The soft clink of the key broke the silence—it was a tiny sound carrying an immense weight of hope. With a satisfying thunk, the locks finally gave way as Lucy pushed the door open.

  Once inside, the room felt overwhelmingly heavy. Years of neglect had left every surface coated in grime and filth; the walls were a disturbing collage of stains that spoke of centuries of abandonment. In the corner, a toilet sat alongside a rusted bucket—grim reminders of the room's dreariness. Lucy's eyes shifted to the far side, where a small bed leaned against the wall. There, on the filthy mattress, lay a still figure. He looked no older than thirteen, his frail body unmistakable. Lucy's heart twisted painfully at the sight. She moved forward slowly, her footsteps barely sounding on the dirty floor.

  "Ian?" She called out softly, her voice shaking with hope and fear.

  But the boy didn't respond.

  Lucy swallowed hard and stepped even closer.

  "Ian, it's me. It's Lucy." The last word cracked on her tongue.

  Now she stood right over him, a heavy dread settling in her gut. The boy before her bore little resemblance to the cheerful, playful younger brother she once knew. He felt like a shadow, and the room seemed to grow colder in his presence. A sharp pain shot through her abdomen as she lowered herself onto the bed beside him, a bitter reminder of the assault she'd just managed to endure. She could still taste the iron flavor of Holly's blood as her trembling fingers reached for Ian's shoulder.

  "Ian?" She whispered again, her voice barely above a breath, almost pleading.

  What she saw sent a chill racing through her. His face was disturbingly pale, and his eyes were wide open yet staring blankly at the wall as if caught in some horrific stasis.

  "Oh my god, Ian!"

  Lucy's voice shattered as panic coursed through her. She desperately shook him, her movements frantic as she struggled to rescue him from the darkness engulfing him. Gripping his frail shoulders, she turned him to face her. She met his lifeless eyes, dull and empty, as if all the light had vanished, leaving only a shell behind.

  "I need to get you out of here," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks as she gently cradled the back of his neck.

  She lingered there, hoping to feel some warmth and a spark of life return to him. She managed to pull Ian into a seated position, a flicker of hope igniting when he complied, even if it felt more mechanical than intentional. He wasn't fighting her, but he wasn't there, either. She struggled to stand, and a searing pain shot through her abdomen. She gasped, bending forward as fresh blood began to leak through the makeshift bandage pressed against her stomach. Her trembling hands, slick with that crimson liquid, grasped the wound in an urgent effort to stop the bleeding. Her eyes darted to the doorway, her vision blurring as the edges of the room started fading into darkness. A part of her wanted to surrender—to let the overwhelming exhaustion and pain consume her. But then she caught sight of Ian, his small body rigid on the bed, his hollow eyes staring past her, empty and unseeing. Determination pulsed through the fog that clouded her thoughts.

  "I need to get to Wolfgang," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

  Gritting her teeth, she forced herself up. Every movement sent waves of agony through her, but she fought through it. Reaching for Ian, she slipped an arm around his narrow shoulders and urged him to his feet. He stood up without protest, his limbs moving like puppets.

  "We're getting out of this hellhole."

  Ian didn't respond or even look at her. His gaze remained distant, and his face held an unsettling blankness as Lucy guided him onward. Each step felt like a struggle against her own body. The burning in her abdomen intensified with every move, and her shallow breaths echoed in the stale air. The scent of blood hung heavily around her, mixing with the damp and suffocating odor of the room.

  They progressed gradually toward freedom, with Lucy's unwavering resolve serving as their sole lifeline.

  She made her way through the dimly lit hall of the station, each step sending sharp jolts of pain through her abdomen. Her arm remained securely around Ian's shoulders, steering him forward while his expression remained blank. Somewhere below, she could hear faint murmurs—Wolfgang's voice among them—reminding her that the world outside was still very much alive. Her stride faltered when she noticed a door that was slightly ajar. The room inside stood in stark contrast to the dilapidated state of the station. She paused, glancing down at Ian. Bending over to get closer to him sent another wave of pain shooting through her side. Gently, she cupped Ian's chin and tilted his face to look at hers.

  "Stay here, okay?" She whispered, her voice hoarse and weary.

  "I just need to check something out."

  With an unnerving lack of emotion, Ian didn't even flinch. She had the impression that the child she had known had disappeared, perhaps for good.

  "If you see anyone coming, let me know, alright?"

  Ian blinked slowly. It wasn't much of a reply, but Lucy took it as a sign he understood. She carefully leaned him against the wall, her hand resting on his shoulder for a moment before stepping into the room, using the doorframe to steady herself.

