The results are in for Match 21. The winner is…
Mahimit was dragged across the battlefield by ｢Young Lives｣, the Stand filling him with a vigor to fight, to please his father who was watching from above—and that vigor filled him with each slash of its claws, keeping the son awake as he was marched down towards the trailer.
The two Stand Users had made their way down there last—secluded within a small container, cornered. The Stand’s puppet had been worn down for certain, but this was the time to finally finish things. As they approached, they saw through the window the older woman pull out her phone, and immediately Mahimit’s arm was raised to aim his gun right for it. As they made him pull the trigger, he couldn’t fire before she had spoken to her allies on the other end:
“Yeah, we figured out who the perp is, it’s Thomas Kent. Singh didn’t even show up, sent a lackey instead. He should be…”
The rest of her sentence faded out as Mahimit stalled…stopped.
The Stand roared in panicked fury as its user lowered his gun, unable to control them with the ease it once had. Mahi barely noticed—neither did they react to Windy’s warm, draining embrace of as ｢Young Lives｣ attempted to claw her off of him. As his eyes began to close, the longcoat of his Stand’s prior form disappeared and revealed the real one beneath, he managed one thought before falling into a deep sleep.
Of course he didn’t. Why did I think otherwise…

Sonika Singha and Windy, with a score of 72 to Mahimit “Hira” Rākin’s 56!

Category	Winner	Point Totals	Comments
Popularity	Sonika Singha and Windy	27 (14+2) - 3 (0+2)	A shutout victory for the players!
Quality	Mahimit “Hira” Rākin	17 (6 5 6) - 20 (7 7 6)	Reasoning
JoJolity	Mahimit “Hira” Rākin	18 (6 6 6) - 23 (8 7 8)	Reasoning
Conduct	Tie	10-10	Nothing to report!

The results are in for Match 22. The winner is…
Club Naraka, the site of a hellish pile of bodies and accidents, was practically on fire that night. Thankfully, Sulka, along with a group of armed guards, had brought a fire extinguisher with them. They stormed the ground floor, taking a moment to spread themselves out. “Alright, we’ve-” A hail of gunfire cut the man off. “—THEY’RE HERE!”
A few of the nameless guards rushed in towards Sulka, to catch any strays that might come his way. Sulka himself pulled the nozzle end up, and heard another single shot fire from another nearby pillar. “There’s an accomplice, circle—” Something crawled up his thumb, and bit into the extinguisher, just as a stray bullet drove a dent into the metal casing. “—AUGH!”
The fire extinguisher burst in his hands, filling the room with a heavy white smog. The hip-firing moved, and it came long, low, and in mobile spurts. “Fire back—” As if on cue, fire jettisoned into the cloud of smoke, “—SPREAD OUT, QUICK!” Through blurred vision, Sulka watched one of their own leave through the front door. “Not that far, damnit!”
With the guards spread out along the floor around him, some wearing gouts of fire, some drenched in the liquid refuse of their extinguisher, and others still riddled with bullets, Sulka turned to one of their dead men, and ripped a pistol from their side. They watched the last moving object head for the door, and pulled the trigger, twice. An employee badge caught the edge of his blurred vision.
The cool night air filled the ground floor, and fed the flames atop the burning men. Sulka’s arm fell to his side, letting the gun clatter against the floor.
A spiral of thoughts took him. First, he’d need to make a casualty report, followed by a loss statement. The sheer number of clients who may not come back after an incident like this would likely drive the place out of business. Between that, the viscera, the dead workers, the dead clients, and all the ammunition costs—let alone the licenses he’d have to put in for—his head shrieked at him. For once, he shrieked back.
It was a low, horrid thing, much like a growl or snarl, but loud enough to make itself known against the billowing call of night. A cool hand slicked his hair back, and the night air stopped pouring in through the shutting door. He turned to one of the guards, who’d taken to putting out another with a blanket. “Take everyone alive and go look for everyone else alive.” Sulka sauntered away. “I’ll be in my office.”

Reese McGuffin, with a score of 72 to Markov's 69!

Category	Winner	Point Totals	Comments
Popularity	Reese McGuffin	13 (3+2+2) - 17 (5+2+2)	An even voting period right up until the very end!
Quality	Markov	23 (7 8 8) - 22 (7 8 7)	Reasoning
JoJolity	Tie	23 (8 8 7) - 23 (7 8 8)	Reasoning
Conduct	Tie	10-10	Nothing to report!

