The guests regrouped with their bodyguards, forming a large crowd that rushed toward the parking lot. They piled into their luxury cars, eager to escape this unreliable place and return to their glamorous world—a world where they could once again call the shots and enjoy life to the fullest.
But just as they drove out of the underground parking lot and hit the surface, a hail of bullets came flying straight at them. The bodyguards instantly maneuvered the cars into a defensive circle, using the vehicles as cover while they fired back at the attackers.
"Who's sniping at us?" one customer frantically asked his bodyguard. The bodyguard replied calmly, "No idea, but our modified cars can hold up for a while."
Across the way, Jonathan Black was wildly firing a heavy machine gun while yelling, "Hit them hard—don’t let a single one get away! Where’s the rocket launcher? Fire it!" Whoosh—a grenade flew over and turned a sedan into a blazing metal box.
"Boss," Charlie said with a grim face, "the enemy’s firepower isn’t much, but there are a lot of them. Plus, their modified vehicles are tough—our grenades might not be enough."
"Then think of something!" Jonathan Black shot a guy in a clown mask, then shouted back, "You’re supposed to be the war expert!"
"We need a strong frontal assault—break into their lines and mess up their formation. Otherwise, it’s going to be tough to wipe them out."
"Frontal assault? Are you saying you need a tank?" Jonathan Black yelled back, "Quit with the useless talk and think of something practical! Check if our modified cars can do the job, or figure out a way to flank them—because I sure as hell don’t have a tank!"
Right then, with a thunderous crash, an old wall of the rundown factory shattered and collapsed. Through the swirling dust, a steel monster roared as it rolled out. The gunfire on the whole battlefield paused for a second—everyone’s jaws dropped as they stared in disbelief at the giant machine barging in.
"A t-tank?" The absurd timing—speak of the devil and it appears—left Jonathan Black’s jaw practically hitting his gun stock. "Are these Ukrainians nuts? They actually hid a tank in the factory! Which side is it on?" The tank was probably enemy-owned, since this was their base after all, so Jonathan Black quickly ducked for cover.
But then—boom! With a deafening crash, a modified car was blown to bits. At the same time, the tank revved up and thundered into the fray, instantly flattening another car like a pancake. Boom—another blast! A heavy shell exploded right in the middle of the bodyguards and customers, and in the blink of an eye, blood and screams filled the air as their formation fell apart. After two shots, Beatrice Bliss popped out of the tank turret wearing a steel helmet, hoisted her machine gun, and let loose a wild spray. "Yeehaw!" Beatrice hollered like a cowboy, "May God forgive me—I fired two shells, and it felt amazing!"
"Charge! Charge!" Charlie shouted, leading the charge, while the rest of the special ops squad followed, guns blazing.
"Friendly! We're friendly!" Jonathan Black waved as he ran toward the tank. Beatrice Bliss glanced over, "You’re Jonathan Black?" Jill Young had already told her who was on their side—otherwise, one stray shell might've sent Jonathan Black sky-high, which would’ve been pretty entertaining.
"Yeah, I’m Jonathan Black. Where’s Her Majesty the Queen?"
"The Queen? Hahaha, great title!" Amid laughter, Fran Adler’s voice came through the tank’s window: "She told us to come ahead and help out—she’s got one last job to finish, should be just about done now."
Back at the base, upstairs in the control room, an old white guy was frantically packing up. He wasn’t grabbing clothes or food—this wasn’t a vacation. He was packing keys, documents, and, most importantly, a suitcase. "Go," he ordered, and six bodyguards escorted him out.
Unlike the regular customers, when they built the base they’d already thought about upper management safety—he had an emergency elevator with its own power supply. The elevator led to a tunnel that could take him three kilometers away to a safe house.
Listen outside—the firefight was still raging. "Let those idiots draw the fire. After all these years in the game, there’s no way I’m dying here," the old man muttered, psyching himself up. The lead bodyguard reached the emergency elevator and hit the button. Ding—the doors slid open.
Inside stood Jill Young, guns drawn.
