Thomas Smyth checked the history on his information receiver. Empty. Wiped clean.
Figures. He thought, A rat wouldn't leave a trail.
He swept the room, pocketing everything of value. He dragged a blanket off the bed and covered the corpse and the spreading stain on the floor.
Thomas left the room. The twentieth floor was deserted. The refugees had holed up near the east and west stairwells, ready to ambush the invaders.
Mad Dog, fully armed, crouched behind cover on the nineteenth floor. He could hear Caban and his crew ascending, somewhere between the sixteenth and seventeenth floors.
"Damn it, if only Bayonet were here!" Mad Dog snarled, his eyes hard. Yesterday, Bayonet had died shielding him from Caban's machine gun fire, leaving him with no one he could truly trust. He scanned his remaining men, his gaze narrowing.
"With this much commotion, Ghostface should be here soon. If he abandons me, I'll take everything down with me. If I'm going down, he's coming with me!"
The time was 10:15 PM. On his virtual map, Thomas saw the Butcher's group pause near the seventeenth floor. They'd spotted Mad Dog's preparations for a pitched battle.
Thomas used the distraction to slip through the rooms on the twentieth floor. He popped a chocolate bar into his mouth, the exaggerated grin of his clown mask fixed in place. Underneath, he hummed a cheerful tune.
"The sun is shining bright, the flowers smile at me, the little birds say, 'Good morning, good morning!' Why do you have a bomb strapped to your back? I'm going to blow..."
Room by room, Thomas emptied them, planting remote-detonated emulsion explosives at pre-selected points. He activated the detonators, then camouflaged them with furniture and plants before moving on.
He'd chosen these locations carefully. Concealed, yet perfectly positioned to engulf most of the twentieth floor. Originally intended for Mad Dog, this gift would now serve a dual purpose. The Butcher had chosen tonight to settle his score with Mad Dog. Perfect. Thomas would eliminate two threats with one bang. He couldn't risk the Butcher learning of his existence. The man was notoriously ruthless.
The explosives would give them both a surprise they wouldn't soon forget.
Finished with the explosives, Thomas reached the central room on the twentieth floor, a place that had piqued his curiosity. Mad Dog, as the refugees' leader, must have some good loot stashed away.
He stepped into the main hall and froze. His breath hitched. On his virtual map, three new blips had appeared in the previously empty first-floor trading hall. Two red and black, and one pure black.
Cult Priests! The name, learned just today from Ben Walker, sent a chill down his spine. He'd seen them before.
"Tonight's shaping up to be quite the party," he murmured, a grim smile forming beneath his mask. "Interesting... very interesting."
He refocused on the task at hand. No matter how dangerous the Cult Priests were, they were still on the first floor. It would take them time to get up here. And the Butcher stood between them.
Still, he needed to move quickly. This place was about to become a warzone, and he had no intention of sticking around for the fireworks.
The room was enormous. Aside from the central hall, where the refugees had a makeshift fireplace, there were five or six smaller rooms branching off. Thomas entered the one closest to the corridor.
He stared, jaw agape. "Holy… shit… It's… an armory!"
Across from the doorway, an entire wall was covered in valuables. At least twenty or thirty items. Three of the bronze lion statues he'd found in the informant's room. A glass case filled with a dozen Rolex gold watches. Gold necklaces, antique vases, cat statues… Thomas gaped.
He'd expected Mad Dog to be wealthy, but this was excessive. Perhaps the man had a penchant for collecting. Displaying his wealth so openly was foolish. But Thomas wasn't complaining.
Finders keepers.
He pulled out two 64-slot suitcases from his inventory and started filling them with the loot.
Next, he turned his attention to a weapons rack. Two weapons remained where there should have been three. Mad Dog likely had the third. The remaining weapons gleamed, brand new.
Thomas examined them closely.
[SV-98 Sniper Rifle]
Type: Sniper Rifle
Slots: 6x1
Recoil: Vertical: 158; Horizontal: 498
Effective Range: 1000m
Firing Mode: Single
Fire Rate: 30
Accuracy: 0.55
Ammo Caliber: 7.62x54mm R
Default Magazine: 7.62x54R 10-round SV-98 Polymer Magazine
Description: Designed as a magazine-fed bolt-action rifle for eliminating high-value targets within 1000 meters.
[MP-133 Shotgun]
Type: Shotgun
Slots: 5x1
Recoil: Vertical: 278; Horizontal: 410
Effective Range: 70m
Firing Mode: Single
Fire Rate: 30
Accuracy: 21.31
Ammo Caliber: 12x70mm
Default Magazine: MP-133x6 12 Gauge 6-round Tube Magazine
Description: The MP-133 pump-action shotgun is a reliable and practical weapon for hunting and self-defense, featuring a classic last-round bolt hold open rarely seen in similar shotguns.
"Nice," Thomas breathed, running a hand along the sleek lines of the sniper rifle. The carbon steel barrel shimmered like a predator's tooth. Ever since using the Mosin-Nagant, he'd developed a taste for headshots. The built-in bipod was a bonus.
He located three weapons cases nearby, clearly intended for these firearms. He packed the guns, the cases, and even the weapons rack into his inventory. His hideout needed a proper display.
As he turned to leave, he glanced at his virtual map and stopped dead. He walked over to a four-drawer dresser and shoved it aside, revealing a small safe embedded in the wall.
"Almost missed it," he muttered. "Good thing I learned my lesson from the hospital director's office."
This safe was a far cry from the complex one he'd encountered before. Just a simple keyhole. But the thick steel plating meant it wouldn't be easy to crack. The key was undoubtedly on Mad Dog. Not a problem.
Thomas placed his hand on the safe. It vanished, appearing in his inventory. He then realized the dresser itself was an item container, similar to a storage crate. And inside, he found it – the [Confidential Information].
Elation surged through him. The final piece he needed to upgrade the [Information Center] to Level 2.
He swept the dresser into his inventory. His gaze fell on Mad Dog's sofa, coffee table, and office furniture. He took those too.
The room was now bare.
Just then, the fighting erupted. The Butcher's group launched their assault. Gunfire and explosions echoed through the building. Thomas's virtual map showed the three Cult Priests reaching the sixteenth floor, closing in on the Butcher's men.
It was 10:35 PM. Twenty-five minutes until 11:00.
"Time to go," he said, entering the final room. A massive generator hummed, powering the building. "This thing looks high-tech. Should have the [Thermostat] I need."
He tried to store it in his inventory. No luck. Perhaps the wiring and mounting prevented it.
As he considered his options, a refugee rushed in with a flatbed cart, heading for the former armory. The firefight was consuming ammunition at an alarming rate.
The refugee stopped, staring at the empty room. He backed out, checked the room number, and re-entered.
"What the… Where's the ammo?"