Somewhere in the night, a Club Naraka coat and hat, usually only worn by guards, lay in a trash can. A woman, caked in blood and all manner of horrors, pressed herself against the wall beside it, and fished through her pocket for a coin. She’d found it there, in the elevator, on her way to her shift. Moonlight danced across its surface, letting the coin shimmer madly in the low light. ”Hah… you… y-you saved me…” Emile was shuddering, clutching the golden coin tight, for fear of dropping it. “I-I don’t know why, but… w-whatever you want of me, I’ll gladly give it in return… p-please, tell me…who…who are you?”
“…aha!” the voice chuckled. “How…terrible of me! In all the commotion, our…introductions com-pletely slipped my…mind.”
The air in front of Emile began to shift and shimmer. As she pulled her gaze away from the coin, she saw something phase into existence—a feminine form, long purple wires for hair, and a peering red eye gazing back at her beneath them.
It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“My name is Markov. And your ad-mir-a-tion is payment…enough.”
Emile stared, gazing in wonderment at the hovering figure. Whether from exhaustion or reverence, she dropped to her knees, tears beginning to streak down her face. She thought of the ordeals she’d just faced. The people she’d passed. The people she’d fled. The people she’d killed. There was something else, though—the figure’s eyes seemed to- “That…hole in your shoulder.” Emile’s own head turned to match the figure’s gaze. “Do not fret. I can…teach you how to…take care of that.”
From the roof above the pair’s heads, one couldn’t hear the quiet murmurs and shivers of a woman ripping apart her own viscera-caked clothes to seal her wounds. Other things were certainly on the mind of its occupant, one Reese McGuffin.
Before him were two rats. Before them was a whole litany of ghostly creatures. His hand pointed towards the rat to his right, “Alright everyone, this is Splinter—” before it moved to point at the rat on his left, “—and this is Remy!”
Remy waddled up to a Utahraptor first, and started sniffing at it. “Oh, lemme introduce you to pieces, Remy!” Reese put a hand between the ghost animals, and casually shuffled it back and forth as he spoke. “Remy, Pieces! Pieces, Remy!” He turned on his heel to see Splinter eyeing up Finn, the shark. “Hey! He’s a friend, not food!”
A comforting quiet filled the night air as the ghostly animals circled one another, introducing themselves in their own little ways. The only thing left on Reese’s mind was a single odd question, one that had been eating at him since he left. “Where did I put that coral?”
Slowly, Mahimit awoke to the morning sun’s light. They could have sworn that they had a nightmare that night, but they felt refreshed as if waking from a peaceful slumber…
That wasn’t a nightmare, was it? He thought he could manage it all but in the end he just…broke as soon as he saw Ajay lying there with a bullet through his shoulder—wait, is he okay? Was he brought to safety? Did the Suite now think he was involved?
“Hey, don’t worry—you're safe here.”
Mahimit blinked, finally taking note of their surroundings. They were lying in a plain white bed, first aid boxes and equipment scattered about—the architect remembered the claws raking at their back throughout the night. Their torso had been bandaged up thoroughly: their long coat was laid out across a table, while their shirt was currently in Windy’s hands, who must have paused in stitching back up one of the tears when she noticed them awake.
“W-where am I?” Mahi asked. “Is Ajay safe? Where is he?”
“Jon got him to a hospital as soon as he could,” a voice called out from the door. Mahi looked over to see who looked like a detective walking in, followed by the two he recognised having gone after Zafar back then—no, not Zafar. “Had to be more careful with you given how well known you are, Mahimit—or do you prefer Hira?”
The architect sighed with some relief at that, not finding any deceit in the answer. “Either’s fine…not sure which one’s more ‘me’ anyways.” He looked around at the group settling into the room. “…Where’s the other person who was with you? Is she okay?”
A silence filled the room as the four recalled what Windy recounted once they regrouped—Sonika had lost hope, and ended up attempting to kill an unconscious Mahimit before she was stopped by Windy which caused the PI to run off.
Steric didn’t look it, but he was probably one of the most affected within PINDROP. While diving into his work wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, he had been increasingly concerned for Sonika’s health and disposition—so to hear that she not only ran off, but wanted to dispand PINDROP was crushing. “She…she ended up leaving.” He refocused onto Mahimit. “You said you’re unsure about yourself—would you be willing to answer why?”
Hira chuckled. “I guess I do owe you some answers. Well, I first went out as ‘Hira’ right around when I manifested my Stand—but then I ended up going out as them more often. Started to look into stuff about myself without the pressure of being the perfect son on my back…haven’t felt I’ve had the chance to really do so since I came back to Rakin.”
“Because of Zafar?” Inago asked, taking a nearby seat. “You don’t have to answer more than you’re comfortable with, but…you only went berserk after you thought he had just shot your friend.”
“Yup,” Windy nodded, setting aside the shirt and needle. “And I couldn’t help but notice ya stopped letting that Stand control ya once Sonika said out loud that it wasn’t your pa.”
Mahi winced. “…Yeah, I thought it was Zafar. He was a great parent and I never wanted to let him down, but things got so out of hand that when that last piece dropped I just…shattered, I guess. Though even if he was told it probably wouldn’t matter…”
“And why’s that?” Steric asked, jotting down some notes.
“He’s stubborn, sticks to how he thinks things are. If anything challenges his view on a friend or ally of his, he’ll just ignore it and carry on. He’s going to learn that I was Tamas and he’ll shrug it off and forget about it, as usual. Probably the sole reason he’s still in the Metro is because he truly believes that they’re doing what’s best for the city—something I found quickly wasn’t the case.”
Drippy stepped forward. “About that: why were you in there in the first place, and for how long? And what do you know about the Middleman?”
“…I can’t tell you anything about them.” Hira spoke, eyes glancing away from her.
“W-why!?” Drippy almost yelled out. “What reason do you all possibly have to not want them stopped?!”
“Well, you plan on killing them once you know, aren’t you?”
“Yes! Perhaps if you actually told us then maybe we could see why we shouldn’t put down this person taking utmost glee in murder. I don’t get why you and Rasna are willing to protect this guy.”
“…Trust me, if I could have stopped them I would have years ago. But if Rasna’s refused to tell you, you should be able to figure out why, right?”
“…they’ve suffered a lot, haven’t they?” Inago asked somberly. “That must be why they’re how they are today.”
“Oh, so they can get off free after everything they did?” Drippy retorted.
Steric put his hands between the two lest things escalated. “We can discuss this later—at the very least that is a lead.” He turned to the guest. “As for the other questions?”
Mahi nodded. “It was a month or two after I began working towards getting into the City Planning Board. Things weren’t looking as good as I hoped, when my father decided to bring me down to see these friends of his. I was offered a deal: they would pull some strings to help get me onto the board as long as I was willing to put forward some things they wanted…even then I figured something was off, but if it meant I could help this city I thought it was worth it. Oh how wrong I was…”
Steric sighed, finishing up with his notepad before putting away his pen. “I think that will be all then…thank you for your time. We’ll leave you to rest now.”
Inago followed the PINDROP members out, looking over his shoulder one last time: “Before I forget, anything you want for breakfast?”
Mahi thought for a moment. “Pancakes?”
Windy hopped off her chair and walked closer to Hira. “You’re a kind soul deep down, aren’t ya? Even as violent as you were, ya never tried to kill anyone…”
“But I just tried to kill you! It wasn’t me but it was born from me…messed with my thoughts as well as my body. So glad my therapist is a Stand user, thank fu—dge.”
She chuckled at the self-censorship. “But you fought back in the end, didn’t ya? I think I understand the feeling of getting puppeted though, and I know Luna and Alex should be able to help with the memory stuff. If you ever want to talk about it, feel free—we’d be happy to.”
“Sure,” Mahi nodded, lying back down into the bed as they allowed themself to smile. “…Thank you.”
Scenario: Verve Residence, Sapatibhatt — 10:23AM
Clink.
The teacup rattled against the table, empty. Idly, Gioia Arancini glanced over the lid, curious to see the shape of her future reflected in the tea leaves. She didn’t believe in that stuff, but Fate had taken stranger forms. Besides, Evergreen had done a lot these past few weeks. She couldn’t help but wonder…
“You were right, Gioia!” Soichi piped up from beside her, sipping on his own cup, “this is really good!”
In front of them, Vasant Verve sheepishly wrung his hands, giving them both a little smile. “I’m glad I haven’t lost my touch, haha…! It really is the least I can do, while you’re here.”
They could not meet at Urban Hymns, as the estate had been closed since Gioia and Charvet fought the man a few weeks prior. Though she had expected the two of them would get arrested, Verve himself had told the authorities that he would not press charges. In return, Gioia had been checking in with him, making sure he was back on his feet, and that ｢Cage The Elephant｣ was well and truly gone.
“Mm,” Gioia nodded, “give Vasudha my thanks as well,”
“No problem, dear!” a woman shouted from another room. Verve had little desire to return to his cabin, so in the meantime he was staying in his younger sister’s house.
For a moment, there was silence. Verve was perfectly still, as if one wrong move would shatter this tenuous peace. Soichi was content to drink in the cozy atmosphere. Gioia was staring at the tea leaves. What shape did they form?