  She was surprised by what she found inside. She found the bed neatly made, shelves filled with small trinkets, and thoughtfully arranged furniture. Personal touches filled the space: a scarf draped neatly over a chair and a well-worn book lying open on a bedside table. It was oddly serene—a jarring contrast to the chaos and bloodshed of the Wasteland outside. Lucy scanned the room, trying to take it all in. Then something on a small desk drew her attention—a folded letter. She moved toward it, her fingers shaking slightly as she picked it up. Her heart sank as she read. The letter addressed Vance and announced the impending visit of a traveling doctor who'd deliver blood bags.

  This wasn't just any room; it belonged to Vance and Holly.

  A chill swept through her as she placed the letter back down. She quickly surveyed the room again, looking for anything else that stood out, and that's when she noticed it.

  Sitting on the end table next to the bed was a handgun. But this wasn't just any handgun. Its streamlined, sophisticated design radiated precision and danger. It was futuristic. It was better.

  Lucy's breath hitched as she got closer, her pace slowing when her eyes locked onto the weapon. It was small, yet it had an eye-catching design that blended rugged practicality with something almost alien. The frame shone with a mix of polished metal and exposed wires, suggesting its creator had to find a balance between efficiency and sheer desperation. A transparent chamber housed a tubular mechanism, wrapped in delicate coils and intricate circuitry—a kind of containment for what surely was a volatile energy source. The chamber was surrounded by a layer of dark shielding, with subtle seams hinting at its purpose: protecting the user from the hazardous energy pulsing within. The shielding, probably made from lead or some equivalent, seemed carefully integrated to keep the weapon light. It looked built for short, powerful bursts of use—dangerous, but extremely effective. Overall, the weapon exuded a rugged elegance, with high-tech elements beautifully contrasting the makeshift repairs typical of the Wasteland. Lucy hesitated briefly before reaching out, her fingers lightly grazing the weapon's surface. The metal felt cool against her skin as she gripped it. It was lighter than she'd anticipated, perfectly balanced in her hand. The grip, ergonomic yet a bit rough, seemed to beckon her to unleash it, even as the raw power sent a shiver down her spine. Her gaze swept over the intricate details, landing on a small switch tucked among the exposed wiring. She held her breath as she flicked it, her fingers trembling slightly.

  Following a soft hum, the translucent chamber sprang to life, casting an eerie green glow around her. The energy inside pulsed gently, vibrant, mesmerizing, as if the weapon were alive. The hum deepened, a subtle vibration hinting at the immense power contained within, almost daring her to experiment. The air around her felt charged, thick with an invisible force. Despite the ache in her body, a faint smile appeared on her lips.

  "This'll do," she murmured, with a hint of grim satisfaction coloring her words.

  She turned back toward the doorway, where Ian stood just beyond, a pale, motionless figure in the dim corridor. Momentarily, her gaze lingered on him, but her focus soon returned to the weapon. Turning it over again, she carefully examined its design, her mind racing with potential uses.

  "I hope."

  Lucy reentered the corridor and marched towards the terminus, the weight on her body growing heavier. Ian shuffled beside her, his movements slow and mechanical, his empty stare fixed on something far beyond their immediate surroundings. Above them, the light flickered erratically, casting distorted shadows on the cracked, grime-covered walls.

  Suddenly, a figure appeared around the corner.

  Lucy froze, her breath catching in her throat.

  "William."

  She softly uttered the name, as if it were a reopening of an old wound.

  The man halted, locking eyes with her. A flash of relief crossed his face, though it was hesitant and uncertain.

  "Lucy," he said, urgency heavy in his voice.

  "There you are."

  He glanced nervously over his shoulder toward the escalators, where muffled voices and faint movements hinted at the rest of The Family lurking below.

  Lucy tightened her grip on the unfamiliar weapon. With a quick flick of her thumb, she powered down the green glow and tucked the firearm behind her back. The cold metal pressed firmly in her palm. She studied William carefully, narrowing her eyes to pick apart every shift in his stance and every flicker of his gaze in return.

  "Look," he started, his voice dropping to a low, urgent whisper.

  "Things are heating up down there. You need to leave—right now, before—"

  He trailed off as he noticed Ian, who stood limply at her side. His eyes grew wide with shock.

  "Oh god," he murmured, almost inaudibly.

  "You found him. Is he okay?"

  Lucy paused before answering, her gaze fixed on William. A storm of thoughts raged inside her as she assessed her options. The man in front of her was familiar, a remnant of a past that felt so distant. But in the Wasteland, that sense of familiarity carried no weight; if he was truly one of them, then William was not a friend—he was a risk.

  "Are you one of them?" Her voice pierced the tension with its low, firm tone.

  William blinked, confusion written across his face. "What?"

  Her fingers hovered near the weapon's switch, ready to activate its ominous green light at any moment.

  "I asked if you're one of them," she reiterated, her tone getting sharper and colder.

  "I mean, yeah, but—"

  He didn't get a chance to finish. Ignoring the fire in her abdomen, Lucy stepped forward with swift determination. She raised the gun, flicking the switch in one fluid motion. The translucent chamber roared to life, casting an eerie green glow along the walls. The low, menacing hum of the weapon filled the corridor.

