Thomas watched the refugees' faces light up at the sight of the items in his hands.
"Holy crap, canned beef and mushrooms? Joker, where'd you find this stuff?"
Thomas dodged the reaching hands, flashing a theatrical grin.
"Heh heh, found it behind a flowerpot outside the toilets. Some idiot probably stashed it there, thinking they were slick. Now it's ours!"
"Haha, good on you, Joker! Those fat cats in the main camp are living the high life, eating fresh mushrooms while we're lucky to find a can of beans."
"Quit yapping and get it in the pot! Let's eat!"
"Yeah, yeah!"
Thomas stopped dodging. The can and the magic mushrooms were snatched from his hands. A refugee with a combat knife started slicing the fungi.
"What kind of mushrooms are these? They're turning blue! Are they poisonous?"
Thomas feigned annoyance. "Get outta here! If you don't want them, give them back! These are the good stuff. You ever seen a wild mushroom before, you bunch of city slickers?"
"True enough. I can't even tell my veggies apart anymore. Who cares? Let's eat!"
"Yeah, it's been ages since I've seen fresh food!"
As the mushrooms and beef simmered in the pot, Thomas's eyes narrowed behind his mask. "Don't fight me for it later! I found this stuff. And don't overcook the mushrooms, they'll get rubbery. Anyone tries to steal my share, they'll regret it."
The other refugees scoffed.
"Bullshit. Finders keepers."
Thomas played along, muttering responses while checking the refugee distribution on his virtual map. On his snowmobile ride over, he'd noticed that Mad Dog had learned from Caban's mistake. Three lookouts, positioned for optimal visibility, now guarded the trading hall's second floor.
That, and the twenty extra refugees inside, had forced Thomas to take a long detour, circling around to the back of the building. He'd stashed his snowmobile and cold-weather gear, relying on his Invigorated buff, Night Cloak, and black mask to endure the blizzard as he slipped through a bathroom window. The city-wide blackout, courtesy of the polar storm, had been a godsend.
It was 9:20 PM. Less than forty minutes until the Butcher arrived.
He turned to a refugee who looked like he was in charge. "Should we send some up to the lookouts?"
The man blinked. "They're Mad Dog's men. Let them starve." He waved a dismissive hand. "If you want to, go ahead."
Thomas grinned.
Minutes later, the stew bubbled, filling the air with the aroma of beef and mushrooms. The refugees swallowed, eyes glued to the pot.
Thomas grabbed a metal bowl, ladled out a generous helping, and headed for the stairs. "Don't you dare touch this! Wait till I get back. Especially those mushrooms, you hear?"
A chorus of half-hearted agreements followed him. The moment he rounded the corner, spoons plunged into the pot, targeting the beef and mushrooms.
Thomas had seen it coming. He paused on the stairs for two minutes, then continued upwards.
On the second floor, he approached the nearest lookout. The man huddled in a thermal blanket and sleeping bag, half-heartedly scanning the street below. A cigarette dangled from his lips, the glowing ember a bright spot in the darkness.
Thomas shook his head. Refugees. So unreliable.
The lookout noticed him. "What do you want?"
"Just brought some beef and mushroom stew for you guys. Thought you might appreciate something warm." He beamed. "The bosses don't care about us, but we gotta look out for each other, right? It's all yours."
The lookout stared, surprised. "Beef and mushroom stew?"
As Thomas approached, the aroma hit him full force. He swallowed hard.
"Go on, call your buddies. A warm meal will do you good. You've got a long night ahead of you." Thomas added casually, "If Caban really shows up, just watch the main entrance. We've got the rest covered."
The lookout gave him a curious look, then nodded. He let out a sharp whistle.
Two more men appeared.
"Lice, what's going on? We're on watch!"
"Relax, it's just for a minute. This guy brought us some beef and mushroom stew. Dig in!"
The sight of the stew transformed their attitudes. Suddenly, Thomas was their new best friend.
"Alright, eat up!"
The three men didn't hesitate, crowding around the bowl.
"This is amazing! What kind of mushrooms are these? So flavorful!"
"Who cares? Haven't had fresh food in ages."
…
Thomas checked his watch. 9:35 PM. Perfect.
He waved goodbye and headed back downstairs.
As expected, only two chunks of beef remained in the pot.
"Haha, Joker, you're too late!"
"You… you…" Thomas sputtered, feigning outrage.
The refugees roared with laughter.
"More booze! We'll get you next time!"
As 10:00 PM approached, the refugees were thoroughly intoxicated. The alcohol, combined with the magic mushrooms, induced hallucinations and disorientation.
"Whoa, boss, when did you grow horns? I want some!"
"Shut up, there's a fairy on the boss's head talking to me!"
"Hahaha!"
"More booze! This stuff's great, it's pouring itself down my throat!"
Thomas mingled, cracking jokes, all the while subtly relieving the refugees of their weapons and valuables. They just giggled, oblivious.
The lookout from upstairs poked his head down. "Hey, what's going on down there?"
"Nothing, just having some fun. Keeping them entertained. Don't worry, I've got everything under control."
Apparently, the stew had earned Thomas some trust.
"Alright, just checking." The lookout disappeared.
Thomas smiled.
[ F-1 Grenades x28
RGD-5 Grenades x8
Flashbangs x5
AKM Assault Rifles x5
Vepr Hunter Carbines x2
Vepr KM Carbines x2
MP9 Submachine Guns x5
AKS-74U Carbines x6
Assorted Pistols x22
Travel Backpack (12 slots) x1
Assorted Magazines x43
Melee Weapons x22
Bank Office Key x1
Supermarket Manager's Office Key x1
Corner Clinic Radiology Room Key x1
Ooh la la… Rolex Gold Watch x1
Apocalypse Coins: 163,000]
He'd cleaned them out. He'd skipped the vests and harnesses; too time-consuming and risky.