The peace on Mount Parapollah was just as tenuous. Muuru had returned to the mountain now that the sand worms slumbered and the shifting had stopped. There was once a being who was to the Mountain as Muuru was to the City. The being was gone, now, and the Suite was filling in the gaps with trucks and bulldozers. As Muuru watched, a woman with a flute sat down beside him and smiled. Whatever happened next, the Mountain and the City moved together.

Gioia was drawn back to reality as Soichi spoke. “So, what have you been doing during your time off?”
“Oh?” Verve blinked. “Not much, I suppose! Just some odd jobs, here and there, mostly in the South. Just trying to help the rebuilding efforts, you know? Fix what I broke.” He grimaced a moment, before deflecting back to Soichi.
“What about you? It’s usually just Gioia checking in, I haven’t seen you since, you know…”
“The whole New York thing?” Soichi chuckled. “I’ve been alright, yeah. As rough as it was, we ended up making friends with those Riders! Sometimes you need an unlikely situation to help you come together, you know?”
Evergreen had certainly faced unlikely situations before. Gioia mused on this as she looked at the leaves.

The flute was not the only instrument that echoed through Rakin. As Deacon Blues wandered through the Sapatibhatt, the song of his trumpet followed behind. The land, once torn apart, was being rebuilt. The scars from his battle with the weaponsmith were fading, but the man still taught him a valuable lesson. The hand that wields a weapon can also wield a tool. Maybe this was the nature of potential. Whatever it was, Deacon figured it was worth a song.

Gioia glanced up from the cup, giving Verve a smirk. “Tough times help you realize who your real friends are. You’ve realized that too, I’m sure. Thanks to our efforts, the Metropolis Suite is having a tough time of their own. I wonder how quickly they’ll turn on each other?”
“Xen was already convinced they were out to get him. He kept going on about this Stand, ｢Diamond Life｣. No matter what he did for the Suite, it never told him who its user was. It drove him crazy–I think he was trying to solve that one himself.”
“Did he succeed?”
“I don’t think so. It’s not like he could strike a deal with The Gossip, he didn’t have anything ｢She｣ wanted. I’m sure that drove him crazy too.” There was still a sorrow in his voice.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Soichi smiled quietly, patting the man on the arm. Gioia nodded in turn, before she continued.
“Have you had any contact with him?”
“Not really. His assistant texted me, apparently the folks at Hymnal are on indefinite paid leave, until I figure out what to do. I guess that’s on me.” Verve paused a moment, grimacing. “Apparently he might still be at the cottage? I don’t know—I’m not going to—I’m not ready to talk to him, yet.”
“You don’t ever have to talk to him again,” Gioia responded. “I’m sure he’s cowering in the dark now that we’ve exposed his true nature. The other members of Metropolis should realize they’re soon to follow.”
Indeed, the members of Evergreen might not have the same methods…but they were united in this cause. Would this define their future? Gioia glanced over at the tea leaves.

The immortal had lived through countless riots, but the Bedtown Takeover was one of his favorites. He had returned to the area, replaying his grand speech, looking at the bloodstains that marked this territory. Sure, now that Aco’s child had appeared, VULTURE was considering new leadership. But that didn’t matter to Ouroboros, content to remain the (Self-Appointed) Secret Lord of Bedtown. Behind him, Honeydew was simply content to dismantle car batteries.

Gioia glanced back at Verve to see his brow furrowed.
“I can’t believe I ever got involved with those bastards,” he scowled. “Deep down, I knew they were trouble—I talked to Xen about Sing Now!, he just said…sometimes the only way to reach a common goal is to work with people you don’t agree with. He almost made it make sense.”
“He was a smooth-talking control freak. I’m sure you’ve realized how empty those words were.”
Verve rested his chin in his hand, staring into his own empty cup. In the end, all he saw were scattered leaves. No one was guiding him now. No one but himself. “…That’s not all he was. I think he really believed it, you know? That he was doing good. I wanted to believe it too, more than anything. But I think he was just trying to justify it to himself. Even when he had his doubts.”
Gioia curled her fingers around the teacup. “What about you, Verve? What do you think ‘good’ is?”
At this, the man laughed bittersweetly. “You think I can answer that? I thought Xen had the answer, and look where that got us. If you think you’re the only guy who can change the world, you’ll just make it worse.”
He looked up at Soichi. “We saw what his world looks like,” then to Gioia, “he would have trapped us both inside, if not for you.”
It seemed the Suite had a lot of cities within cities, living symbols of their control. Gioia took one last look at the symbol in her cup.

