s voices alternated.

"You’ve been to ‘Eden,’ haven’t you?"

"...Yes."

"What year? Where?"

"1987, Serbia."

"So, you've seen the Messiah?"

"I swear I haven't!—aaaaah! Please believe me!"

Another severed finger hit the carpet.

"Impossible! He emerged from Eden—how could you not have seen him?"

"No, he wasn’t there. Please believe me, my children, I’m not lying."

"How many specimens did you create back then?"

"137."

"You're lying. Your numbers don’t match your colleague’s records."

"I’m not. I left in 1990—I remember it clearly… Please, let me atone with my death..."

"The records show you left in 1994. You were among the last to depart the third Eden Project. Let me guess why you’re so stubborn—did one of the experiments succeed?"

The low, raspy electronic voice echoed through the bloodstained luxury suite. The broken professor could only shake his head weakly, murmuring in agony, "No, child, that was Octavius’ delusion."

Xu Zhangying's eyes narrowed—Corbett's men—just as suspected. But what did the Emperor codenamed "Octavius" want with high-ranking officials from LSA and IGO?

Yet the moment Andre uttered "Octavius," steel flashed as a dagger found his ribs, wrenching another bloodcurdling scream from the silver-haired scholar.

Another masked man spoke coldly, "Who gave you the right to speak the Emperor’s name?"

"Forgive me, I’m sorry," the silver-haired scholar gasped, his life rapidly fading. "But… the experiments never succeeded. Believe me, if God had granted me success, I would have done anything."

"How laughable. At this point, you still call upon your obsolete God," the masked man sneered.

As soon as he finished speaking, Xu Zhangying saw a booted figure knelt on the carpet, seemingly injecting something into the British professor.

Within five seconds, the old man’s breathing turned ragged, his face purpling. Xu Zhangying watched as his pupils dilated—only then did the masked men begin their leisurely interrogation:

"You thought pledging loyalty to the previous Messiah and raising the current one would grant you a peaceful death? Answer me—where are the records of the last successful batch?"

"There was no success… none. It was all fake," Andre’s throat emitted a death rattle. His glazing eyes fixed on Xu Zhangying’s direction, tears welling as he whispered, "...Even success was a lie."

"God… forgive me. I’ve committed an unforgivable sin."

With that, Andre’s mind had all but shattered. The dying academic wavered on the edge of death, his last flicker of consciousness consumed by repentance.

"You’re still lying!" The four masked men seemed stunned that even under the drug’s influence, the old man refused to break. Their leader finally revealed a vicious fury, pistol-whipping Andre.

"You know! You know it succeeded!"

"You will tell me—or I swear, your daughters will be lot #1 on David's auction block."

As the final threat landed, the shattered scientist let out a mournful wail.

"...There was no success. Eden was meaningless. Believe me, it was just a sin factory!"

Before he could finish, cold steel pierced the left eyeball of the decorated LSA scientist. Pain fueled his final moments, yet his tormentors showed no mercy:

"You hid the breakthrough data in the Ark of the Covenant, didn’t you?" [Screams]

"Who held the Ark of Covenant back then? Who handed it over to the Messiah—who gave it to him?"

"I don’t know, I really don’t," blood poured from the old man’s left eye as he sobbed hoarsely, "I was just lured into Eden by Yahweh."

"I was too arrogant, it was all my fault. There were no successful test subjects, no Ark, no Yahweh—God, no, not even God exists. Please, child, believe me, tell Octavius to give up..."

Xu Zhangying watched as blood nearly soaked the expensive camel-wool carpet, witnessing firsthand how this world-renowned, untouchable LSA-recognized scientist met his end in such a wretched and pitiful state.

—Xu Zhangying saw the owner of those combat boots take a step back, and in the next second, the suppressed submachine gun fired.

In an instant, the entire room was splattered with horrifying blood and flesh fragments.

Even from 20 meters away, under the impact of the 9mm submachine gun, bits of flesh splattered onto Xu Zhangying’s face.

Seemingly enraged by the lack of useful information, the LEBEN member unloaded for a solid 12 seconds, turning what had been a living man into an unrecognizable pile of flesh.