  William flinched at the sound, instinctively raising his hands in surrender.

  "Lucy—"

  "Turn around. Keep your eyes forward," she ordered, her voice icy and devoid of all emotion.

  His mouth opened, a mix of shock and disbelief on his face.

  "Lucy, wait—"

  "You said it yourself," she cut him off, her hands steady despite the pain coursing through her.

  "You're with them now."

  She tightened her grip on the weapon, the hum resonating in the tense silence that enveloped them.

  Lucy's words hung heavy in the dark hallway. William's breaths came in quick gasps, his gaze darting between Lucy and the vibrating firearm.

  "Turn. Around."

  Lucy commanded again, her voice cutting through the tension like the weapon in her grip.

  William hesitated but finally obeyed. He turned slowly, carefully, his hands raised in a clear sign of surrender. His shoulders were tense, head lowered slightly, releasing waves of anxiety.

  Lucy let out a sharp breath, her intense glare locked onto the back of his head. Without saying another word, she jabbed the gun toward him, nudging him to move forward. Their footsteps echoed in the station as Lucy guided him down the escalator. Ian silently trailed behind her, his robotic movements in sharp contrast to Lucy's clumsy gait. Despite the pain that each inhalation caused her, she persisted, tightening her grip on the glowing weapon as if it were her only source of strength. Wolfgang noticed them as they descended the escalator, his eyes snapping to attention. Confusion briefly flickered across his features as he assessed the situation, and then he spotted Ian. His chair screeched as he jumped up, the sudden movement shattering the uneasy quiet of the crowd. The noise turned heads, and one by one, members of The Family glanced up, their initial curiosity shifting to wariness as their focus landed on the approaching trio. The room fell silent, save for the sound of Lucy's boots striking the cracked tile and the quiet hum of her weapon.

  Vance leaned back in his chair, taking in the scene with a bemused expression. One eyebrow raised ever so slightly was the only visible sign of surprise breaking through his calm demeanor. Slowly, he stood up, his movements careful and controlled. The smoothness of his voice carried a hint of disbelief.

  "Ah, Lucy," he drawled, an air of mock familiarity in his words.

  "There you are. I was starting to think we'd lost you."

  Lucy's gaze shifted to the table where Wolfgang had previously sat. Her hunting rifle and baseball bat were still there, leaning casually against the edge, just as she had left them.

  Vance's expression was inscrutable, but the intensity of his stare felt unsettling. Beside him, Anne sat silently, her calm demeanor echoing Vance's. Lucy didn't think twice before shoving William so hard that he stumbled and fell towards the table. He almost lost his footing, but Wolfgang instinctively reached out to catch him. One hand gripped William's arm while the other hovered near his holstered 9mm, ready for action.

  Lucy lifted her weapon, its low humming slicing through the silence, an unspoken threat that loomed thickly in the air. Her voice was crisp and commanding.

  "Wolfgang, grab my rifle. We're leaving this insane asylum."

  The murmurs that had started to swell among the crowd faded instantly, replaced by shallow, anxious breaths. Eyes flickered between Lucy, Wolfgang, and Vance. With each second that went by, the air became more tense.

  "On it," Wolfgang said quietly.

  His eyes darted from Lucy to the gun leaning on the table. He reached out and gently seized it. Quickly ensuring it was loaded and ready, he held it steady and turned it toward the gathering.

  Vance's calm demeanor faltered a bit. He briefly looked at Ian and then back at Lucy. A glimmer of recognition sparked in his eyes, and a subtle, almost menacing grin appeared on his lips.

  "You're quite the performer, Lucy," he said, a hint of anxiety in his silky tone.

  "But let's not rush things. We're all Family here."

  "Like hell we are." Lucy shot back, her grip tightening around the glowing weapon.

  "Stay right where you are, Vance. All of you."

  The members of The Family shifted nervously, their gazes bouncing between Lucy, Wolfgang, and Vance. Anne's gaze remained locked on Lucy's weapon. Her expression lacked fear—it had a cold curiosity and something darker—a glimmer of recognition. Wolfgang stood next to Lucy, rifle raised and posture unwavering.

  "Are we walking outta here, or are we blastin' our way out?" He asked in a low, steady voice.

  Lucy didn't take her eyes off Vance, her voice as frosty as ever.

  "That's up to them."

  Anne's voice sliced through the tension, deliberate and low.

  "Her weapon." Her eyes remained fixed on the glowing gun.

  Vance let out a low growl, his smooth voice tinged with a hint of unease.

  "I see it," he muttered, his calm facade cracking slightly.

  His gaze flitted between Lucy's trembling hands and the menacing green glow.

  Anne's lips curled into a slight, knowing smile. She raised her voice, cool yet weighed with meaning.

  "What do you think you're holding? Do you even know?"