Disco D Lune had been keeping up with her contacts at the military base, catching up with the most recent happenings. Apparently, there had been a falling-out between the general and his child: an opportunity to sew doubt and dissent amongst the ranks. Disco had already designed new buildings to replace this one, and they were beautiful.

“You’re a free man, Verve,” Gioia concluded, staring him down. “So what will you do with that freedom?”
Verve looked between the two, but found no answers. Now, his choices were his own. In the end, the answer was simple.
“…I want to make things right. The Suite they… they ruined my home, they ruined him, they ruined me. I’m tired of seeing kids get pulled into this. Rasna, Ichi, and now poor Mahamit…” Behind him, warm air sang with the soft trumpet of ｢Bitter Sweet Symphony｣. “It needs to end. Those kids, my nieces, all of them, all of us. We all need a city that we can call home.”
Gioia smiled, closing her eyes contentedly as she felt the heat roll over her. Beside her, she could feel Soichi resting a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t even need to see his smile to feel its warmth. She didn’t need to see the leaves to know the shape of her future. She had known many homes, many stories, many tragedies and triumphs. But right now, home was a tree, Evergreen. Seasons changed, and yet its leaves would always flourish.
Soichi glanced at the cup in her stead. To him, the leaves just seemed like a weird square. But soon that shape was washed away, as he poured them all another cup of warm and fragrant tea.
“Well said! This calls for a toast. To new friends!”
Clink!

Scenario: Hymnal Bazaar, Reshmerasta — 8:58 PM
The market was closed for the evening. This curfew was in place ever since the Middleman attacked. The Bazaar was already struggling—if people were too scared to walk around at night, then why bother staying open? Even when the Bazaar was open, the stall for Urban Hymns stood empty. But for a broom, only a lone figure stood there. Verve used to sweep while his employees handled everything else.
His boyfriend once asked him why he did that.
’It makes me feel like I’m doing something–” he had laughed, “I’m leaving this place better than I found it!’
Verve had a lovely laugh, the figure recalled, staring at the broom.
Slowly, he knelt down to pick it up.
Then, Xenagoras took a deep breath,
and swept the streets that he used to own.

