In the damp basement, the smell of old iron and gunpowder filled the air. Abraham and Rick were busy sorting through weapons among a massive pile of impressive armaments. Assault rifles, pistols, grenades, all neatly arranged like a collection of an experienced war veteran.
"This room is full of weapons," Rick said with a cynical smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Were you a gun dealer or a drug cartel, Abraham?" he asked, lifting a pistol to inspect it.
Abraham remained focused, his face expressionless. "All of this was given to me," he replied coldly, as if he didn't want to discuss it further.
"Given to you?" Rick raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Who gave you all of this? What kind of person gives away a collection of weapons like this?"
Abraham didn't answer right away. He walked to a drawer in the corner of the room, opened it, and took out a metal dog tag. The dog tag shimmered dimly under the flickering neon light. Abraham placed it on the table, sliding it towards Rick.
Rick looked at the dog tag in confusion. "So... you used to be an officer?" he asked, his voice trembling with newfound respect.
Abraham shook his head, his expression still cold. "I wasn't an officer," he said, pulling out an old photograph. In the photo, a group of soldiers in worn-out uniforms stood in front of an armored vehicle. Their faces were weary, but there was a gleam of determination in their eyes. "These were the people I cared about," Abraham said, his voice softer now. "They weren't just coworkers or pawns in a war. They were family."
Rick scrutinized the photo, then his eyes widened. "Isn't that Sergei?" he asked, pointing at one of the men in the photo. "Sergei Romanovsky?"
Abraham nodded slightly. "Yes. Commander of the 2nd Division in the Third World War." He paused for a moment, took a deep breath. "But don't get me wrong. He wasn't a friend. Sergei was a psychopath who happened to be on the same side in the war. He never deserved to be a soldier."
Rick swallowed hard, feeling uneasy. "So now we're facing a former war commander?"
Abraham stuffed several weapons into a large bag and looked at Rick sharply. "Don't worry," he said confidently. "He won't be able to defeat me."
Rick furrowed his brow, still uncertain. "Why are you so sure? Do you have a plan?"
Abraham smiled faintly, a cold yet confident smile. "That's my specialty," he said, calmly patting the bag filled with weapons.
Elsewhere
In a small, rundown house, the wooden floor creaked with every breeze. A small cry broke the silence.
"I don't want to!" shouted Anastasia, her eyes brimming with tears. In front of her, a woman with white hair gazed at her gently, sighing.
"Anastasia, if you don't eat, you'll get sick," the woman coaxed.
Anastasia shook her head vehemently. "I won't eat unless it's with Father."
The woman placed a bowl of soup on the old wooden table. "Alright," she said softly, "but if your father finds out you haven't eaten, he'll be angry."
Anastasia's eyes widened, a bit frightened. "Father will be angry?" she murmured quietly.
The woman smiled faintly, brushing Anastasia's white hair. "I'll be back shortly to get some avocados from the shed," she said as she stood up.
"Avocados?" Anastasia's eyes sparkled, her smile returning. "Anastasia likes avocados!"
The woman chuckled softly. "I know. Wait here, okay? I'll be right back."
The white-haired woman walked out of the house with cautious steps, her gaze constantly scanning to the left and right. She made sure no one was following her before heading in a different direction.
Under the dim light of the sun blocked by a meteor, she approached an old building that used to be a hospital where Sergei and his troops were based. "I hope the avocados haven't gone bad," she murmured quietly, trying to calm herself.
It was clear that the woman was Rachel. She wasn't just a savior for Anastasia—she was the same person who had saved Abraham when his life was nearly taken by Dimitri's forces.
Rachel stepped into the old hospital now serving as Sergei's headquarters. The building was filled with the damp smell of expired medicine. The sound of her footsteps echoed in the long, dark hallway. Sergei's soldiers glared at her with a ferocious look, like wild lions watching their prey. Yet Rachel kept her expression calm, though her heart raced.
She walked steadily toward the food storage at the end of the corridor. The air felt cold, as if the concrete walls of this hospital held the lingering chill of death. When she reached the storage door, Rachel tried to turn the knob, hoping it wasn't locked.