The thick reek of blood nearly made Xu Zhangying vomit, but he white-knuckled his gun, breath held, praying Octavius’s lackeys would leave the room after venting their fury and move on to their next target.

Once the gunfire ceased, one of the masked men cursed under his breath, "Worthless old bastard."

Another hesitated, "We injected him with the purest Glory—could he have been telling the truth?"

"No, this idiot probably never even touched the Ark. Just a two-bit gene hacker."

Ark of Covenant—Xu Zhangying could only think these damn cultists were spouting cryptic bullshit again.

But based on Christian lore and their earlier words, this "Ark" must be some crucial symbol of power within LEBEN, and it seemed that after the last Messiah’s death, it was hidden by a member and passed to the current 3rd-Gen Messiah.

Shit, just a cult power grab.

But where the hell did these bastards even come from?

Xu Zhangying stared at the boots pacing the living room, seemingly searching for suspicious documents—he’d memorized every damn staff name in this hotel!

He’d even assigned security to routinely check every emergency exit. What else was he supposed to do? Did these people walk through walls?

Sweating profusely under the bed, Xu Zhangying glanced at his burnt-out phone—that silent explosion earlier had to be an EMP. Even a small non-nuclear electromagnetic pulse bomb would disrupt all communications within hundreds of meters.

Now he couldn’t contact Xia Qing, nor did he know if their venue had been attacked.

Jesus, will these four just get the hell out? Crouched under the bed, Xu Zhangying tightened his grip on his pistol, fury and desperation surging as he jerked his head up—only to lock eyes with a pair of gray-green eyes hidden behind a plaster mask.

The combat boots stopped beside that inhuman mask—the lead terrorist was crouched beside the bed, staring right at him.

What?

In a tenth of a second, Xu Zhangying’s stomach dropped.

-

The moment gunfire erupted, Zhao Yang froze like a statue.

But in the next second, the terrorist in front of him suddenly raised his gun and sprayed bullets wildly to the right.

Zhao Yang whipped his head around and saw that, in that do-or-die moment, several AGB Agents on the right had managed to wrestle a submachine gun from a terrorist and were now laying cover fire for a breakout.

Before Zhao Yang could react, a wave of pheromones exploded, engulfing everyone within five meters—including the terrorist firing at them—with an overwhelming, oppressive force.

From the heady gardenia stench, Zhao Yang instantly recognized it—that was the overload from that Tang kid.

—Dumbass, you’re hitting me too!

The firing terrorist staggered and collapsed to the ground, while Zhao Yang also turned pale from the intense pheromone suppression, his body locked up. But in that very moment, he felt Lin Shuhua beside him shove him hard.

A fresh wave of pheromone pressure burst forth from Zhao Yang's side, overpowering the nearby attackers. Pushed violently, Zhao Yang barely regained control of his body. Holding his breath, he instinctively kicked the Life operative in front of him, sending them flying.

"Run!"

The shout tore from him instinctively. Amid the deafening gunfire, Zhao Yang heard someone's voice—he couldn't tell whose—before his vision swam as someone hauled him toward the left corridor in a frantic sprint.

Through his bleary vision, the Elite Alpha from the Tang family, who had unleashed the pheromone pressure, had actually faltered, falling behind.

4.3mm bullets from the MP7 and 9mm rounds from the Bizon-2 whizzed past Zhao Yang. He knew that no matter which caliber hit him, he was a dead man.

The pheromone pressure and the surge of adrenaline left Zhao Yang’s mind swimming. As he ran wildly, the gunfire kept ringing in his skull until the person shoving him could no longer keep going, shoving them into a stairwell.

Zhao Yang’s lungs felt like they were about to burst. Only then did he realize it was Lin Shuhua who had been dragging him the whole time. The normally unflappable Lin heir was now drenched in sweat, his hair disheveled, his face bloodless and wrecked.

At first, Zhao Yang couldn’t believe they had actually escaped. But the next second, he suddenly remembered something, his face turning deathly white—Qi Feng! Damn it, Qi Feng was still in the crossfire!

How could he have left her behind in the venue? If those damned cultists were still intent on killing 20 more people, they’d definitely target the remaining AGB and criminal unit members!

Qi Feng—even Shao Qiaoqiao—would become their cannon fodder.