Scenario: ???, ??? — 9:07 PM
“It’s simple, gentlemen…”
The sound of chatter and slow music. The smell of pristine tobacco and the clinking of glasses. This outlined the leadership of the Metropolis Suite, holed up in a skyscraper that overlooked the whole of Rakin. To their right, a window—one that replaced the whole wall, showing the nighttime lights. It almost looked like an alien world, the way the dark purples and reds of the late sunset stretched across the blinking gleams of windows and signs. A single man spoke, an esteemed guest trying his best to rise in their ranks: Luiviton.
“With a little bit of push, we could completely criminalize a number of traffic violations. Of course, they’re already illegal—but I’m talking perfect driving. Instead of community service, we give fines that cut chunks out of bank accounts. Instead of towing cars, we give jail time. I have contacts in the private prison industry who would be willing to pay us good money to multiply the conviction rates~! All it takes is a little bit of sacrifice from Rakin’s people.”
The table was silent. A voice piped up- that of Sing Now!, media conglomerate CEO and one of the Suite’s primary figures of authority. “That’s an awful idea, Luiviton.”
He blanched. “E-Excuse me?” He asked, flabbergasted. “We could stand to gain-”
Sing Now! interrupted him swiftly and curtly. “It doesn’t matter how much we ‘stand to gain’ from selling our city’s soul to prison moguls. You’re a good friend, but everytime you come up here with a suggestion it’s always some kind of short-sighted scheme to make money. That’s not what this thing of ours is about.”
That earned a couple of nods and a “Damn straight.” from Zafar at his left.
He continued. “If we overcriminalize poor driving, what we’re doing is sacrificing Rakin’s workforce in exchange for…nothing. We would completely freeze important institution who are suddenly bleeding key figures and employees who’ve made simple mistakes. We’re not parasites or petty tyrants. We’re leaders. We do these backdoor deals not to increase our wealth, but our resources which we must use for everyone’s benefit. We must direct the people, not root through their pockets.”
Conversation erupted, primarily economic in nature. Some offered to take care of the market in Xenagoras’s stead. Others offered grants to the arts. Others pointed to the need for construction and repairs. Some tried to give statistics on rising rates of crime and discontent within Rakin’s citizens.
One key figure of the Suite, however, was absent. She stood a few meters away, staring out the window at the city below. Her stance was relaxed, yet firm. As if she was on guard against some invisible threat. She held a small glass of scotch in one hand, occasionally sipping from it. She seemed tired. Very, very tired. This was Zhengqi Dianyou, the CEO of the Rakin Rail Corporation. Occasionally, she’d let out a yawn.
Sitting on a loveseat nearby was Ichi Ni San Go—the charge of Sing Now! who was currently too distracted to really remember she existed. Without a babysitter, she was content to simply exist next to Zhengqi, looking out the window with her at the beauty of the city and occasionally asking simple, childish questions.
They were approached by a figure, glowing in the light. Someone followed close behind.
｢Diamond Life｣, the Stand of the every-mysterious head of the Metropolis Suite. Said user hung close behind. Zhengqi always found her boss’s habit of speaking through their Stand peculiar; she understood it as a security tactic, but it often came up even in casual scenarios. “Enjoying the event, you two?” It asked. Its tone was genuine—the Stand could be a tool of intimidation whenever its user willed it so, and this wasn’t that.
Zhengqi just grunted, turning around and finishing off the scotch. She set the glass down on a nearby table, looking at ｢Diamond Life｣. “I’ve never understood how it’s so easy for you to talk through that thing—”
｢Diamond Life｣ shot forward with incredible speed, shushing the name with a single finger gently placed on her lips. “Careful, Ms. Dianyou. The end of the table. Do you see him?”
Her eyes crept towards the table, landing on a man nodding idly to the talk. Iron Butterfly was a member of the Suite who often remained in the background; to her understanding, he helped keep the Suite in control over a good deal of the crop farming in the more rural parts of Rakin. She looked back at the Stand, and it elaborated: “He’s wearing a wire. Loose lips aren’t ideal tonight.”
Zhengqi just sighed, running her hand through her hair as her other put ｢Diamond Life｣’s hand back down. “I’ll take care of him after the meeting.” She offered. ｢Diamond Life｣ chuckled, willingly pulling their hand back.
“I’d appreciate it- I had originally planned on handling the issue myself. You’re always putting your best foot forward with us—it’s something I value.”
She gave a weak smile. “It’s nothing, really. Just me giving back for everything the Suite’s done for me.”
Ichi piped up, eagerly watching the conversation. “I think Ms. Dianyou works too much…she’s always so tired and never has any time to play games or watch cartoons or do anything!”
Zhengqi did her best to put on a friendly smile. “Ichi…when you get older, sometimes you just don’t have the time for-”
｢Diamond Life｣ interrupted her. “She’s right, you know. You overwork yourself. I was being polite about it before, talking about your best foot forward- but I do worry.”
She looked at ｢Diamond Life｣ sternly. “We don’t exactly have the time to rest. I’m certain you’ve seen the news. People are starting to figure out we exist. People are hiring private detectives and holding protests. Things are starting to unravel. We need to act before things break so hard they can’t be put back together.”
｢Diamond Life｣ stood up straight, looking her in the eyes. “Trust me. I have plans, and they involve you. Both of you.”
Ichi immediately raised a little in her seat, glowing a little. “Me~? Really~?”
A friendly chuckle escaped from ｢Diamond Life｣’s nonexistent lips. “Yes, you.” A dour look plastered across its face as it looked back at Zhengqi. “I’m going to need you to handle…key targets. I want certain people out of the way and key infrastructure mapped and maintained for your “ability”—it’ll be valuable to us should the ire of the populace come to a head. Past that, rest. Allow your subordinates at Zuantou Rail to handle things. Take a long holiday. We don’t need an exhausted zombie, we need you.”
Zhengqi could only reply with silence. She knew better than to argue with ｢Diamond Life｣, but to stop working? It felt alien to her. She was tempted to clutch at her sternum from the thought.
“As for you, Ichi…” The Stand continued. “I want you to gather info for me on some of the Stand users around the city.”
Ichi innocently kicked her feet. “How am I ‘sposed to do that? I dunno any cool spy stuff, and Daddy said-”
“I’ll handle your father, don’t worry.” ｢Diamond Life｣ said, walking forward and cupping Ichi’s cheek in their clawed hand. “I just want you to make friends, okay? Go out. Explore. Meet people, as many as you can. Participate in their lives and conflicts. Tell me everything you see and hear, okay?”
Ichi just nodded, smiling widely.
“Perfect,” replied the Stand. They drew their arm back, clasping their hands together. “But enough about work. Have you two tried the finger food that’s been provided? It’s truly divine.”
Scenario: Mili's Diner, Mist City — 7:37PM
The bell above the entrance rang late into the dusk, announcing the arrival of a certain happy customer. He hummed cheerily to himself, taking a seat behind the counter and giving her regards to the woman behind the counter. His order was the same as it was every time he came here, and yet he always flipped through the menu anyway. He was a cheerful, easygoing man, despite everything.
His name was Steric Lou Farin, recently self-appointed head of PINDROP. He hadn’t been planning on it, but with the sudden departure of Sonika, the team needed someone to step up fast. He was the most experienced in the field of investigation and had the sort of charisma the role required. He didn’t mind taking the lead, either. If anything, it made his work a little easier.
Speaking of work, that was the reason for this visit—good as the food was. He glanced over to the other two customers, talking quietly amongst themselves, and smiled. Both were of particular interest.
The first was one Brighid Rhodes. He’d sparred with her a few months back, and an exchange of business cards had proved extremely wise when he needed assistance in dealing with one Texas Aco. She was the one to finally calm her down in the end—albeit forcefully, but all’s well that ends well.
Speaking of which, Texas Aco sat at the counter now, talking in hushed mumbles to Brighid. The notable thing there being that she was talking now. She had been silent in the immediate aftermath of her rampage, but after spending some time at Brighid’s, Steric had gotten the call today that she’d been ready to speak.
“I hope you all had a safe drive here,” he chuckled to himself. “It’s awfully rainy out, isn’t it?”
“Nothing too bad.” Brighid exhaled, and Texas nodded with her, sipping on a chocolate milkshake. Her misshapen insect arm was hidden under a worn old coat draped over her shoulder. Brighid gave the detective a particular glance, and Steric took that as a sign to get to questioning.
“So, Texas…” He cleared his throat, making sure he had the girl’s attention. “I’m sorry for calling you out so soon. You ever want to stop talking about all this, let me know. I don’t want to do you any harm.”
“Mmm.” Texas nodded again.
“Now, I understand you’ve had, er, a difficult last few months.” That was no understatement: she’d been directly responsible for an attempted VULTURE mutiny. It failed, and drove her off into hiding god-knows-where. “In particular, I’d like to ask you about your relationship to VULTURE. It’s a piece of the puzzle here I haven’t entirely been able to ascertai-”
“I’m taking over VULTURE.” Texas deadpanned. Brighid sighed.
“I told you that isn’t the best idea.” The lawyer attempted to flick her on the forehead. “That’s too dangerous. No way you can get it done on your own.”
“No, I mean, like-” Texas grumbled. “She literally told me I could have it. The old boss.”
Brighid blinked a few times. She hadn’t heard about that. Steric nodded.
“Ms. Kaliya told me she’d been in contact with you. She said you’d been pretty against taking the leadership role, though.” Steric raised an eyebrow. “What changed?”
“…It sucks here, man.” Texas smirked. “Even with all the bullshit charities, shit’s gone bad after Rasna left. I’m sure you caught wind of that. Guys turning up dead left and right—there was a fight at a funeral, right? Whole place got blown to smithereens. What the fuck, man.”
“Ahah, yes.” Steric winced. “Quite the festivity, wasn’t it.”
“The place needs someone to step up. And with that little rampage I went on…” She looks embarrassed, for a moment. “I think I’ve got the rep to fill her shoes. Er. Maybe. I’m not really that scary, but, uh…”
“Ms. Kaliya told me you weren’t of that sort of opinion before.” Steric raised his eyebrow again, tapping his pen against his notepad. “What changed?”
“…Nothing, really. I just.” Texas chuckled, reclining on her stool. “I don’t really think anything I’ll do will have any difference. But I can’t stop myself from trying, either. I don’t think she’d want me to, either.”
Brighid placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder, glancing down at her. “Long as you come back to my place when you’re done. I trust you, but you should have a bed to sleep on.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Steric grinned. This was a good development! A bit risky, sure, but it gave him in an in. “Say!” He stopped absentmindedly chewing on his pen’s tip. “Y’think you’d be willing to help us out? VULTURE’s assistance would be a great help…and something tells me we’ve got a common goal.”
“I’ll think on it.” Was Texas’s only response. Brighid flicked her on the forehead again. “Ow! Okay, fine, yeah, I’ll help. You guys don’t seem that bad.”
Steric clasped his hands together. One step closer. “Ah, and you too, Miss Rhodes.”
“Hah?” Brighid scoffed. “I don’t think anyone with me is gonna be much help-”
“I think that’s, er, preposterous.” He tapped his notepad a few times. “I did some looking into the work your people’ve done recently. For museum staff, you folks sure are prolific. A boat raid is quite the accomplishment. Hmm, hmm~.”
“Well, er…” Brighid sighed. Her group had had a history of engaging in combat. Entities like Paranoia and Markov were practically built for it, but her group had had similar exploits recently: Ruby’s left her fight with the swordsman at the art college relatively unharmed, and Roxanne had managed to charm an ex-member of Metropolis. Despite how weird all of them were, they were useful in a variety of ways; it made sense Steric wanted their assistance.
“Alright. I’ll get them to help out.” Much as she didn’t trust some of them with heroism, Brighid found herself more involved than she’d anticipated—and getting into the action herself meant she could help keep Texas as safe as possible, despite everything. “But you gotta help out with the museum. We’re, uh, still working on reconstruction.”
“No worries. I think I’ve got a few artifacts here and there. They’d be fit for your collection.” Steric’s phone buzzed—he rose and nodded at the two. “It’s been a pleasure, folks, but the life of a detective is ever so busy. Be seeing you.” With that, he grabbed his coat and strode away, leaving a good third of his burger.
Several oversized flies crawled out from beneath Texas’s coat, nibbling on the leftovers. “You really okay with me, uh, y’know…” Texas made a few vague gestures with her hands. “It’s a big thing to, uh, undertake. I figured you’d try to stop me.”
“I doubt I’d be able to.” Brighid chuckled. “‘Sides, you’re a pretty tough kid. I was pretty rough and tumble when I was your age, and look how I turned out. I’m a lawyer and everything.”
Texas nodded, returning to her milkshake. She was an ant under an elephant’s foot—she’d become well aware of that. But even so; even an ant had its resolve, and a swarm could pick apart a carcass. Even if it was only delusion, she’d do what she could. Mom would’ve liked that.
“Mmm.” She grinned. “Here goes.”

