White frowned deeply. "Child, whatever you do, don't act too recklessly."
"Don't worry, Uncle. I can handle myself," Xiao Feng replied with a confident smile, striding off toward the X Mercenary Corps alongside Old White.
With the heavy Red Ghost rifle and two hundred rounds slung over his back, Xiao Feng's buoyant spirit was untouched. After purchasing some liquor with Old White, they leisurely drifted away from the bustling city center—though, of course, "bustling" was relative in Zone 64.
As they approached a derelict building, a sudden voice pierced the air. "Hey there, friend—mind stopping for a moment?"
From the shadows emerged a grimy figure, tangled hair and a scruffy beard barely masking the malice and cunning in his eyes. He leveled an automatic pistol directly at Xiao Feng and White.
Both men turned simultaneously, only to see seven or eight ragged figures filing out of the ruined structure. Each wielded a crude, makeshift weapon—most of them likely scavenged or cobbled together by hand.
Xiao Feng narrowed his eyes. "Who are you people? What do you want?"
Old White stepped protectively in front of him. "It's a robbery."
Behind them, three more figures emerged, weapons drawn. "Don't move, or we'll put you down!" one jeered. "Boss, their bag's got seventy thousand Union coins—enough to live large for a while! Tonight, I'm treating myself to a pair of plump-bottomed girls! Hah!"
"Dirty Dog, you mean you're hoping to indulge yourself again, huh?" another laughed, slapping him on the back and turning to their leader. "Ain't that right, Boss?"
The gang leader burst into a hearty laugh. "Relax, boys. Dirty Dog's equipment hasn't worked in years. All he's got left is that foul mouth of his."
"Aha—so he's all bark and no bite!"
"Hah! Better keep that tongue of yours in shape, Dirty Dog!"
The gang erupted into crude, uproarious laughter, their minds already giddy with imagined riches.
But mid-laugh, they realized something was wrong.
"The kid—where is he?"
"Where'd he go?!"
"Bizarre…"
As they scanned the shadows in confusion, a clear voice called out from above. "Stop looking. I'm right here."
Their eyes lifted to the rooftop. There stood Xiao Feng, his long black hair dancing in the wind, one eye glinting behind the scope of a blood-red sniper rifle.
A shot cracked. Dirty Dog's pistol crumpled in his hand, the bullet bending its frame and sending it clattering to the ground.
He leapt back in fright, gaping at Xiao Feng in disbelief.
"Fire!" someone shouted.
Gunfire erupted, bullets riddling the rooftop—but the boy had already vanished, and the ledge where he'd lain moments before was reduced to rubble.
In the chaos, Old White noticed he had been forgotten. With sudden force, he lunged forward, grabbed Dirty Dog by the ankles, and swung him like a flail into the cluster of brigands.
Thuds and groans echoed as several were knocked down. The two left standing had their weapons blasted from their hands by Xiao Feng's precise shots, leaving them wide-eyed with fear, staring at White as if he were a god of war.
Everything fell into stunned silence.
None of them could quite comprehend what had just occurred in those fleeting seconds. They could only gape at the formidable figure of Old White.
Of them all, Dirty Dog suffered most. White's monstrous grip had likely cracked his shinbones. He lay unconscious, eyes rolled back, sprawled like a carcass on the cold earth.
Old White glared at the remaining robbers. "You thought to rob us? Your luck just ran out."
Xiao Feng landed softly beside him, still shouldering his black duffel. "Uncle, shall we kill them?"
White shook his head. "No. A lesson will suffice—they're desperate men." He pulled out a few Union notes and tossed them at the brigands. "There are beasts outside the walls, and you lot carry guns. Why not hunt instead of ambush? Let me warn you—next time I catch you robbing travelers, I'll snap your arms like twigs."
"Y-yes, sir! We wouldn't dare! Never again!" the bandits groveled, nearly dropping to their knees.
As White and Xiao Feng disappeared into the descending dusk, the thieves stared after the odd pair vanishing into the desolate fringe of the city.
The cold wind tugged at their coats and hair, whispering of a power far beyond their reach.
Weakly, Dirty Dog turned to his leader. "Were they… the heroes of the apocalypse?"
The boss clenched the few notes he held, then slapped Dirty Dog across the face. "Heroes of the apocalypse? My *ss! Next time you pick a mark that deadly, I'll shoot you myself!" He rubbed his swollen cheek, casting another uneasy glance toward the fading silhouettes. "They didn't feel like normal men…"
Dirty Dog crept closer. "Boss, what do you mean?"
"What do I mean? Figure it out yourself."
With that, the bandit leader and his gang melted into the shadows of the ruined building.
"Boss, are we really going back to robbing people? What if we run into them again?"
"Shut your filthy mouth, you stupid mutt!" came the boss's furious reply.
By the time Xiao Feng and Old White returned to the barracks, the feast was already in full swing.
Rice had ordered several long tables arranged on the basketball court, laden with roasted meats, whiskey, beer, and a blazing bonfire to warm the revelers.
He was in high spirits—today's spoils were unlike anything he'd seen before.
"Come, brothers! Raise your glasses! Drink till we drop—let this cursed world go to hell!"
"Haha! Drink! Drink like beasts!"
Two burly men clinked massive beer mugs and began chugging, while a dozen more warriors howled in approval around them.
Xiao Feng sipped quietly from a small glass of whiskey, smiling faintly as he watched the rowdy gathering.
"Xiao Feng, what's on your mind?"