"What’s wrong with you?" Lin Shuhua gasped, still catching his breath, as he noticed Zhao Yang suddenly doubling over like he’d been gut-punched.

"I have to go back."

"What?" Lin Shuhua was stunned.

Zhao Yang trembled all over, words tripping over each other. "Qi Feng is still in there. I can’t let her die alone."

Lin Shuhua’s expression shifted instantly—first shock, then eyes blazing with something vicious. "Zhao Yang, have you lost your mind? If you wanted to throw your life away, why the hell did you run with me just now?"

Zhao Yang’s mind short-circuited, his thoughts a chaotic mess. Lin Shuhua glared at his ashen face. "I never knew you’d become so noble—Qi Feng, Xu Zhangying—everyone’s worth dying for, huh?"

"Zhao Yang, get your head on straight! The priority now is to escape and call in the goddamn situation! That’s the only way anyone inside might stand a chance!"

Before he could finish, gunfire echoed from the distant hotel corridors.

The terrorists were pursuing them.

Zhao Yang leaned against the wall, covering his face, forcing himself to calm down. Finally, his voice raw, he said:

"Right, right—we have to get out. They’ll search the stairwells first, but damn it! We don’t have guns. We need to find a place to hide—"

Before he could finish, an MP7 materialized before them.

Both Zhao Yang and Lin Shuhua froze.

For a moment, Zhao Yang thought he must already be dead—why else would he be hallucinating?

Slowly, he turned his head and looked up.

There stood Tang Youning, his face ghostly pale, clutching a live MP7—more accurately, fumbling with the grip—as he stared at Zhao Yang and stammered, "Y-you know how to—?"

Holy shit.

"Where the fuck’d you get that?!" Zhao Yang felt like he was losing it.

Only then did it hit him—of course Tang Youning, who had been closest to the exit earlier, had lagged back.

—So this little bastard actually went and snatched the submachine gun from that bastard terrorist!

And he just hauled it the whole damn way like that.

"Your senior really didn’t waste his affection on you for nothing," Zhao Yang gritted his teeth, forcing out a mocking smile more twisted than a sob. The moment he gripped the MP7, he even felt a bit dazed, so he shook his head hard and glanced at the dim stairwell.

"Let’s go. Downstairs, through the kitchen passage."

On the first night Xu Zhangying arrived at this hotel, he had mapped out several routes, including service corridors, to all security teams.

Back then, everyone thought he was seeing ghosts—who knew it would actually come in handy?

Zhao Yang led the way, followed by Lin Shuhua, with Tang Youning taking the rear position.

In less than 30 seconds of barreling down the stairs, Zhao Yang sighted the staff-only metal door.

However, just as he reached out to grab the handle—

*Click.*

The handle turned on its own. Zhao Yang’s scalp went numb instantly, and he immediately raised his gun, barrel to barrel with the metal door.

The next second, the door was flung open. Zhao Yang, finger already on the trigger, finally saw the face of the person on the other side.

For a moment, he, Lin Shuhua, and Tang Youning behind him were all frozen.

"Why is it you?"

"Xia Qing?"

Zeiss, covered in blood, held the door handle with one hand and a submachine gun in the other, pointed right at Zhao Yang—almost barrel to barrel.

Behind him stood Xia Qing, just as gore-smeared, with a sidearm at the ready.

Lin Shuhua was the first to react, his voice laced with disbelief. "Why didn’t you escape?"

Xia Qing lifted his gaze, first at Zhao Yang, then at the empty space behind the three of them. A hint of something restrained flashed in his eyes before he straightened up and wiped the blood from his face.

"There are Life members ahead."

The faces of Zhao Yang and the others went chalk-white—both escape routes were compromised, and the hunters were closing in. What now?

But half a second later, Zeiss released the door handle and cleared the doorway.

"We cleared them out. That’s why we came back for you."

Zhao Yang looked up in disbelief. Xia Qing had already turned around, his voice calm.

"Let’s go. Timing's perfect."

For some reason, Zhao Yang’s grip shook around the weapon. He couldn’t help but look down, his voice hoarse. "Qi Feng, Xu Zhangying... I don’t know what to do."

"I understand," Xia Qing said, his face blank as fresh snow. He dipped his chin and replied softly,

"I’m going back for them."