<=TO BE CONTINUED==

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I've thought of the reasons I used to believe we are. Superstition? Pigeons have been trained to do superstitious behavior in hopes of being fed (this was trained but is it much different than picking up a heads up Penny because you've been told it's lucky?) Emotions and pain? Bees like playing and fish feel pain. Fashion or clothing? A group killer whales wore dead salmon as hats for a few months in the 80s. Architecture? Many animals do architecture, whether it's a burrow, a nest, ant tunnels, webs, or the two octopus cities we've found. Art? Many animals have been helped or taught to make art, but the white spotted pufferfish is my favorite example because it definitely wasn't influenced by humans. African elephants have rituals involving death and the moon (not necessarily related). Many animals including crows create and use tools. Many animals including pigeons are self aware and recognize their reflections. Many animals including blue whales use language, there's some talk of complex language for certain animal species. Many animals mourn the dead and care for the sick and injured, sometimes to the detriment of themselves or regardless of if they're related or even the same species. So are humans unique? We have religion and written language, and that's the only thing I can think of that we haven't found in other animals (or we have and don't yet understand it as such).
edit: also I should add that these are all of course written through a human understanding, and the animals observed to exhibit these behaviors may describe them differently, but that will have to wait until we bridge communication gaps
edit two: also tailorsbirds sew their nests. Many animals also alter and prep their food to their liking, but we're the only ones who cook, to our knowledge. Also there's a wild group of orangutans who were taught by released orangutans how to use soap. Also they like to eat the soap. Many animals show the ability to teach eachother things. Another example is if you've wronged a crow, even if another crow never saw you before its still on sight.