  There was no mockery in her tone, but something far more foreboding—a warning born from experience.

  Lucy tightened her grip on the weapon, her knuckles turning pale as the glow bathed her face in green light. She almost forgot Anne was there, her eyes fixed firmly on Vance.

  "Call off your guy outside," she demanded.

  "We're leaving."

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  She briefly considered running, but the thought of dragging Ian, who was vulnerable, through a perilous escape caused her to pause. They had to back down. There was no way she'd put Ian in that kind of risk.

  Vance shifted his gaze slowly, resting it on Ian. His intense stare seemed to dig into the boy's blank expression, a flicker of curiosity appearing on his face.

  "You'd be lucky to walk ten steps after firing that thing," Anne chimed in, her voice calm, yet with a threatening quality.

  "The last person who tried? Well, they didn't live to regret it."

  "Just shut up and call him off!"

  Lucy shot back, her voice slicing through Anne's carefully chosen words. She wasn't interested in Anne's warnings or thinly veiled threats; all that mattered was getting out.

  "Or we'll find out exactly what this thing can do."

  The air in the room felt charged, everyone holding their breath as tension grew with each passing second. The soft hum of the weapon seemed to rise, matching the frantic beat of Lucy's heart. Finally, Vance spoke, his voice low but heavy with an unsettling certainty.

  "We're his only hope, you know."

  The words struck Lucy sharply. She hesitated momentarily, anger surging inside her. Snapping her gaze to him, her breath quickened.

  "What did you just say?" She asked, her voice low—a warning woven into every word.

  Her eyes locked onto his, fury simmering behind them, daring him to repeat himself. A thick silence stretched out, heavy with the unspoken threat of violence.

  Vance remained unfazed, his expression calm, almost smug. He tilted his head slightly, seemingly measuring her reaction before turning to the members of The Family gathered around them. In a smooth, steady voice, he gestured toward them.

  "We've all experienced it," he said, letting the weight of his words settle in.

  "The emptiness that follows once we first... satisfy It."

  The way he emphasized that last word sent a chill racing down Lucy's spine, and her breathing grew shallow.

  Wolfgang, standing just behind her, hadn't moved an inch. His keen gaze scanned the members of The Family, each face posing a potential threat. Then his eyes landed on Ian, clinging silently to Lucy's side. Without a second thought, Wolfgang stepped in and gently took Ian's hand, pulling him closer.

  "I got 'em," Wolfgang said quietly, his voice steady.

  He guided Ian toward the safety of a nearby pillar with his rifle still aimed at the group. They exchanged a glance that conveyed a silent agreement that he would protect Ian, no matter what.

  Lucy shifted her focus back to Vance, gripping her weapon firmly, her heart racing. Vance's smirk widened, twisting into something cruel.

  "His situation, however, is a bit... different," Vance said, his voice darkening.

  His grin spread further, an evil glimmer sparking in his eyes.

  Amid a whirlwind of anger and terror, Lucy's hold on the weapon became even more rigid. Every tick of the clock seemed to shrink her options, and each flicker of movement made her feel like the noose was closing in.

  Then she noticed it—a brief shift in Vance's eyes.

  It was just a flash, hardly noticeable, but it was enough. For a split second, his gaze slid beyond her, toward something unseen. She felt the truth hit her instantly, like an electric shock: they were about to make their move.

  Instinct kicked in, and Lucy immediately turned around, her finger tightening on the trigger.

  "Not so fast!"

  Alan and Karl stopped abruptly. Their faces contorted with annoyance and shock, their hands twitching as if they'd just aborted a plan. Lucy held her aim steady, stepping back so she had a clear view of everyone in the room. From his spot behind a pillar, Wolfgang's voice pierced the tension.

  "Luce, we gotta make our play. Now."

  Keeping his rifle aimed at the group, he urgently pushed Ian away from the danger.

  Lucy shifted her gaze between Alan and Karl, who appeared ready to explode, and the rest of The Family, who were still seated at the table. They all stared back at her, their postures contorted like traps set with springs.

  And then there was Anne. She exuded an infuriating smirk.

  It curved on her lips like a snake ready to strike. Anne's face held an irritating calmness, her eyes sparkling with twisted amusement as if this whole situation was some kind of show put on just for her.

  And then there was Vance.

  He loomed larger than anyone in the room. His grin grew wider, the corners of his mouth stretching with a smugness that made Lucy's stomach churn. His unwavering gaze locked onto hers, unnervingly patient, as though he was already familiar with how this was all going to end.

  "This is your last chance, Vance."

  Lucy said, her voice low and sharp as a knife.

  "Let us go, or you'll find out what I'm capable of."

  Her words hung in the air with a heavy finality, the promise of chaos to come. Yet Vance's grin only grew, his composure unwavering.

  Lucy felt her lip curl in disgust as her gaze fell to his face, that awful smile taunting her. Her anger flared up, burning away the creeping fear. She met his gaze again, her voice steady and cutting as she spoke.

