Memories struck like lightning—his family's cries, blood, fire, and Vella's figure—the enemy who had taken everything from him.
That hatred lived in every breath he took.
"You'll regret it… for letting me live," he whispered.
His voice was rough, yet the air around him trembled.
Meanwhile, on the brighter side of the facility, the experimental subjects gathered inside a vast chamber—the main armory.
With a hydraulic hiss, the massive steel doors slid open. White light flooded in, reflecting off hundreds of weapons arranged neatly like an exhibition from a future battlefield.
A black-uniformed officer stood at the center, a tablet in his hand.
"Frans and Isabel—machine guns. Raphael and Radit—assault rifles. Thivi, Zinnia, Livia—sniper rifles. Ethan—submachine gun. Felicia—special weapon."
Frans entered first, his eyes shining as he stared at the endless rows of firearms.
"Man… this is insane," he muttered in awe. "It's like a third world war warehouse."
Isabel lifted a drum magazine and smiled softly.
"I could spend all day just looking at these," she said, slowly turning like a girl in a jewelry shop.
Livia walked carefully toward the sniper section. She pointed at a massive rifle marked CheyTac.
"Um… may I take this one?" she asked gently, like a child asking to borrow a book.
Zinnia, who was inspecting a modified F2000 barrel, glanced over.
"That thing is huge for you, Livia. Are you sure you can handle it?"
The officer beside them replied quickly, his tone firm.
"It's actually perfect. According to our simulations, Livia's accuracy is one hundred percent. She's most effective in stationary positions. With the CheyTac's power, she'll become the core of our long-range assault."
Livia took a deep breath and lifted the rifle.
Her body wavered for a moment, but she soon found her balance. A shy smile appeared on her face.
Isabel walked over to a table holding an RPD. Her fingers traced the round drum magazine as if touching an ancient relic.
"It's cute… the magazine is round," she said cheerfully. "I like it. I'll take this one."
Radit, relaxed as always, immediately picked up a SCAR with a vertical grip. He spun it lightly and raised it, testing its weight.
"Now this is a real man's weapon," he said with a grin.
Raphael chose an M4A1 without a word.
His movements were efficient and calm, like a soldier long familiar with the scent of gunpowder. His gaze was empty, yet sharp, as if staring at a battlefield that had yet to arrive.
On the other side, Ethan stood quietly, lost in thought. Watching Radit and Raphael, he turned to the officer.
"Can't I get something like theirs?" he asked.
The young officer smiled and pointed toward a CQB rifle.
"M4 CQB-R. Lightweight, fast, and lethal. It suits your agile fighting style."
Ethan examined the rail system, then smiled faintly.
"Alright… this fits me better than I expected."
In the cold armory, the atmosphere trembled like a battlefield waiting to ignite. Bluish LED lights reflected off polished metal walls, casting sharp shadows across their faces. The clinking of steel and the clicking of weapons echoed—then fell silent.
Heavy footsteps sounded from the western side.
A man in a black tactical suit bearing a hexagonal badge appeared, carrying a large matte-black case. Its surface gleamed like obsidian, and a red fingerprint scanner blinked on top. The object felt unfamiliar—dangerous.
With careful movements, he placed it on a reinforced metal table.
The room froze.
Even Ethan fell silent.
All eyes turned toward Felicia.
Her black hair rested on her shoulders. She stood straight, like a war goddess descending to earth. Her gaze was sharp and calm, as if she already knew what lay inside the case.
"Your turn, Felicia," the officer said heavily.
He pressed his finger against the scanner. The light turned green. Clicks and mechanical hisses followed as the security locks released one by one.
The lid slowly lifted, releasing a wave of cold vapor that spread through the air. A sharp metallic scent filled the room, sending chills down their spines.
Inside lay two weapons, like relics from a holy war.
A silver double-barreled automatic shotgun gleamed softly.
Beside it rested a modified Solothurn S18-100—an enormous anti-tank rifle, elegant yet terrifying, weighing over fifty kilograms.
"First," the officer said, pointing to the shotgun, "a double-barreled automatic. It can fire simultaneously or alternately. Its blast is perfect for close combat."
Felicia lifted the weapon with one hand.
Her movement was smooth, as if the gun were an extension of her own body.
"And this," the officer continued, touching the long barrel of the Solothurn. "An anti-tank rifle from World War II, upgraded with stabilizers and target tracking. One-hundred-millimeter rounds. A single shot can destroy a light tank. It weighs fifty-three kilograms. But I doubt that will be a problem for you."
Thivi, who had been folding his VSK, turned around in shock.
"Whoa… that thing's huge," he muttered. "What are you supposed to shoot with it? A ship?"
Felicia remained silent. She lifted the Solothurn with one hand and aimed it at a training dummy.
The officer was about to warn her, but—
BOOOOM!
The explosion shook the entire room. The dummy was obliterated in an instant, and the concrete wall behind it was blown open. Thick smoke rolled through the air, and the sharp scent of gunpowder spread everywhere.