Pretty common topic, but I want to list some of the most egregious examples of this.
​
TAR 2 - Boat/Beast. Travel 1.5 miles on a raft or on the back of an elephant.
It's a no-brainer that paddling a raft down a river is going to be faster than traveling by elephant. Nobody chose the elephant task.
​
TAR 6 - Swim/Paddle. Score one point against a professional water polo goalie or inflate a raft and paddle it across a river known for strong currents.
Even on paper, Swim sounds like it would be faster. Thing is, it was completely effortless since none of the goalies even tried; it literally took less than a minute and most of the teams expressed their surprise at it being so easy and fast. Inflating a raft and paddling across a public river was clearly more time-consuming and more difficult.
​
TAR 7 - Pony Up/Tee It Up. Ride a horse into water, slide off its back, grab its tail, and then hope it swims around a buoy. The alternative is to play golf until you get one golf ball to land in the green.
Even on my blind viewing, I was thinking "Why the heck would anyone choose the horse task?" because it sounds very unsafe. It would require you to hold your breath and hope that a horse swims around a buoy and comes back to shore. I'm not an animal expert, but I feel like hanging on to a horse's tail while it's swimming through water would hurt the horse. The alternative is just a generic game of golf.
​
TAR 10 - Fuel/Fowl. Either mash and press wet coal into bricks or weave a birdcage.
Mashing wet coal actually looked fun, almost like playing with clay or something. Sewing a birdcage together looked really complicated. Everybody immediately set off to mash wet coal, but one team got lost and stumbled on the birdcage task and did it just to finish the detour and it got them eliminated.
​
TAR 13 - Play Like Mad/Act Like Fools. Either take lessons on how to play a dombra until you get a judge's approval and THEN play it in a park until you get $1.50 in tips OR put on a two-person cow costume, drink a glass of milk, and deliver yourselves to a butcher.
Learning an instrument takes a long time; the money requirement is trivial and probably wouldn't have been hard to get to, but we don't know for sure since nobody chose it. The cow task required walking a few blocks to two different locations and was clearly the easier and faster task.
​
TAR 15 - Nobel Dynamite/Viking Alphabet. Either build yourselves a shelter and set off dynamite or decode a message on a runestone.
I don't know if the viking alphabet decryption would have been hard since since nobody chose it, but why would you decode a message when you can blow something up? Seems way more fun and way more straightforward.
​
TAR 16 - In The Trenches/Under Fire. Either decode a message in Morse Code or crawl 100 feet under barbed wire.
This one blows my mind. Firstly, the Morse Code challenge was WAY harder than it had any right to be due to the distracting area and the fact that the message played on repeat without a clear start or end. TAR Canada had a mandatory Morse Code challenge that everyone managed to do, but this one was just brutal. The other challenge is just a generic physical challenge. The worst thing about this is that there was a U-Turn and the U-turned team was so stumped by the challenge that they lost their >2-hour lead over the last-place team. It was sad to watch. This is single-handedly the worst U-turn in the whole series. If any other detour this season had a U-turn, it wouldn't have phased me. Just another reason why this season is so terrible.
​
TAR 18 - Long Hard Walk/Quick and Easy Meal. Either pick up and deliver a couch to a location 1-mile away or eat two servings of food on a Ferris Wheel.
Delivering the psychoanalysis couch was hard, but it was possible. Eating the two large servings of food was absolutely impossible. Everyone who attempted it didn't even come close and it's a challenge you can only reasonably attempt once for your personal safety.
​
TAR 21 - Simit/Scrub-It. Either balance simits on a delivery board (that one teammate would have to balance on his/her head) and deliver them to 3 different locations or take a luxury bath.
Well, one of them requires good directions and balancing skills. The other one is completely effortless. Two teams actually chose Simit and I have to assume it's because they figured the bath would have been painful or would have taken longer (there have been painful massage tasks before after all.), but it was actually faster and was pleasant. Choosing Simit also means you miss out on a free luxury bath. Bummer. The two teams who chose to deliver simits ended up racing each other to avoid last place.
​
TAR 25 - Flag/Shine - Run up a greased log to grab a flag or polish a helmet and a suit of armor.
Well, this one was a blind detour where teams had no context of what either challenge would be, so I am absolutely sure this one was meant to sabotage teams who chose wrong. The greased log challenge was borderline impossible while polishing armor is relatively easy.
​
TAR 33 - Bring 'Em/Break 'Em - Deliver 300 plates to a location or break plates.
This was a no-brainer especially since it was immediately after an intense roadblock and was a perfect chance to vent one's frustration. Breaking plates was way easier and way faster.
​
TAR 35 - Just for Kicks/Matter of Taste - Score exactly 66 points in a game of foot darts or memorize and be able to match 9 different mustards by taste.
The mustard challenge seemed reasonably challenging since most people did make mistakes, but the foot darts challenge seemed really hard since you had to get an exact score. One team managed it, but it took them a lot of tries.
​
TAR 36 - Dance Vibe/Wall Scribe - Learn and perform a 30-second breakdance routine or solve a rebus puzzle.
Well, most of the teams who chose the Rebus puzzle solved it after a few tries since it seemed straightforward. I feel like the Firefighters might disagree with me though. Most of the teams actually chose the breakdance challenge despite it sounding much harder on paper and it took most of them dozens of tries.
​

My situation might be unusual. When I was a little girl, I was gifted Peanut before the craze caused their prices to sky rocket. It had tags cut off, it was well loved and worn, had split a seam and my big sister sewed it back together with thick obvious black thread. During a family emergency, basically all of our belongings disappeared. I'm an adult now, and I've never been clear on what exactly happened.
That elephant represents a comfort toy. I can't afford it for hundreds or thousands, but I'll still pay a fair price just because she's sentimental to me. I'm not a serious collector, I don't care about the tags and certificates of authenticity. If you have a "worthless" RBP that's either fake or damaged or smells like cigarette smoke, I'll take anything at this point.