  "Go ask Holly."

  Vance's smirk faltered, froze, and then vanished completely. In its place was a chilling, penetrating glare that locked onto Lucy like a predator evaluating its prey. His eyes, cold and unshakable, bore into hers as a shadow of something darker—rage, sorrow—flashed across his features.

  "She's dead, then," he murmured, the words low and laced with venom.

  There was no hint of disbelief in his tone, no glimmer of hope or denial. His tone was filled with the stark certainty of a man mourning the loss of something he believed to be untouchable. For one unbearable instant, he held her gaze, his silence hanging heavily in the air, more oppressive than any threat. Then his jaw clenched, and he inhaled deeply, his chest rising with a shudder. The stillness shattered as his eyes snapped back to hers, burning with a fury so intense it felt like it could set the air ablaze.

  "Do you know what you've done?!" His voice echoed through the room like a thunderclap.

  The overwhelming force of his explosion struck Lucy, but she remained unflinching. She didn't care about his theatrics or grief, but the mask had slipped, revealing the monster lying beneath. But if she let his rage affect her, she could risk losing everything.

  This was it. There was no backing down until she ended this, right here and now.

  Her hand tightened around the glowing weapon, the pulsing green casting an eerie glow on her pale knuckles. The warmth of the gun stood in stark contrast to the cold, searing pain radiating from her abdomen. She pressed her other hand to the wound, but the rush of adrenaline pulsing through her dulled the agony, laser-focusing her on one single purpose.

  Wolfgang, crouched behind the crumbling pillar, shielding Ian's frail form, caught her gaze. Wolfgang's expression was tense, strained, yet determined. He nodded once, his hand slowly moving toward his 9mm as he lay Lucy's hunting rifle by his side. His nod conveyed the message perfectly:

  Showtime.

  Lucy turned back to Vance, her gaze firm, fueled by a fire that burned hotter than pain or fear. The predator who had towered over them all day now stood exposed as a man unraveling, his composure in tatters.

  "Time's up, you sick son of a bitch."

  Her voice was sharp as a blade, a final promise of what was coming next.

  Without a shred of doubt. Not a second thought.

  The gun roared to life as she pulled the trigger; its chamber flared with a blinding green light as it fired a plasma shot. The noise was deafening—starting as a crackling hiss that built into a booming explosion, its echoes bouncing off the walls around the station.

  Karl was out of luck. He instinctively jerked to the side, desperately trying to dodge the incoming blast. But it was pointless. The projectile struck him directly, its energy tearing through his side with relentless force.

  The result was immediate and horrific. Mere seconds later, the plasma obliterated fabric and flesh, turning them into a bubbling mass of liquefied tissue. A nauseating stench filled the air, a horrible mix of charred flesh and burnt fabric. Blood and innards spilled down his contorted body in thick streams. Karl screamed, but the sound was short-lived. His guttural cry faded into choking gasps as the plasma tore through muscle and bone with terrifying speed. His torso twisted grotesquely, collapsing inward as the viscous remains of his insides pooled on the ground in a steaming, bubbling mess. For a brief moment, the glow of the weapon lit up the gruesome scene—his exposed ribs and sinews glistening sickly before they too melted away into the gooey mass spreading across the floor. Steam and smoke spiraled into the air like lingering ghosts. His legs buckled, collapsing beneath him, and the remnants of his body struck the ground with a damp, nauseating thud. His eyes rolled back, blank and lifeless, as the last of him sank into the spreading muck.

  Lucy felt a strange heat emanating from the weapon, an almost imperceptible energy wrapping around her skin like a thin veil. She didn't know what it was, and frankly, she didn't care. There was no time to ponder the horror of the weapon's capabilities.

  The station fell momentarily silent, the only sound being the faint hiss of the cooling chamber in the gun. Lucy didn't blink. She didn't hesitate. Her breath quickened into short gasps as she kept the weapon aimed, its barrel softly glowing with residual energy.

  Then the silence shattered.

  Wolfgang's gun barked, its report cutting through the stillness. The bullet whizzed past Vance, narrowly missing its target.

  The crowd erupted into chaos.

  Shouts and cries echoed through the station as they scattered like frightened animals.

  With a guttural scream, Lucy swung her weapon, the glow slicing through the air as she fired off another plasma blast. The energy surged forward, its hum rising to a deafening crescendo that drowned out the terrified shouts echoing around the station. Despite the intense pain from her injuries, she sprinted towards the cover of a nearby concrete bench, adrenaline coursing through her veins.

  Meanwhile, Alan stood frozen, his feet glued to the floor, as if the horrific scene unfolding before him had robbed him of the power to move. His wide, unblinking eyes were locked on Karl, whose crumpled form twitched feebly on the cold ground. The plasma blast had demolished Karl's torso, leaving behind a grotesque, steaming mess of charred flesh and liquefied organs. Blood and thick tissue oozed outward, creating a dark, spreading pool, while the stench of burnt meat and ozone filled the air, suffocating in intensity.

