BANG!
Joseph fled through the house's backyard, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. He saw Chad climbing out of the overturned truck—only to be immediately seized by the soldiers.
The sight made him run even faster. He kicked the front door open with a thunderous crash, and screams erupted from inside.
Joseph surveyed the chaotic scene with disgust. Without wasting words, he pulled out his pistol and fired two shots through the window. That got everyone's attention.
His voice was cold as ice as he addressed the women, children, and elderly before him. "Shut your mouths."
He raised his rifle, sweeping the barrel across the crowd. "You all just saw what kind of person I am. I know you've got guns. So let's skip the bullshit. Everyone drops their weapon in front of me—one gun per person. The pistol count better match the headcount. If there's a shortage..."
He trailed off deliberately, wiping blood from his forehead and examining it before licking it off his fingers, savoring the metallic taste. His expression turned feral.
The crowd recoiled half a step, terror spreading across their faces.
They understood his unspoken threat perfectly: if the gun count came up short, so would the number of survivors.
For the sake of their lives, people began stepping forward one by one, surrendering their pistols into a pile at the kidnapper's feet.
Watching dozens of people cowed by a single man, Bryan couldn't help but sigh internally. When it comes down to it, everyone values their own skin.
He'd considered shooting Joseph when the man first entered, but he had zero confidence in his marksmanship. Besides, he already had a plan in motion. Better to wait.
Heroes got glory, sure—but everyone wanted to live. Who would actually die for strangers?
Even if this room had been full of able-bodied men, they probably wouldn't have resisted. And this was just women, children, and the elderly.
As each person dropped a pistol, Joseph silently counted. Seventy-three people total, which meant seventy-three guns. The numbers matched.
Once all the weapons were on the floor, he grabbed a chair. To avoid getting sniped from outside, he positioned himself in a dead angle before sitting down with a satisfied grunt.
Next, he ordered everyone to remove their outer coats. He selected two women to search everyone for concealed weapons, watching carefully as they worked.
After the body searches, he had them pile all the backpacks against one wall, separating people from their belongings to ensure no one had hidden a gun inside.
Clever, Bryan thought grudgingly. If he hadn't prepared in advance, he'd be helpless right now.
His gaze drifted past Joseph to the pile of furniture stacked in the dining room. Hidden among it was a small figure—Sarah, quietly assembling the shotgun. The plan was simple: Bryan would distract Joseph, and she'd ambush him from behind. Easy.
But he also felt a twinge of regret. He hadn't planned to reveal the shotgun this early. Now that his life was threatened, he had no choice. Survival came first.
Joseph had someone bag all the pistols and toss them in a corner. With that done, he figured the immediate problems were handled.
He waved his rifle carelessly, letting the barrel land on a woman in her thirties. "You. Come here."
The woman pointed at herself, face white with terror. When she confirmed he meant her, she shuffled forward, trembling, not daring to speak.
Joseph leaned back and peered through the window. Soldiers had surrounded the house three layers deep.
He looked at the woman, then at the soldiers outside. A smirk curled his lips. He shouted loud enough for everyone to hear:
"Tell your commander to prepare a vehicle with a full tank of gas and leave it in the front yard. You have thirty minutes. If that doesn't happen, I'll shoot one person every three minutes until everyone here is dead. And if you try to storm this place, I'll detonate my grenades and take everyone with me!"
Then he turned to the woman. "Now repeat what I just said."
"Wh-what?"
She hadn't expected that. When he'd been giving his demands, she'd assumed he was going to let her go. Despite her terror, a spark of hope had flickered inside. But this... She hadn't been paying enough attention to memorize his words.
She stood there, mouth opening and closing, unable to produce a single syllable.
"Goddamn waste of time!"
Seeing her stand there uselessly, Joseph recognized she hadn't remembered a word. A cruel smile crossed his face. He raised his pistol and put a bullet through her forehead.
BANG!
A crimson hole appeared between her eyes. She stared at Joseph in disbelief, a flicker of something—worry? regret?—crossing her expression before the light left her eyes. She crumpled to the floor.
The people in the living room watched in horror. Most hadn't even understood what was happening before the gunshot—and then a woman who'd been alive seconds ago was dead.
But no one dared make a sound. They swallowed their screams, terrified of suffering the same fate. When children tried to cry, their relatives clamped hands over their mouths.
Bryan's brow furrowed at the casual brutality, anger flashing in his eyes. But Sarah hadn't signaled yet. It wasn't time. He forced himself to wait.
He noticed something else, too: at the moment of the shooting, a young Black woman in her early twenties had crouched down and drawn a knife from her tall boots. She'd looked ready to attack but had stopped herself at the last second.
"MAMA!"
While everyone else reacted with fear or fury, one person's response was different. A boy of eight or nine burst from the crowd and threw himself onto the woman's bloody body, tears streaming down his face as he called for his mother.
Bryan recognized the boy's profile instantly—Allen, the kid who'd sat in front of them on the bus. The dead woman was obviously his mother.
Allen's raw sobs made many people look away, unable to bear the sight.
"Well, well."
Joseph's expression shifted to one of fascinated amusement, like a cat that had found a new toy. "You're this stupid woman's son?"
At the words "stupid woman," Allen's head snapped up. He glared at Joseph with pure hatred. "Don't. Talk. About. My. Mother. Like. That."
"Got some fire in you! Since you miss your mommy so much, I'll send you down to keep her company!"
Joseph seemed delighted by the boy's defiance. He stood abruptly, raised his pistol, and pressed the barrel against Allen's forehead.
The others closed their eyes, unable to watch another death.
But Allen didn't flinch. He stared directly into the gun, fists clenched, glaring at Joseph's savage face without a trace of fear.
Joseph studied the boy's unwavering gaze. Instead of anger, genuine interest flickered across his features. Slowly, he lowered the pistol.
He sat back down, an amused smile playing on his lips. "Killing you like that would be too easy. Since you're this woman's son, you can complete her task. Repeat what I said earlier—word for word—and I'll take back what I called your mother. I'll spare your life, and you can go outside and deliver my message to the soldiers. Deal?"
No one knew what was going through the boy's mind. After a moment, he wiped the tears from his eyes and recited Joseph's demands without missing a single word.
"Hmm..."
Joseph nodded, satisfied. His anticipation grew. "Good. I take it back. Now go—tell those bastards outside."
As Allen turned and walked toward the door, Joseph's eyes glinted with malice. His twisted smile widened. He raised the pistol again, aiming at the boy's back, waiting for him to open the door.
The soldiers outside had already heard his demands clearly. There was no need for a messenger. He was just waiting for the commander's response.
The waiting was boring, though. So why not have some fun? Kill a few people to pass the time.
Just as Allen was about to share his mother's fate, the young Black woman in the crowd couldn't contain herself any longer. She gripped her knife and exploded out of the crowd, lunging at the bastard from behind.
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