On the night Marcus received Clara’s call to visit one of the old hospitals, he did everything he could to enter cautiously, gripping his carbine. He hated visiting the hospital, despised having to remember all the times his father sent him to fetch a syringe that hadn’t been used, only to return and see the man’s disappointed face.

The memory was still vivid:

“You didn’t learn anything from what I taught you?” He would turn his face away, ignoring his son and grabbing one of the small glass tubes from the shelf. “You need to be faster, more agile. No hesitation.”

Whenever Clara requested that he enter the old Rong Hospital again, Marcus felt those memories embracing a side of him that begged every day to disappear.

The medicine wing was much farther than where he used to fetch the syringes. He passed through the turnstiles, stepped into the hall where the gurneys had been destroyed, tossed aside. Water seeped through the shattered glass ceiling, forming a massive puddle after a long, rainy week.

How many people had stayed here before leaving, or... dying? It was cruel to think that before him, so many others had done the same—just trying to survive one day at a time.

Tired of the same routine, Marcus simply sat on a wooden bench beneath the statue of a once-renowned doctor and rested his head for a moment. If Clara had more support, the situation would improve. Marcus had so much respect for her and what she did for others—the daily help, the food she provided.

No one, not even Antton, gave as much as she did. Yet, when it came to choosing a location, the strongest always targeted the hunting zone, the old Selenor. There, the most experienced hunters taught new recruits how to use bows and take down boars or elk. That was their advertisement.

“Pure bullshit.” Marcus closed his eyes, tilting his head back. “Selenor doesn’t even really exist.”

The hunting community there had been replaced by Antton’s people—men with small brains and no conscience, driven only by the desire to get meat to trade with other districts, but never with Clara.

To that bastard, Clara would never have anything to offer.

In that past year, how many times had he broken into a house or store? How much material had he stuffed into his backpack and taken back? And when Antton found out Clara had some weight in Kappz, he came asking for resources.

That day, in particular, Marcus hesitated.

“He looks dead.”

The voice was close. Marcus opened his eyes, trying to raise his weapon, but a hand grabbed his neck, and a foot struck his stomach. The air was completely knocked out of his lungs. His face turned red.

“Oh, it’s Clara’s little lapdog. Meliah, look what I found here, come see.”

He pushed forward, but Degol tightened his grip around Marcus’s throat, pressing him back. Marcus tried to raise his arm, but another kick landed on his stomach. He gasped dryly, completely drained of strength.

“Let him go,” Meliah said from the other side of a room, watching through the broken glass. “He didn’t do anything, and he won’t.”

“He doesn’t even look like what Antton described.” Degol released his grip and slapped Marcus’s ear.

A sharp pressure rang in Marcus’s ears. The only sounds that reached him were low, distant noises—footsteps. His vision darkened. He had never imagined a slap could have such an effect.

When he opened his eyes again, all he saw were dark boots and Clara’s worried face, drenched from the rain that had returned.

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“What happened?”

His hand hadn’t reached for his weapon. His eyes had been closed. He hadn’t inspected the area before sitting down. And his worst mistake—he hadn’t finished what he started.

“I… hesitated, ma’am.”

It was always hesitation. Always.

Clara helped him up. While Marcus sat, recovering from his defeat, she walked to a few spots, checking the surroundings. When she returned, her expression remained calm.

“They only took the ammo box we saw. It’s fine.”

“Of course it’s not fine. This isn’t the part of the city they should be in.” The taste of anger was bitter, and losing to them made it twice as bad. “They don’t even keep their promises to the other sector leaders, ma’am.”

“Marcus, I’m no leader. I’m not saying they’re right, but not killing you here and now was a pretty big sign of respect.” She reached out her hand. The wind picked up, forcing Marcus to blink against the raindrops. “We still have the medicine box and bandages in the back. Let’s grab them and go. We got lucky. Next time, it might be worse. You need to be careful.”

No hesitation. No hesitation.

I

No hesitation, you son of a bitch.

Degol’s skin hardened the moment Marcus pulled the trigger. The shot rang so loud it sounded like metal clashing against metal, marking the beginning of the fight.

The bullet struck Degol square in the face, sending him flying nearly twenty meters before crashing into a car, denting it inward, and collapsing into a seated position. His hand trembled. Slowly, he ran his fingers over his face, red liquid seeping from a wound, albeit a superficial one.

The shooter still had his weapon raised. Degol watched as he cocked the carbine again and fired. Another shot hit him like a cannon, driving him even deeper into the wrecked vehicle.

“Shit.” Degol plucked the bullet from his chest, standing up and tossing it aside. “I’m going to kill you, bastard. I’ll kill you right now, you—”

Another shot sent him flying, rolling down the street. He scrambled to his feet.

Dante let out a euphoric laugh, finding it hilarious.

“How did you do that?” he asked Marcus. “It looks way stronger than before. Your Cosmic Energy didn’t even waver.”

Not far away, Meliah watched his brother get pummeled three times, groaning in pain. He turned to Marcus and shot toward him like a bullet. What confused him most was Marcus’s reaction.

A chill ran down Meliah’s spine. The shooter they had met that day at the hospital hadn’t carried this dark aura. What happened to change him?

“Did I tell you to move?”

Marcus drew his pistol so fast that by the time Meliah realized, he had been thrown nearly ten meters away. The pain was minimal—his chest didn’t burn much—but the way the shooter had done it, Meliah Jones wasn’t sure how much he had held back.

He might not have held back at all. Meliah watched him lower his arm and pull his carbine forward again.

“I’ll get him,” Degol said from his right, forcing his arms to support his weight. His body hardened, his skin turning gray, solid. “I’ll beat his face in until he begs for forgiveness, like I should have done before.”

Meliah lowered his head. It wasn’t just Marcus that worried him. The shooter had improved significantly, but the old man beside him hadn’t even moved.

“The gun got stronger.” Dante pointed at the carbine. “Did you make some kind of adjustment? What did you do?”

“This isn’t the time to talk about it,” Marcus replied, unlocking the ISE again. “We’ve got a job to do.”

Dante laughed, a sound Meliah despised from the bottom of his heart.

He’s not taking us seriously, Meliah thought, pressing his palm against the ground to push himself up. Since they arrived, no one had respected them.

All they needed was to win that damn bet, and they would take the battery.

Those two didn’t stand a chance. The cleanup at the Reservoir might have made them confident, but they hadn’t even used their abilities yet. That was exactly it—once he got back on his feet, he would make them suffer for having gone this far.

When he realized that Degol had launched himself at Marcus, Meliah froze in place. His brother punched the air while the shooter dodged, throwing himself to the side and blocking the movement.

The shooter hadn’t been this fast before. Meliah's mouth fell open in surprise when he saw Degol miss a kick, stumble on his footing, and leave his back exposed. Marcus drew a second pistol, different from the other. This one was slimmer, the wood less rustic, and the barrel had a dark tone.

"He upgraded the weapon?" His question came out low, more to himself than to anyone else.

Two shots sent Degol back to the ground. His stone armor hadn’t been pierced, but two deep dents were enough to make him groan in pain. Meliah was left speechless at the sight.

His brother had managed to defeat a Felroz, and now he was getting beaten by some random shooter from Kappz?

"Looks like you're out of luck today, huh?" He heard the voice close by. It was the old man. "Must be tough having your confidence shattered like that. Don’t worry, I’ll honor the promise we made."

The eerie laugh that followed made Meliah question, for the first time, whether coming to the suburban center had been the right choice.