Caban stood at the top of the stairs, watching his men survey the carnage in the hallway. Fury coiled in his gut. Last night's ambush by Mad Dog and Ghostface had forced him to flee like a rat through the sewers, a humiliation he, the arrogant Caban, couldn't stomach. So when he heard The Butcher was attacking Mad Dog's trading post, a ruthless plan hatched in his mind: a hostile takeover.
The gamble had paid off. The Butcher, a man of decisive action, had left only a skeleton crew guarding his headquarters. The theater, despite some losses on Caban's side, was now his. The Butcher's hoard, his for the taking. But now… now… a damned rat had cost him twelve men in half an hour, halving his forces. The rage was a physical thing, choking him.
Beneath the anger, however, a cold fear gnawed at him. These ghostly tactics… they brought to mind a figure lurking in the shadows. "No, impossible. Ghostface wouldn't be this subtle. He'd crush his enemies head-on, brutally." He shook his head, dismissing the thought.
One of his men approached. "Boss, we've figured it out. The intruder planted two grenades under the bodies after killing Kruff. When Banner checked the corpses…"
"They triggered the traps," Caban finished, his voice tight. "But how did the rest die?"
The man stammered, "The… the intruder was hiding under the bed. When Banner and the others hit the floor… he attacked."
Caban slammed his boot into the fire door, sending it crashing open. "Anything else?" he growled.
"The window was open, staged to look like an escape. But there are no footprints in the snow, Boss." The man hesitated. "The intruder… he's still here. On this floor."
A chilling grin spread across Caban's face. "Good. He wants to play hide-and-seek? Let's play." His voice dripped venom. "Sweep the floor. Leave nothing standing."
Caban hefted his PKM machine gun, its weight familiar in his hands. He kicked open the nearest door and unleashed a torrent of 7.62x54mmR rounds, pulverizing everything inside. His men fanned out, grenades exploding in a symphony of destruction. The air choked with smoke and the stench of cordite.
The PKM fell silent, wisps of smoke curling from the red-hot barrel. Caban surveyed the wreckage of the small utility room, a twisted satisfaction blooming in his chest. "I told you to hide," he muttered. He tossed the machine gun to a waiting underling and stalked down the hallway.
Room after room lay in ruins, a testament to his fury. He reached the room where his six men had died. His men waited in the hallway as he forced a somber expression onto his face. "Rest in peace, brothers," he mumbled, turning to leave.
At the doorway, a man rushed up to him. "Boss! We can't find the intruder's body!"
"What?!"
A faint beep reached his ears. Half a second later, a deafening roar ripped through the air. The explosion, many times stronger than a grenade, engulfed the hallway in flames. Caban's men died instantly, screams swallowed by the blast.
As the shockwave subsided, a thud echoed from the utility room.
"Damn… leg's asleep," Thomas muttered, struggling to his feet and pounding his numb limb. That had been close. Wedged between the walls, just a meter below Caban, he'd felt the heat from the machine gun's barrel. The [Silent] effect of his [Nightwalker] title had saved his life.
A crisp, mechanical voice resonated in his mind. "Survivor Thomas Smyth, you have eliminated Caban, The Butcher, and Mad Dog, leaders of three refugee factions. You have earned the achievement [Refugee Bane II]."
Thomas's eyes widened. His theory had been correct. Eliminating the three faction leaders had triggered a new achievement. But this wasn't the time to celebrate. He sprinted up the stairs, silent as a ghost, and waited in the shadows.
Seconds later, four refugees from the ground floor patrol ascended the stairs. As they reached the fourth-floor landing, Thomas hurled a modified RGO grenade at their feet and dove for cover.
Boom.
"Survivor Thomas Smyth, you have single-handedly eradicated all refugee factions within the region during the First Calamity, fulfilling the requirements for a special title. The common title [Enemy of Refugees] has been upgraded to the rare title [Refugee Conqueror]. Regional Legend rating +1."
Thomas brushed dust and shrapnel from his clothes. Too close. If he hadn't reacted quickly, the steel balls and fragments from his modified RGO would have peppered him. He swapped his black mask for a level 4 ballistic helmet, his AK-101 appearing in his hands. His gear shifted from stealth mode to CQB combat readiness.
The system notification had signaled victory, but he wasn't taking any chances. He needed to be sure. With his tactical flashlight/laser combo activated, he descended to the fourth floor.
Four mangled bodies lay sprawled on the landing. One had been bisected by shrapnel. Thomas, hardened by the apocalypse, calmly delivered a headshot to each, a grim ritual. He repeated the process with the bodies at the end of the hallway, including Caban.
His caution proved justified. Two refugees, grievously wounded but still alive, lay among the carnage. One was even reaching for a pistol. Thomas eliminated the threat before it could materialize.
Still wary, he systematically cleared every room on the ground floor, checking behind furniture, under beds, even above door frames. Finally satisfied, he started towards the second floor, then paused. Returning to the first floor landing, he rigged several booby traps using grenades and tripwires, securing the stairwells.
Back on the fourth floor, he began the enjoyable task of looting. He paused, remembering the system notifications. He opened his status panel to examine his new achievement and title. He recalled something about improved loot quality from refugees.
[Refugee Bane II]
Type: Achievement
Requirements: Eliminate three refugee faction leaders.
Effects: +10% loot quantity from refugees, +30% loot quality from refugees, +5% chance of rare items from refugees.
[Refugee Conqueror]
Type: Title
Rarity: Rare
Requirements: Eradicate all refugee factions and their leaders within the region during the Novice Version, and possess the title [Enemy of Refugees].
Conditions: Kill at least one refugee leader (controlling 20+ followers) per week and display their body prominently as a symbol of your dominance. Failure to do so will freeze the title's effects.
Effects:
-30% damage taken from refugees, +30% effectiveness of actions against refugees (including but not limited to damage, healing, intimidation, pacification).
Refugee factions hold you in awe.
5% chance to subjugate a refugee, converting them into a follower (opens recruitment panel).
Gain the [Intimidate] skill, usable once per day, only against refugees.
-40% chance of being detected when disguised as a refugee, +15% chance to subjugate a refugee.
Description: The legend of the Conqueror spreads among the refugees, inspiring hatred, fear, and even… worship.
Note: Title effects are active only when equipped. Only one title can be equipped at a time. Effects do not stack.
[Intimidate]
Type: Rare Equipment Skill
Effect: Dominates the target's mind, forcing them to obey your commands for 300 seconds.
Note: Items that protect against mind control or individuals with exceptionally strong wills can resist or break the effect.
Impressive. The [Refugee Bane II] achievement was three times more effective than its predecessor. The [Refugee Conqueror] title, however, was on another level.
Comparing it to the [Nightwalker] title, Thomas understood the difference between common and rare titles. Beyond their potent effects, the key distinction lay in the conditions for equipping them. [Nightwalker] required a weekly ritual sacrifice. [Refugee Conqueror] demanded a weekly kill and a gruesome display of power.
It wasn't just a title; it was a pact. The conditions were a form of ritual, granting the wearer access to unique abilities, or perhaps… authority. The title itself seemed to be a shorthand for a cluster of related powers.
This realization gave Thomas a new perspective on the apocalypse game. Rare titles seemed to touch upon its underlying nature. He'd always assumed the "gods" invoked in the cultists' rituals were a fabrication, a tool used by Ghostface and his mysterious backer to control their followers. But now, he wondered… what if they were real?
"The First Calamity ends tonight," he mused. "Time to have a chat with Ben."