"Surprise!" Bang bang bang—Jill fired both guns in rapid succession, dropping the bodyguards. The old man shrieked and bolted, clutching his suitcase as he scrambled back to his room. He slapped a button on the wall—whoosh! A glass wall dropped down from above, sealing him inside a glass chamber. Originally meant for trapping people, but hey, desperate times call for desperate measures.
Bang—the last shot rang out, and the final bodyguard crashed backward into the room. Jill Young strode in.
"You can't hurt me! This glass is the strongest blast-proof glass!" the old man shrieked hysterically.
Jill Young squinted and pulled out a grenade, popped the pin, and tossed it lightly at the old man—boom! Flames erupted, but the glass just glowed with red-hot lines like heated wire, staying perfectly intact.
"See? There’s special metal wire inside this glass. Your outdated explosives can’t do a thing!" The old man laughed, flipping the bird. "I’ve already sent an emergency signal—headquarters rescue will be here in ten minutes. You’ll just have to watch me walk out and spend the rest of your life living in fear!"
"It is pretty sturdy. But lucky for me, I’ve got something new." Jill Young flipped her right hand, revealing a metal ball. Back at the auction, this super-heavy ball smashed the crystal coffin with just gravity. The glass wall was way tougher than the coffin, but Jill didn’t have to rely on gravity this time—she had some new tricks up her sleeve.
Right hand pulled back, left foot lifted—Jill Young channeled all her strength into her right hand and hurled it like a baseball pitcher!
With a whistling roar, the metal ball slammed into the glass wall. Crash! The reinforced glass shattered to pieces, and a shard stabbed the old man’s arm, making him scream and drop the suitcase.
Jill Young flashed forward like a phantom, knocking him down and snatching the falling suitcase. She set it on the floor and popped it open—sure enough, it was a computer, running some kind of special system. The login screen was marked with SD.
"It’s pointless. I know you want to erase your tracks, but it’s useless." The old man knew he was done for, so he kept talking tough: "All our info is stored straight at headquarters. Unless you hack the main database, you can’t do squat."
"I bet your account’s got top-level access."
"Ha, my clearance is high enough, but I’ll never give you my password!" The old man grinned wickedly. "I know I’m finished, so you’re going down with me!"
"Going down with you?" Jill Young snorted, then waved someone over. "Hey, Blind Girl, you’re up."
Outside, Blind Girl rolled her wheelchair closer, placed her hands on the keyboard, and began typing. As she entered the password, the old man’s face grew more terrified and incredulous. Five minutes later, all seventeen digits were in, and—ding!—they were in the transaction database.
"You—you’re all monsters!" The old man shrieked like a side character in a bad anime.
"That face says you’ve got nothing left." Jill Young shot him, shutting him up for good. With the old man dead, Jill quickly searched the system. Soon, she found info on all four of them and deleted it—three, two, one, done!
"Okay, check and see if everything’s clear."
"Yep, all good. I can feel the shadow lifting from my heart." Blind Girl nodded with certainty.
Ah, this is why having someone with superpowers around is so handy.
"Let’s see what this organization’s really got. They dared to mess with me—one day, I’ll pay them back." Jill Young plugged her phone and a cable into the terminal, downloading SD’s data. Turns out, the old man’s clearance wasn’t top-tier in SD, so a lot of classified info was still locked, but she did manage to copy plenty of transaction records.
While browsing, one entry caught Jill Young’s eye: Project Zombie.
"Zombie?" Jill Young frowned and clicked in, finding the following info.
Item code: Project Zombie.
Location: Kashmir.
There was a video clip attached, showing a crystal coffin with a man locked inside. But the adult male looked seriously off—violent, freakish, and creepy as hell. Honestly, he wasn’t much different from a Resident Evil zombie.
"No way," Jill Young’s eyes went wide. "Does stuff like this really exist in the world?"
Suddenly, a popup appeared on the screen: User access has been deleted. Then the whole computer went dark. "Wonder if I managed to download the zombie data," Jill Young thought. She’d just caught a glimpse of the last entry—Buyer: Tiberius Laboratory.