The boss contacted her.

Sylvester wasn't one to make social calls as it was, but in a situation like this it could obviously only mean there was bad news. It wasn't as if she couldn't imagine the many ways in which the situation could get worse.

She was already constantly looking back over her shoulder, convinced that a significant portion of the civilians following her could be harboring one of those things inside their bodies.

The question was, had the situation gone awry in a way she could imagine and was he simply calling her to inform her of that?

Or had it been screwed up in an unimaginable way and he was calling her to provide new information?

"There's a mess in the lobby. Five people have transformed so far."

Nothing new, then.

Better, but not good. Not by a long shot.

"Got it. Situation looks bad, huh?"

"Yeah. I don't know... how we can fix this." He wasn't the kind of person who would admit something like that even if he had doubts, either. It must have taken a lot of courage for him to say it out loud, even though he was supposed to be rigid and unwavering, like the leader he was.

For the sake of inspiring confidence in his subordinates and hope in humanity.

"Maybe it's already too late to fix it, but... That doesn't mean I'm going to stop fighting. I'm not giving up."

"Yes. Yes, that's true. Thank you."

She wasn't sure why he'd thanked him. She hadn't said anything special, but he'd accept it anyway.

"That's what I'm here for."

That, at least, was the truth.

But despite her supportive words, she also had no fucking idea what was the best course to follow.

She had no doubt that they could survive a situation like this, they had survived worse, but she didn't want to survive bathed in the blood of innocents and surrounded by mountains of corpses. If she had joined the syndicate it was to save people, not to see them die without being able to do anything but grit her teeth and resign herself. If all she could do was resign herself like the innocents trembling behind her, then where was the difference? What had she worked so hard and trained so long for? Where was it...?

The difference.

Yes, the difference.

Cynthia turned back to the crowd.

"What's the matter?"

With revolvers raised, wrists crossed, as usual. Many turned around, frantically searching for danger that wasn't there. Not yet, at least.

"Why did we stop?"

She didn't know if she was making a mistake or not. If she was, she hoped she could add it to the list calmly, instead of it turning into a heavy regret that would drag her down into the depths of the abyss.

"You already know. It's understandable that you don't want to think about it, but most of you already know what the problem is. And the rest of you, well, I've heard you talk. Sharing information. That monster appeared from inside a person. Right now, in this crowd, there are most likely others waiting for the moment to strike."

"So... what are you going to do?" said one in particular. He had a face full of sweat already, as if he thought she was this close to pulling the triggers and mowing down the entire crowd, burning down the entire forest to wipe out a few weeds.

Good thing Ryan was staying out of this instead of assuming she was crazy.

"I'm not going to hurt you guys. So relax. The only ones who have anything to fear from me are the Lunar Remnants, because that's my job. Not the humans. That's precisely why I'm not going to sit around waiting for them to attack us. It's in everyone's best interest. That's right, I only have your best interests in mind. That's why you should cooperate with me without complaint. Please."

Cynthia started walking towards the crowd.

"With what? What should we do?" A new voice. But it gave the impression that the crowd was a single entity, no matter how many times a different person spoke, they all had the same questions, the same fears and the same hopes. They were united.

"Just don't panic." Ha, right, as if it were that simple. If only it were as easy to say as it was to do. It was practically inevitable that they would lose control, but she hoped she could put that off as long as possible. For everyone's sake. "This speech is not for you, but for the monsters hiding in the crowd."

Yes, that had been her goal all along.

"I don't care if you are a single Lunar Remnant with a more than peculiar ability or a group of freaks who have somehow managed to cooperate. In either case, I know why you put everything together. It's not as if you were newborns carrying out a one-sided, senseless massacre...."

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

As she spoke, she went around the crowd with revolvers held high in the air, examining everyone around her. Looking for even the smallest and most uncertain clue. Looking for anything to sink her teeth into.

"All this has a purpose. And it's obvious what it is. It's always the same. You're here for Sylvester, aren't you? If you're smart enough to put together a plan, good or bad, you should also know that you're basically walking into a wood chipper. It doesn't matter if there are ten of you or a hundred of you, you can't beat him. That's a fact. He will slaughter you no matter what you do. If you're counting on the hostages to make him hesitate, I'm sorry to say you're deluded." Cynthia was aware that this would accelerate the fuse; yes, accelerate, because it had been lit from the start. The only other option she could see was just continue walking until those sons of bitches decided to finally come out and start killing everyone. For lack of better ideas, this was what she had. If they ran around like headless chickens, well, at least the innocent ones would stay away from the possible monsters, since they would stay where they were no matter what. "He won't like it, but saving as many people as possible is the natural path for a hero. He wouldn't let himself be defeated in any way when so much depends on him."

"Please, what are you saying? We are all scared and can't think."

"Yes, please stop saying scary things."

"We just have to get out of here, don't we? Why have we stopped? What if we're being infected now! Just by being here, breathing this air! What if we turn into one of those monsters?"

