THE ONES WHO LIVED

The second stage

Kai and Lila had stormed the second part of the base, with their guns and their knives, with their skills and their tactics, with their courage and their rage. They had fought their way through the guards and the cameras, the traps and the weapons, the fire and the flesh. They had reached the main building, where they had seen Haley and the others, where they had seen Midas and his clan, where they had seen the horror and the madness.

They had entered the building, with their guns and their knives, with their wits and their vengeance. They had split up, each taking a different floor, each looking for their targets, each ready to kill or die. They had communicated with their radios, updating each other, warning each other, encouraging each other.

They had found their enemies, eating and drinking, laughing and gloating, unaware and unprepared. They had surprised them and attacked them, shooting and stabbing, burning and hacking, killing and destroying. They had confronted them and fought them, facing their leader and their traitor, facing their brother and their enemy.

Lila had taken the first floor, where she had seen the kitchen and the dining room, the pantry and the freezer, the oven and the grill. She had seen the food and the drinks, the meat and the bread, the wine and the beer. She had also seen the blood and the flesh, the bones and the skulls, the organs and the limbs. She had seen the corpses and the victims, the men and the women, the children and the babies.

She had felt sick and disgusted, angry and horrified, sad and furious. She had opened fire and killed them all, the cooks and the eaters, the butchers and the cannibals, the monsters and the demons. She had spared no one and shown no mercy, no pity and no remorse, no fear and no doubt. She had avenged them and freed them, the dead and the living, the innocent and the helpless.

She had cleared the first floor, leaving behind a mess and a carnage, a fire and a smoke, a silence and a death.

Kai had taken the second floor, where he had seen the bedrooms and the bathrooms, the closets and the drawers, the beds and the showers. He had seen the clothes and the toys, the books and the games, the pictures and the memories. He had also seen the chains and the cages, the whips and the needles, the knives and the saws. He had seen the tortures and the experiments, the screams and the cries, the pain and the fear.

He had felt angry and protective, loyal and brave, smart and fierce. He had attacked them and killed them, the torturers and the experimenters, the sadists and the psychopaths, the monsters and the demons. He had bitten and scratched, ripped and torn, mauled and devoured. He had saved them and helped them, the wounded and the dying, the friends and the allies.

He had cleared the second floor, leaving behind a bloodbath and a slaughter, a fire and a smoke, a silence and a death.

He had also taken the third floor, where he had seen the office and the throne room, the desk and the chair, the computer and the radio. He had seen the maps and the plans, the weapons and the ammo, the money and the drugs. He had also seen the trophies and the prizes, the skulls and the teeth, the nails and the hair. He had seen the murders and the betrayals, the lies and the secrets, the greed and the power.

He had felt angry and vengeful, determined and ruthless, focused and unstoppable. He had shot them and stabbed them, the guards and the soldiers, the followers and the loyalists, the monsters and the demons. He had fought his way to the throne, where he had expected to see Midas, his leader and his traitor, his brother and his enemy. He had expected to face him and kill him, to end him and his clan, to end his threat and his terror.

But he had not found him. He had not seen him. He had not faced him.

He had only seen a note, written in blood and fire, mocking and taunting, laughing and gloating, boasting and challenging.

He had started the attack, the second stage, the real attack. He had started the fight, the fight that would decide his fate, his fate that would decide his future.

He had started the war, the war that would not end, until he said so.