  Alan's breath caught in his throat as Karl's charred, mangled hand weakly reached out to him, tremors in a desperate but futile gesture. The last remnants of his insides, a sludgy, unrecognizable mass, dislodged with a sickening plop, splattering onto the slick floor.

  But Alan's torment was only beginning.

  An unnatural heat struck him with force, shattering something delicate within him. A surge of nausea swept over Alan, causing his stomach to contort. He staggered backward, his legs buckling as his knees hit the floor. Clutching his abdomen, he gasped as sickness overtook him, and with a gut-wrenching heave, bile and vomit surged from his throat. The acrid torrent burned as it coursed down, mixing with traces of blood as he collapsed onto all fours, his body shaking uncontrollably. The retching continued, each spasm slicing through him like a knife, his body fighting to expel the endless poison consuming him from the inside. His fingers clawed desperately at the floor, nails scraping against the blood-slick surface as his scream faded into garbled gurgles. Radiation ravaged his insides mercilessly, ripping apart his cells, rupturing capillaries, and flooding his veins with an insidious, invisible fire. Alan's breathing turned heavy and ragged, every gasp a struggle as his strength waned. He sagged completely to the floor, his face smearing through the gore. Blood and bile pooled beneath him, the faint green glow from Karl's irradiated remains casting an eerie light across his lifeless eyes. They stared, wide and glassy, into the void as his body lay still, a grotesque reminder of the devastation caused by the weapon's power.

  The station appeared to pause for a moment. The chaos around them—the shouts, the gunfire, the sounds of boots slipping on decay-slicked concrete—all felt muted beneath the oppressive weight of death. The acrid stench of burning flesh and decay hung heavily in the air, a stark reminder of the terrible power Lucy had unleashed.

  Anne crouched low, her Mauser firing off sharp cracks in Lucy's direction.

  "Scatter!" She yelled, her voice cutting through the chaos, unshaken by the mayhem around her.

  The Family jumped into action immediately, splitting up like a pack of wolves getting ready to corner their prey. They moved with sharp precision, firing as they spread out, making sure to keep their distance from one another. It was a clever tactic to keep Lucy's plasma shots from taking them all out at once.

  "Briana, grab the weapons!"

  Vance barked, his voice rising above the sound of gunfire.

  Lucy spotted Briana darting back, heading for their stash. Acting on instinct, she fired her plasma pistol, the energy bolt whizzing through the air and melting a nearby garbage can into a pool of molten metal. But Briana was too quick, slipping by without a scratch. Lucy clenched her jaw, feeling the weapon heat up in her grip, its glow dimming slightly. She was starting to realize its limits.

  "I need my rifle!" She yelled, frustration and urgency surging as she gestured to Wolfgang.

  The heat from the plasma weapon made it clear that she couldn't depend on it for too long.

  Wolfgang, taking cover behind a damaged pillar, reacted sharply to her voice. Ian huddled close to him, his expression blank even as bullets flew around them, sparks erupting from the concrete. Wolfgang lowered himself, reaching past Ian to grab Lucy's hunting rifle from the ground.

  "Don't worry, kid," he called out with a smirk, his tone light despite the chaos.

  He glanced at Ian's vacant look for a moment.

  "We got this."

  Wolfgang tossed the rifle through the air with practiced ease.

  Lucy snatched it just as Briana reappeared, wielding a 10mm SMG. A rapid burst of gunfire erupted, shredding the edges of the bench and sending a spray of concrete and debris flying around her. Lucy pressed herself flat against the surface, heart racing, as bullets whizzed past her head.

  Briana wasn't alone. One by one, The Family followed, grabbing weapons from the bag Briana had dragged in. The Family's movements seemed chaotic, but there was a method to it—a rhythm of covering fire and moving to new positions. Lucy hardly had time to aim before another burst of gunfire forced her back into hiding. Each exchange brought her attackers closer, leaving her with fewer choices by the second.

  With a practiced flick, Vance, grabbing an H&K CAWS shotgun from the stash, tossed it to William, who caught it mid-stride and immediately unleashed a thunderous blast toward Wolfgang's direction. The air shattered with the crack of concrete as chunks of the pillar sprayed outward, the fragments stinging Wolfgang's exposed skin.

  "Actually, I take that back, kid," Wolfgang muttered, a hint of grim humor in his tone as he shielded Ian with his body.

  He winced as another shotgun blast rained down shards around him.

  "We might be screwed."

  The roaring blasts of the shotgun underscored his words, each shot a reminder of how quickly their options were dwindling. Wolfgang's gaze flicked between the approaching attackers, the crumbling pillar at his back, and Ian beside him. His mind raced, searching for an opening or a chance to sway the fight in their favor. However, The Family's relentless assault made even survival seem improbable.