Thomas looked at the unconscious refugees with a tinge of regret. "Shame. If I'd killed them all, would my 'Refugee's Bane' title have leveled up?"
"No time."
He headed towards the back of the trading hall, towards the stairwell leading to Mad Dog's headquarters.
He pressed himself against the wall, checking the time. 10:00 PM on the dot.
He glanced back at the refugees, still laughing around the fire.
"Safe travels. I'll put your inheritance to good use."
He climbed the stairs.
Outside the trading hall, the Butcher checked his watch. "It's time. Move in. Hit the trading hall directly. Be quick. The lookouts should be down. Remember, anyone with a red armband on their left arm is one of ours. Don't shoot."
"Understood, Boss."
Thomas climbed the stairs, his virtual map guiding him. Except for the refugees in the trading hall, everyone else was on the twentieth floor.
In the center of the twentieth floor was a large suite – Mad Dog's lair. A large central room was surrounded by five smaller rooms. Apart from two red dots in the main room, only the largest of the smaller rooms showed signs of life. That had to be Mad Dog. The remaining forty or fifty refugees were scattered throughout the other rooms on the floor.
The numbers didn't match what Ben had told him, but Thomas figured these were the survivors from last night. The rest must have been stationed back at the main camp.
"Mad Dog's a paranoid one," he thought, amused.
He checked the map and the time. 10:01 PM.
"Gotta move."
The Butcher's attack should have started by now.
Thomas hurried up the stairs.
He reached the nineteenth floor just as the first shots rang out, echoing through the night.
Thanks to Thomas's earlier tip, the lookouts had focused on the front of the building. They spotted the Butcher's crew the moment they appeared on the street.
Gunfire erupted.
Downstairs, the hallucinating refugees instinctively ducked for cover, their movements chaotic and uncoordinated.
The lookouts were quickly eliminated.
The Butcher's men stormed the trading hall. They paused, momentarily confused by the sight of twenty refugees babbling incoherently. Then they opened fire.
A hail of bullets swept across the room. The refugees collapsed.
Dozens of men poured into the trading hall from the street, their boots crunching on the snow. A small team had already taken out the remaining lookouts on the second floor. The Butcher now controlled the first two floors.
Flanked by his men, the Butcher strolled into the trading hall, a cigar clenched between his teeth. He wore heavy arctic gear and a fox fur scarf. He surveyed the bodies with a sneer.
"Just as I thought. Mad Dog's crew is nothing but a bunch of amateurs."
One of his men approached. "Boss, we didn't find the inside man with the red armband. And the lookouts weren't taken out. What now?"
The Butcher waved a dismissive hand. "Doesn't matter. He must have had a reason. Didn't you notice? They're all unarmed."
The man blinked, then looked at the bodies. He checked a few.
"Not just unarmed, Boss. They're stripped clean. Everything's gone except their vests and harnesses." He remembered their strange behavior. "That explains it. They were acting all weird when we came in. Must have been the inside man."
The Butcher didn't question the "weird" behavior.
"Mad Dog will be reacting by now. They're outnumbered. Let's move."
Meanwhile, Thomas had reached the twentieth floor. The lights were on, powered by a generator humming somewhere nearby.
The sounds of battle from below had alerted the refugees.
Mad Dog's voice echoed down the hallway. "Move! Grab your weapons! It's Caban! He wants a fight, we'll give him one!"
The hallway filled with the sounds of running feet, clattering gear, and shouted commands.
Thomas, hidden behind his clown mask, blended in with the crowd, moving deeper into the floor.
As he passed a room, a hand shot out and pulled him inside. The door slammed shut and locked.
Startled, Thomas raised his silenced pistol, aiming it at the man. The man was pale, but his eyes were sharp and intelligent.
He ignored the gun. "What are you doing up here? You were supposed to bring them up after you took out the lookouts. Why is there fighting?"
Thomas realized he was talking to the inside man, the one who had slipped the note to the real Joker.
He was about to try to bluff his way out when he saw the man's eyes change. He'd been made.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Thomas reacted instantly. Two shots to the chest, one to the head. The man's mouth opened in surprise, then closed forever.
"You knew too much."
The silenced shots were not entirely silent, but the closed door and the chaos in the hallway masked the sounds.
He checked his virtual map. No one had noticed.
The refugees had barricaded the stairwells on the east and west sides of the building. Furniture had been piled up between the eighteenth and nineteenth floors, creating a buffer zone. A second line of defense had been set up between the nineteenth and twentieth floors.
Mad Dog wasn't entirely incompetent, it seemed.
The refugees huddled behind their makeshift cover on the nineteenth floor, weapons at the ready, waiting for the attack.
Satisfied, Thomas knelt and looted the body, transferring everything to his inventory. He then searched the room.
The man had clearly been seriously injured. Thomas found a stash of medical supplies. Nothing high-value, just common items.
But the backpack in the closet was a different story. It was a 5x7 (35 slot) backpack, a rare find. Thomas only had one other 35-slot bag, his Camel Pack.
The contents of the backpack made him grin. Valuables, some of which he'd never seen before.
[Wooden Clock x1
Golden Rooster x2
Golden Egg x6
Worn Antique Book x1
Bronze Lion Statue x1]
Under the pillow, he found a device that looked like a pager.
[Message Receiver]
Type: Rare Item
Effect: Receives specific messages sent from a Message Sender.
Range: 2000 meters
Thomas's eyes widened. A jackpot.
"This is how he got his instructions from the Butcher."
"But it's useless without the sender…"
A thought struck him. He pocketed the Message Receiver.