Her steps faltered when a heavy, authoritative voice sounded from behind her.
"What are you doing here?"
Rachel froze. She slowly turned around and saw Dimitri standing there. The man was large and muscular, his face hard as stone, and his gaze sharp as a sword. His eyes bore into Rachel with suspicion.
"I just came to get some avocados for a sick patient," Rachel answered, trying to keep her voice calm, though tension seeped through.
Dimitri took a step closer, his voice low but intimidating. "What use are avocados for a sick person?" he asked, looking Rachel up and down, as if searching for any signs of deceit.
Rachel sighed, trying to appear unbothered even though her heart pounded in her chest. "Do I need to lecture you about nutrition?" she said with a deliberately annoyed tone. "I don't have time to explain. If you want to know, figure it out yourself."
Dimitri squinted, eyeing Rachel more closely. His gaze landed on a faint black stain on her sleeve—the ashes left from Abraham's house's destruction. Rachel noticed it but kept her face neutral.
After what felt like an eternity, Dimitri finally took a step back. "Fine," he said coldly. "Take it. Do whatever you want."
Without waiting for a response, Dimitri turned and walked down the hallway, his steps heavy but confident.
Rachel stood still for a moment, waiting until the sound of Dimitri's footsteps faded into the distance. Then she let out a long breath and quickly opened the food storage door. The smell of overripe fruit greeted her. She immediately searched for the avocados she promised Anastasia, hoping this mission wouldn't turn into a disaster.
Among the shelves filled with leftover food, Rachel found several avocados that were still fresh. She took them carefully, glancing toward the door to make sure no one was returning.
After filling her bag with avocados, Rachel left the storage room cautiously, preparing to return to Anastasia's small house. But deep in her heart, Rachel knew... time was running out. Her encounter with Dimitri might only be the beginning of an even greater danger.
In the dim basement, the flickering light swayed gently, casting shadows on the cold concrete walls. The sound of clinking weapons filled the room as Abraham prepared ammunition, while Rick watched skeptically.
"So, you're really sure this will work?" Rick asked, his voice full of doubt. He leaned against the wall, arms folded, staring at Abraham with an incredulous look.
Abraham paused for a moment, looking at Rick with a calm expression. "Sergei will never see it coming," he replied, continuing to load rifles into the large bag.
Rick sighed heavily and shook his head. "You're insane," he said, half in awe, half in concern.
Abraham smiled faintly, his eyes alight with a sharp gleam. "Insanity," he said, looking at Rick, "is just the beginning of something bigger."
Rick chuckled softly, but there was a note of anxiety in his laugh. "If this fails, we're dead."
Abraham grinned confidently. "We have no other choice. To beat Sergei and his men, you have to do the unexpected."
Rick fell silent for a moment, looking at his friend. He knew Abraham was hurt, physically and mentally, but there was a fire burning within him—a fire for revenge. Finally, Rick sighed and shrugged. "Alright. If you're jumping into this madness, I'm coming with you."
Abraham slapped Rick's shoulder meaningfully. "You'll see. This isn't just madness; it's art."
In that stifling basement, their dangerous tactics began to take shape—full of risks, faint hopes—and a resolve for long-overdue revenge.
Abraham lifted the heavy bag of weapons and ammunition onto his shoulder, his steps resolute as he moved toward the dark, narrow exit. Rick followed him, still uncertain, but loyally standing by his side.
At the door, Abraham paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. His eyes gazed far ahead, but what he saw were the shadows of the past—the destruction of his home, the screams of his daughter, the inferno he couldn't extinguish. But now, anger had replaced that sorrow.
"We'll destroy them tonight," Abraham said, his voice low but resolute, trembling with the fiery spirit of revenge.
Rick stared at Abraham's back, a mixture of admiration and fear in his eyes. He knew tonight wasn't just a regular fight. This was the final hunt—and they would either be the hunters or the prey.
Without another word, they stepped out, leaving the darkness of the basement behind, heading into a night filled with danger, vengeance, and blood. The cold night wind greeted them, but it wasn't an obstacle. Tonight, everything would change.