  Vance pulled an FN FAL out of the bag, feeling its heavy weight settle in his hands. The sleek rifle glimmered in the dim light as he moved with trained ease, tossing the bag to Anne before he slipped out of Lucy's line of sight. A plasma shot whizzed by the spot where he'd just been, hitting the wooden table he was using for cover. The table disintegrated instantly, the green plasma eating through it like acid, leaving behind a smoking mess.

  Anne worked with focused precision, her face calm despite the surrounding mayhem. She reached into the bag and swiftly retrieved a P90c. Without hesitation, she passed a service rifle to Justin, who darted forward like a shadow, moving quickly and strategically. Her concentration never wavered as she loaded the P90, her hands steady and her purpose clear. Once armed, she tossed the bag off the platform with a sharp motion, scattering its remaining contents across the tracks below in a loud clatter.

  Lucy zeroed in on William, who was still firing shotgun blasts in Wolfgang's direction. Her hunting rifle felt solid in her grip, grounding her amid the turmoil. Taking a deep breath, she fixed her gaze on her target. The rifle cracked as she pulled the trigger, hitting her mark. The bullet tore through William's arm, sending him crashing to the ground with a pained shout. His shotgun fell from his hand, rolling out of reach, and the attack halted.

  "Got him!" Lucy shouted, smoothly shifting to provide cover for Wolfgang.

  Wolfgang seizes the opportunity. He scooped Ian into his arms in one swift motion, holding him protectively as he sprinted toward another pillar closer to the entrance of the station. The boy hung limply in his grip, but Wolfgang didn't hesitate. Bullets zipped past him, some sparking against the concrete as he ran, narrowly dodging the relentless barrage. Behind him, Lucy pumped the bolt on her rifle with rhythmic precision, measuring every shot, her suppressive fire keeping The Family pinned down.

  The sharp bursts from Anne's P90 cut through the chaos, one round zipping so close to Lucy's face that she felt the air ripple past her cheek. She instinctively ducked, the close call sending her heart racing. Lucy swung her plasma pistol toward the first target she spotted: Briana.

  Briana crouched behind a toppled bench, her SMG ready, keeping her breathing steady despite the chaos. She peeked out to take aim, her concentration razor-sharp, but Lucy's plasma shot zoomed through the air, far too quick to dodge.

  Within seconds, the radiant projectile completely engulfed her hand in plasma. The SMG twisted violently, the metal melting and dripping like candle wax under the intense heat. A scream tore from Briana's throat, a haunting cry filled with agony that echoed throughout the station. Her hand transformed into a grotesque, molten stump in mere moments, with flesh bubbling and bone exposed.

  The searing plasma didn't stop there;

  It splattered over her face and neck, leaving sickening trails of glowing destruction. She stumbled back, instinctively clawing at the remnants of her scorched skin.

  The plasma ripped through her cheek, dissolving muscle and tissue with horrifying speed. Her forehead and jaw didn't escape either as the viscous green energy burned through bone, exposing the raw, glistening surface of her skull. Briana fell to her knees, her body twitching uncontrollably as the plasma invaded her skull. The acrid smell of burning flesh and hair filled the air, merging with the sharp scent of smoke and ozone. Her desperate cries morphed into gurgled gasps as the plasma penetrated her brain. Her body convulsed violently, causing her movements to become increasingly erratic as radiation spread through her system like wildfire. Her screams became silent in just a few moments. Her head drooped, the final flicker of life extinguished as her body jerked once and collapsed. Steam and smoke rose from her molten remains, her distorted figure lying in a pool of glowing fluid that continued to devour the floor beneath her.

  Lucy didn't have a moment to process the horrific scene unfolding before her. Her stomach churned and her hands shook slightly as she ducked back behind the bench. Gasping for breath, the weight of exhaustion and adrenaline crashed down on her while she hurried to reload her rifle. Each motion was careful and precise, her fingers moving quickly through the familiar actions. The air in the station was thick with smoke and blood, the sharp, acrid scent making it difficult to breathe. Gunfire echoed everywhere, mingling with shouted orders and drowning out even the sound of boots slipping on concrete. Anne crouched behind a crumbling pillar, her P90 releasing its last rounds in quick, sharp bursts. The gun clicked empty, the sound ringing hollow and damning in the chaos.

  "Tracks!" She shouted, her voice slicing through the noise like a whip.

  Justin did not waste any time. The click of his rifle matched hers as they moved in sync, jumping off the platform and landing heavily on the rail tracks below. Their boots hit the ground with a dull thud that blended into the chaos above. Pressing themselves against the cool, rough edge of the platform, they took a moment to reload, their breaths fast and ragged. Anne scanned the area around them. Amidst the debris, loose ammunition and weapons lay spread across the tracks. Without hesitation, she grabbed every piece of gear and shoved it back into the bag. With a grunt, she lifted the restocked bag and tossed it toward Vance, watching it skid across the floor, resting behind one of the escalators.

