The sound of tires grinding against the rough road echoed in the night.
A convoy approached, there were two or three armored vehicles that seemed to have been haphazardly reinforced, their bodies and heads fortified against unknown dangers. Some even built with heavy weaponry. Following behind was an intimidatingly large truck, black as the midnight sky.
The convoy halted at the outskirts of the structure, not daring to venture into the convoluted and shattered mountain roads, instead opting to park on the relatively safer highway.
A flurry of individuals got off from the car, congregating and debating rapidly before scattering in all directions like ants disturbed from their mound.
They held miniature flashlights, their beams slicing through the enveloping darkness as they scoured the dilapidated and abandoned place, as if expecting a hidden ambush.
When the echo of a gunshot shattered the silence, they froze in place before quickly diving for cover.
"What was that?" one of them asked.
"A gunshot."
"Does that mean there are others like us?"
"There are no 'us' in the wilderness. But we need to say something with the other party first."
A helmeted man meticulously inspected his weapon—a high-caliber automatic rifle adorned with multicolored anime waifu stickers, its muzzle glinting ominously in the dark.
He rose, brushed off the dust from his clothing, double-checked his shoelaces, and patted the hood of the jeep as if in silent affirmation of its service.
"Go. Someone find tire tracks and blow up their vehicle," he ordered with crisp clarity. The side door opened, and another armed individual disembarked.
He then beckoned a lanky figure, the one eyes shimmering with a strange glow in the night.
"You. Flank from the side and assess the pets inside the building. We'll drive them in."
"Yes, boss," the one replied and disappeared into the surrounding woods, moving with the agility of a nocturnal predator.
A long-haired man beside the leader laughed, a hollow sound really creepy in quiet.
"Is this what you call 'communication'?"
"Yup."
In the wake of the gunshot, the leader's vigilance seemed to soften as he casually replied, "More accurately, we can 'communicate' until their vehicle is blown up."
The long-haired man arched an eyebrow and retrieved a dark cylindrical object from the rear seat of the vehicle. He carefully lifted the olive-green lid and hoisted it onto his shoulder—an RPG.
It was a part of a weapons cache they had scavenged from a doomed convoy that had failed to escape the city. Ever since, they had set up camp in the wilderness for two reasons: confidence in their firepower and the fact that the city allowed firearms, but definitely not RPGs.
Their gear was simply... too much.
By some lucky chance, they had found this haven under the windmill and reaped plenty of profits from it.
"Are we doing it like before? Not every hunter comes to catch bugs. We might run into other teams, or even wild divers from the city," the long-haired man asked.
Stomping his heavy boots against the ground, the helmeted leader shrugged, his weapon rubbing against his armor in a menacing harmony.
"Easy. Killed wild divers before. They're simply awakeners too. Their corpses fetch a good price. There's a market now, but we might not get another chance if this nest gets marked. So, we'd have to relocate."
He gestured towards the vehicle behind him and added:
"With the loot this time, no need to do this sort of business again."
"Alright, you win," the long-haired man conceded, and an understanding seemed to settle between them.
The deserted street fall in silence again, its silence echoing the dilapidation of the broken building, seemed to shiver in the late autumn chill of the wilderness.
The air even held its breath for a moment before the helmeted man appeared to remember something. He suddenly let the muzzle of his rifle drop, reaching for the tactical binoculars at his waist.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Wait a minute, there was only one gunshot, right? I have an idea."
"What idea?"
Before anyone could react to, the helmeted man suddenly bellowed with a voice that boomed in the stillness.
"What's your name!"
His shout echoed around the deserted area, startling his men into a shudder. After a couple of seconds of stunned silence, a voice wavered back from the darkness, its confusion magnifying in the empty air.
"Wat? W-w..."
Upon hearing the uncertain reply, the surrounding men stiffened, their vigilance peaking.
The helmeted man, however, seemed pleased. He removed his helmet, slung his rifle behind his back, and placed his hands in front of his face as if cupping the sounds from the wilderness, and shouted back.
His action left everyone in confusion, especially the long-haired guy, he clearly baffled by this unexpected course of move.
But he ignored all of that and asked again.
His shout reverberated across the deserted place.
"WHAT IS YOUR NAME?!"
After saying, he spun around, his finger pointed towards the decrepit structure looming ominously in the fore. His lips quivered, repeating in disbelief, "Oh my god...no way, no way..."
Predictably, after a few tense moments that seemed to stretch on for eternity, the voice echoed back, clear and familiar.
"Tony!"
"..."
A perverse sense of exhilaration overwhelmed him.
"Hahahaha! I knew it, I just knew it!"
He relished the answer, savored with more anticipation.
"I have to keep this Tony, at least his head. The rest I could sell."
The man beside him, unable to feel this bizarre joy, shook his head and hoisted his rocket launcher, ambling towards the rear of their vehicle. He'd seen this type before—the kind of fool who was all too willing to want eveyone know his position, too eager for the thrill of the hunt, bound to meet a bad end in the wilderness one day.
But he hope it was not today, at least not before he still here.
"Let me know when it's sorted. I'll go get the car done," he muttered.
But 'The Boss' appeared indifferent to his companion's remark. He raised his hand to his face, his fingers framing his gaunt cheeks, as if sealing his voice within to one point.
The one who had been sent to inspect the building was now returning, running back from a distance, his shouts barely audible under the vast starry blanket of the night sky.
The Boss frowned, annoyed by the recklessness of his underling, yet also irritated by the disruption of his perverse interaction.
Exposing himself on such open terrain?
Brilliant!
However, he quickly regained his composure, lingering in contemplation before heaving a deep breath. It felt ritualistic, a sacred rite before the chaos. He gave an approving nod, then continued his interaction.
"Fvck you, Tony!"
His voice echoed, so clear, loaded with venom.
As anticipated, the few precious seconds later, a voice perfect in its encapsulation of righteous indignation.
"What's your name?"
"Ezekiel!"
As the response rang out, the panting scout finally stumbled before him, his expression awash with terror, bellowing.
"Run! Run! Run!"
Ezekiel's brows arched, realizing the situation was amiss. He hefted his gun, taking cover at the side of the vehicle. Yet, a spark of anticipation still danced in his eyes.
"Hey, calm down! What happened?"
The scout, sweat pouring down his face, shook his head frantically, his words stumbling out incoherently.
"The brutes...the brutes...they...they all..."
"They all what? Spit the shit out and speak it properly, I can hear the fking guy other side more clear."
Ezekiel pressed, but a gnawing sense of dread crawling up his spine.
Then they guy in front of him vomiting violently and said:
"They all died."
Just then.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the skies overhead, once a clear canvas of twinkling stars, began to churn ominously.
Suddenly, an explosion of light split the heavens. A colossal roar followed a heartbeat later. Golden lightning arced down, the very ground seeming to recoil in shock. The jeep was flipped, charred to a crisp.
Ezekiel vanished, lost amidst the burning wreckage.
It was happened so quick.
The night swallowed the scene once again, leaving the pair of marauders that had followed the convoy utterly stunned.
The surrounding guys, armed to the teeth, exchanged a mix of shocked and bewildered glances. An eerie silence descended over them, the previous commotion reduced to a awful quiet.
Then, the long-haired man returned to the scene, his eyes fixated on the burning vehicle—now a makeshift bonfire over there.
He rose the rocket launcher onto his shoulder, squinting through the flickering flames.
Target acquired.
His tongue slid over his cracked lips.
Then, with a violent jerk, he triggered the launcher.
"Enemy attack!"