The latter's emotions were too real to be a creature acting, posing as a human being. She could definitely rule him out.

Too bad that after that there were still a few hundred people she wasn't sure about.

"You still don't get it? Very well, I'll make it even simpler for you. If you want to even dream of defeating him, you need my help, you poor idiots," she said, smiling wildly.

It was wrong for her to say so, but her confidence was radiant. More accurately, the confidence she appeared to have, because she wasn't at all sure if this would end well for her.

But that was the least of it in the end.

All she knew was that this was the best way to save as many people as possible.

At worst, it would be one life in exchange for the lives of hundreds of innocents. Thousands, potentially.

It was a fair trade, wasn't it?

***

Sylvester cut another of the creatures in half, ending its life. The lobby had become a complete mess in a matter of a couple of minutes at most. The floor, the couches, the lamps, everything was stained with blood. Pulsing red blood. The blood of the creatures, the same color as any human being, mingled with that of their victims, indistinguishable.

And there were many victims. He did his best, but it was inevitable from the moment they had failed to escape in time. For him, he had simply been caught in a bad situation. For them, the lobby had become a death trap. Arms and legs floating in huge pools of blood. Dead heads staring into nothingness, horror still written on their faces.

A scene straight out of hell itself, wherever you looked. But at least he had made them pay. All six creatures had disappeared by now, well, the one that he'd recently split in half was only in the process of doing so. But it was almost as if he could see them still, ghostly shapes glowing under the red"tinged lights, purple like the energy they were melting into.

For example, the one he had killed in the center of the hall, crushing its skull with the chandelier.

For example, the one he had nailed to one of the pillars in the room with the claws of darkness, practically crucifying it, only to rip off its arms and legs, tearing it to pieces by pulling them in all directions.

For example, the two who had ended up buried under the fallen debris of the ceiling only to be decapitated.

A lot had happened in at most a couple of minutes, in short, but his job was done. And enough people had survived. Fewer than he would have liked, but it could have been a thousand times worse. He was satisfied.

Sylvester stood upright, taking a deep breath, forcing himself to relax, which was not the same as letting his guard down. Then he turned around.

In time to see Ryan and Cynthia entering the lobby, followed by a huge crowd. That is, the same way he had entered here. Good thing the crowd wasn't like sheep being led to the slaughter, since he was done here.

The new arrivals rushed out through the glass doors (which at this point were frames rather, there wasn't much glass to be seen), along with the guests who had survived the massacre in the lobby.

Those who weren't paralyzed with fear, that is.

Those who had recovered from their ordeal enough to move, however staggeringly, toward the exit.

Cynthia and Ryan approached him, of course.

"I'm glad to see you."

Safe and sound, more or less.

They continued to approach without saying anything, not even a greeting. Maybe that should have set off alarms inside him, but he was relieved to see that nothing had happened to them and tired from the fight that had just ended, even if physically it had been no big deal.

Therefore, he only realized it when he felt the pain.

A sharp pain. It wasn't accompanied by a big rumble like thunder in a closed room, nor the smell of gunpowder. Firearms didn't work that way nowadays.

But he had definitely been shot.

Ryan had shot him with one of Cynthia's revolvers. Sylvester fell, sinking to one knee on the ground.

Like a man waiting to be knighted. But this was nothing so good, the only thing he would do when his head came within reach would be to cut it off.

He opened his mouth, surprised. Some blood slipped between his lips.

He had made a mistake, clearly, but to what extent could anyone blame him? It had never crossed his mind that Ryan would stab him in the back, not when he was the only reason he was still alive and not locked away in the depths of darkness, subjected to round"the"clock testing, a hell without rest and endless experimentation.

How could he have seen it coming?

One of Cynthia's revolvers - when had he taken it? Cynthia didn't look surprised at all. Her expression hadn't changed at any time as she watched him fall. Even now, it gave no hint of anything, like a blank canvas.

As if she wasn't quite there at all.

How could he have seen this coming?

Then Ryan's chest exploded. A dozen identical creatures came out. It was impossible for all of them to have been in there, but one of them alone was already bigger than any human being.

Seeing that, he understood something. It was at least half of the puzzle.

Cynthia aimed the only revolver she now had at the emerging creatures, quickly and without missing a single shot. That was the proper reaction as her partner and a member of the syndicate, but it made the nonchalance she had shown a moment ago even more confusing.

Sylvester stood up.

It didn't matter, really.

He didn't have to understand everything.

The only thing he had to understand right now was that he had to kill the enemies in front of his eyes. And then get Ryan out of here. Whether he had shot him or not, he was more useful to them alive than dead. He couldn't afford to let him die. Yes. That was all he had to understand, enough and to spare.

Ryan was open. Not dead, not yet, but he had received his punishment immediately, so he didn't have to worry about him.

Sylvester moved forward to fight the twelve creatures that had appeared, with a bullet in his stomach and blood dripping hot as hell, side by side with the person who had allowed this to happen to him, for whatever reason.