  Vance was already on the move. His FAL fired in controlled shots, the sharp cracks of each shot cutting through the warzone. His eyes scanned the battlefield with the focused intensity of a predator. A plasma shot whizzed past him, narrowly missing and hitting an old, rusted sign. The sign hissed as it melted into a steaming puddle, dripping remnants onto the ground. Vance, his teeth clenched, crammed extra magazines into his coat and sprinted towards the escalator. Below, Anne and Justin provided cover fire as they moved down the tracks, their bullets bouncing off walls and scattered debris.

  "They're closing in!" Wolfgang shouted, his voice strained with urgency.

  Lucy, hunched behind a worn bench, remained silent. Her mind was completely focused on the battle. The hollow click of her empty hunting rifle sounded like a death knell. Taking cover, she breathed in short, panicked bursts as she fumbled for her plasma pistol.

  "Lucy!"

  Wolfgang's words pierced through the energy and commotion, his desperation resonating.

  Ignoring the pain in her abdomen and the tremor in her hands, she pushed herself upright. The plasma pistol glowed ominously as she gripped it tightly. She swung up from her cover and unleashed a barrage of shots, each blast of energy reverberating through the air with the force of a banshee. The weapon hummed with an almost living energy, a warmth creeping across her skin with every pull of the trigger. The glow of the chamber intensified with every discharge, its vibrations growing frantic and unstable. With one last shot, the plasma pistol emitted a high-pitched whine, sending a shiver down her spine. The heat surged to an unbearable level, branding her palm with searing metal. Letting out a cry of pain, Lucy dropped the pistol, the blistering heat forcing her hand away. It clattered to the ground, the chamber's glow fading as it rolled out of reach.

  "Lucy!" He shouted again, desperation clear in his voice.

  Wolfgang's eyes flicked between Lucy and Ian, his mind racing to assess the situation. The Family was moving in fast, their formation tightening with deadly purpose. He glanced toward the exit—freedom was so close, yet felt impossibly out of reach.

  "I'm so sorry, kid," Wolfgang murmured, guilt heavy in his tone.

  With a determined pivot around the pillar, he fired off a frantic barrage from his handgun. The sharp reports rang out through the station, causing some members of The Family to hesitate. But that moment of doubt was brief in this relentless clash, and it wasn't nearly enough.

  A sudden flicker of movement caught his attention, swift and deadly. He didn't have time to react. The butt of a rifle slammed against the side of his head, sending a jolt of pain through his skull. The world twirled violently as Robert, the guard outside, unexpectedly materialized, striking him without warning. Wolfgang crumpled to the ground, his gun slipping from his fingers and falling away uselessly.

  A piercing whistle cut through the anarchy with an unyielding sharpness. The station fell silent. The sudden quietness enveloped the space, feeling almost suffocating after the tumult that had just echoed through it.

  Standing tall, Anne had her Mauser raised above her head, with her P90 held firmly in her other hand. Her intense gaze emanated authority like a conqueror surveying her domain. The whistle echoed off the crumbling walls, and The Family froze, moving with an eerie precision, almost as if they were parts of a finely tuned machine.

  Lucy crouched behind the bench, hands pressed over her ears, breathing harsh and uneven. The ringing in her head mixed with the throbbing pain in her stomach, each breath sending stabs of discomfort through her. The sudden shift from chaos to absolute stillness disoriented her, leaving her trembling.

  Footsteps.

  Measured, methodical, unforgiving.

  Lucy gripped the bench tighter, tears blurring her vision as shadowy figures advanced with deliberate intent. They moved like hunters enjoying a victory, their eyes reflecting a chilling lack of compassion.

  Emerging from the stained haze of smoke and blood, Anne held her Mauser glinting in the dim light, her grip firm. Though her expression was unreadable, the fire in her eyes hinted at something dark and unfathomable. Lucy's body shook as she attempted to push herself up, her arms trembling with fatigue and pain. But her strength had all but drained away from the fight. Each muscle protested, and her gut pulsed with deep, burning agony. She slumped back against the bench, her breaths shallow and labored. Anne stopped in front of her, looming over Lucy's crumpled figure. For a brief moment, something flickered in Anne's expression—an almost human warmth, a glimmer of something Lucy couldn't quite identify.

  But it vanished just as swiftly.

  With a tightening jaw, Anne lifted the butt of her Mauser without saying a word. The weapon came crashing down in a swift, ruthless arc. The impact was immediate and merciless. As the world whirled into pandemonium, Lucy's eyesight burst with stars. Pain radiated across her temple, and her thoughts splintered, shattered like glass.

  The station faded around her, shadows blurring into darkness. Her grip on consciousness weakened, and the reality around her dissolved into an all-consuming black.