13: Chapter 13 A cornered beast fights on, a human shield that has failed.

"Boom—!!!"

A massive explosion erupted, sounding as if it were right next to one's ear. The entire core office building shuddered violently from the blast. Dust cascaded from the ceiling, stinging eyes and making it hard to see.

Inside the so-called "safe room" on the top floor, the lights—sustained by backup power—flickered erratically, like the heartbeat of a dying man.

"Hold them back! Hold them back, goddamn it! You bunch of useless trash!"

Where was the prestige of the "Local Emperor of the Park" now? Scarface, the security chief, had the buttons of his expensive custom suit torn open. His face was slick with sweat as he gripped a gold-plated Glock pistol, the muzzle waving around aimlessly.

Hiding behind a solid wood desk that weighed a full two tons, he looked like a fat rat backed into a dead end. He roared hysterically into his walkie-talkie, "Where are the machine guns? Where are the heavy machine guns on the roof? Sweep them! Suppress them!"

The only response from the walkie-talkie was the piercing screech of static and agonizing screams, occasionally punctuated by short, dull gunshots—the distinctive roar of AK-47s. But that roar was getting closer and more frequent, like a pack of demons from hell gnawing their way up floor by floor.

"It's over... Brother Scarface, it's all over..."

Zhao Lei slumped on the carpet, his face as white as a freshly painted wall. He held a submachine gun, but his hands shook so violently he couldn't even flip the safety. "The first floor is lost, and there's no word from the second... They... they aren't human! They're machines! Killing machines!"

Earlier, Zhao Lei had summoned the courage to glance toward the stairwell, just in time to see the so-called "First Echelon" charging up. That scene had become the nightmare of his life.

No shouting, no nonsense. They moved in groups of three, dressed in black, as fast as lightning. If anyone showed their head in the corridor—even just a finger—a bullet would instantly and precisely shave it off. That sense of oppression reminded him of the Terminator from the movies, but this was realer, bloodier.

"Stop your damn wailing! I'm not dead yet!" Scarface kicked Zhao Lei in the rear, though his own legs were trembling like jelly.

He was an old hand who had spent years in Northern Myanmar. What hadn't he seen? Warlord skirmishes, betrayals—he'd survived it all. But this time was different.

The enemy's firepower and tactical proficiency were terrifying!

Initially, he thought some blind warlord had come to seize his territory. Later, hearing the dense gunfire and precision demolitions, he thought it was the main force of the Myanmar government army.

But now, listening to those rhythmic short bursts and the efficiency of their rapid floor-by-floor advancement, a more terrifying thought exploded in his mind—

"Dragon Kingdom... Special Forces?!"

Besides the elite special forces of that great eastern power, who else had this kind of skill? Who else had this kind of audacity?

"It must be them! They must be here to save these piglets!" A nearby executive wearing glasses, who usually handled money laundering, shrieked in a cracking voice. "Brother Scarface, if we fall into the hands of the Dragon Kingdom's special forces, we'll be extradited back for a firing squad!"

"Shut up!" Scarface's eyes were bloodshot, like a gambler who had lost everything.

"So what if they're special forces? They're still human! They have weaknesses too!"

Scarface stood up abruptly, a look of savage ruthlessness flashing across his face. "They're here to save people, right? Fine! Let them save them!"

"Quick! Drive all the piglets in the building out for me! Drive them to the stairwell! To the corridors! To the windows! Put them right at the front!"

"As long as those soldiers dare to fire, these swine will be the first to die! I want to see if they dare to kill civilians!"

This "human shield" tactic was the final life-saving charm for these outlaws.

Zhao Lei and several thugs scrambled out as if they had caught a literal lifeline.

Before long, the corridor was filled with cries and the sound of belts lashing flesh.

"Move! Move faster! If you don't want to die, get in front!"

Dozens of ragged, scarred "piglets" were driven to the stairwell like livestock.

"Don't kill me... I beg you..."

"I want to go home... Waaaah..."

The sound of weeping was deafening.

Scarface hid behind the group of hostages, holding a megaphone, and screamed hoarsely toward the floor below:

"Listen up, Dragon Kingdom officers downstairs! I know you're here to save people! Your people are in my hands right now! Dozens of lives! If you dare take another step, I'll kill one person every ten seconds! I'm a man of my word!"

To prove he wasn't joking, he raised his gun and fired a shot at the ceiling.

"Bang!"

The gunshot echoed in the enclosed stairwell, causing the hostages to scream and huddle together in terror.

As expected, the gunfire downstairs ceased.

Dead silence followed.

A smug, cruel smile appeared on Scarface's face. "See that? These soldiers always fall for this! As long as we have hostages, they won't dare—"

*Thwip!*

Before he could finish his sentence, the faint but stomach-turning sound of a blade—or a high-velocity projectile—entering flesh rang out.

Five meters directly in front of him, a thug whom Zhao Lei was holding at gunpoint to force him to peek out and observe the situation suddenly had his head explode like a rotten watermelon!

Red and white brain matter splattered all over Zhao Lei's face.

Zhao Lei was completely stunned, even forgetting to wipe the blood off his face.

What happened? Didn't they have hostages? Where did the bullet come from?

*Thwip! Thwip!*

Two more muffled sounds followed.

Two other gunmen hiding beside the hostages, thinking they were perfectly safe, had blood holes appear in their foreheads almost simultaneously before they slumped over dead.

The bullets had threaded through the gaps between the hostages' arms and the spaces between their legs!

They were as precise as if they had been measured with a ruler!

This wasn't some rescue unit concerned with hostage safety; these were killing machines that only knew how to execute a "clear targets" command!

In the programming of the Death Soldiers, the Sovereign's command was to "eliminate resistance, control the leader." As for the hostages? Sorry, until a specific directive for "absolute protection of hostage safety" was received, hostages were merely obstacles on the battlefield.

As long as they didn't kill all the hostages, the mission would be considered a success.

"Madmen! They're madmen! They don't care if the hostages live or die!" Zhao Lei broke down, threw his gun aside, and tried to run back into the room.

"Boom—!!!"

At that moment, the heavy iron door of the safe room—reputedly rocket-proof—emitted a deafening explosion!

The Death Soldiers had used a C4 directional charge!

The entire door panel was blown inward, slamming hard into the executive who had been screaming earlier, instantly flattening him into a pulp.

Amidst the swirling smoke and dust, a dozen black figures rushed in like specters.

They wore gas masks, their faces obscured, with only cold gazes visible behind their goggles.

The muzzles of their weapons spat short, lethal tongues of fire.

"Rat-tat-tat!"

The few remaining bodyguards in the room who tried to raise their guns didn't even have time to pull their bolts before they were precisely headshotted.

In less than three seconds.

Aside from those kneeling or paralyzed with fear, there were no survivors left standing.

A cold gun barrel was pressed directly against Scarface's forehead, the heat from the metal sizzling against his skin.

"Kneel! Hands behind your head!"

A voice devoid of any emotion rang out.

The gold-plated pistol in Scarface's hand fell to the floor with a clang. His knees buckled, and he fell heavily to the ground, his entire body shaking like a leaf.

It was over.

Completely over.