I’ve decided to rewatch every Amazing Race and rank them all.
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SEASON 19 gets a 5/10
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This is probably the most forgotten season. I personally found it very dull and underwhelming with no standout teams or big moments. I only just finished rewatching this season and it’s hard to remember many big moments that define this season. There were some very likeable teams but I just found there was no character growth or drama at all (so I don’t have strong opinions on most teams). Although, it did have a “feel good” vibe and there were some very small characters moments that stopped this season from being “terrible”. Ultimately there were 3-4 fantastic legs but the rest ranged from dull to average.
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General Thoughts
- This season felt very laid back and free of drama which some fans may prefer. TAR17 and TAR18 also had somewhat of a laid back vibe but also had some interesting negative energy (Nick/Vicki, Chad/Stephanie, Kent/Vyxsin, Ron/Christina) to balance it. It also had teams who were funny (Michael/Kevin, Nick/Vicki again, Zev/Justin and Ron again) and TAR19 had neither of these. The teams mostly felt flat with not even any quirky characters. Some teams who had meltdown potential (Kaylani/Lisa, Liz/Marie, Justin/Jennifer, Ethan/Jenna) were out early and they were not pushed hard enough to “crack”. This “campy” feel can also be seen in the “previously on” segment where “Who will be eliminated….next” is followed by a team saying something silly or making a stupid noise..and then the intro. This is a really nitpicky complaint but I hate how they ruin the dramatic “Who will be eliminated” with something comical like “I’m gonna pee my pants”. Another nitpick is Phil ruining the non-elimination suspense by asking questions like “It’s been a rough day hasn’t it?” before the “non-elimination” reveal. These annoying additions started in TAR19, but they do have better TV maps this season I guess. They also seemed to give each eliminated team a story at the beginning of their elimination leg so it felt more obvious they would be eliminated - this has happened in previous seasons but seemed to happen more often here.
- The cast also felt gimmicky and the snow highlighted it even more by introducing the gimmicky teams first in the ep1 intro. Amani/Marcus (retired NFL player), Ethan/Jenna (Survivor winners), Laurence/Zac (first under 18 to sail around the world) and Andy/Tommy (Olympic snowboarders). You then had Kaylani/Lisa (Vegas showgirls) and Liz/Marie (perfect barbie twins) and we’ve sort of departed that era where you have 2 normal sisters like Mary/Peach, or a normal mother and daughter like Nancy/Emily or just 2 normal fun brothers like Ken/Gerard. It is harder to relate to gimmicky casts, although they can be interesting at times. Some teams like Ernie/Cindy and Bill/Cathi felt normal enough through.
- A big issue this season - there were no inter team dynamics at all. No alliances (maybe Andy/Tommy and Laurence/Zac very briefly), nobody hated anyone, nobody flirted with anyone, nobody argued with anyone. There wasn’t even any U-Turn drama (Ernie/Cindy U-Turned Bill/Cathi and it was never spoken of again). Classic seasons we would know who liked who and who disliked who but here I have no idea what Ernie/Cindy thought of Jeremy/Sandy or what Andy/Tommy thought of Amani/Marcus or what Bill/Cathi thought of Ernie/Cindy etc. Even the intra-team dynamics were mild with some very mild bickering with the siblings Justin/Jennifer and Liz/Marie getting the most heated scenes. Compare this to TAR3 where every single team in the final 4 had some sort of storyline with the other 3 teams (Ken/Gerard and Derek/Drew had an alliance, Flo and Drew had a showmance, teams were annoyed by Ian, Ken had a playful friendship with Flo etc).
- Ernie/Cindy winning was an okay outcome but “nothing special” which is honestly like most winners unfortunately. The show tends to edit these “dull and nice” winners but I guess Ernie/Cindy had an interesting enough relationship dynamic. Bill/Cathi would have been fantastic winners though, but besides that Ernie/Cindy seemed like a good enough outcome. Most fans probably preferred Andy/Tommy because of their dominance (despite many of their wins being because of penalties or special circumstances haha) and Amani/Marcus weren’t very strong racers. Good enough ending!
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Route
- The route was good though. Some new countries in Indonesia, Malawi, Denmark and Belgium, as well as Taiwan and Panama that are rarely visited. Thailand is the only overused country with way too many visits to Bangkok. Nice to see Atlanta as the finish city, but Los Angeles again as the start. I guess starting in the Buddhist temple was a nice way of tying in Taiwan as the first location. It was a very warm route with no cold places - Malawi seemed like the coldest place visited haha
- Challenges were actually not too bad. There were a few good mental puzzles in there - Bill/Cathi missing the billboard, lots of teams not giving ALL their money to the orphanage, looking for the 2 phrases on the tower in Denmark, teams not seeing Panama Viejo on the skirts, Jeremy/Sandy going to the wrong “Dump”, the Buddha statues and their hand symbols, disassembling and resembling the temple and even the Tintin costumes. I do feel some of the cryptic clues were misleading though. The orphanage had 8 out of 11 teams miss the card which suggests production made it too unclear. Teams should only worry about their clues and not random cards placed on a table. The same with the message on the skirts where more teams noticed the Balboa coins rather than the message. Thinking it was the Balboa statue is not necessarily wrong.
- This season brought back the Express Pass, a touch screen Double U-Turn (which had glare and was terrible to look at) and a new twist - the hazard. I personally didn’t mind the Hazard but it was really just a speed bump, but it only lasted 1 season. I like starting line challenges and this is the most successful so far (TAR15’s starting line elimination was unfair and TAR18’s automatic U-Turn also arguably screwed that team). The Double Elimination was okay but it also meant there was 1 extra non-elimination. It did feel like there were too many non-eliminations at the start - it was good in a returnee season but not newbie casts. There were also less clueboxes and some creative places to hide the clues which was nice.
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Cast Ranking
1.Bill/Cathi - they were so loveable and I believe were the strongest of the over 60 teams, although I preferred watching Meredith/Gretchen and Fran/Barry. They beat Jeremy/Sandy at 2 physical challenges and Bill outperformed athlete Marcus at the physical tobacco challenge. They still felt like underdogs but still competitive and it was a joy seeing them scrape through to the final 5. A lot of down to earth sweet moments like “We’re going to need ginseng to keep up”, Cathi perving on Bill rock climbing, and Cathi nagging Bill at the temple Road Block “Be quiet we can all hear you!” and nagging him to sit down in the truck in Africa. I love older teams and such a shame they are the last older team (with Derek/Shelisa in TAR36 being the closest in age to them).

1. Amani/Marcus - Marcus was very loud and loved his football analogies “We ran it for a touchdown” and his inspirational quotes…despite not performing that well haha I found Marcus similar to Mallory though - really likeable as a character but not necessarily entertaining or any storylines/depth. I liked when Marcus felt like “Big Easy” in the little taxi and also feeling like OJ but weren’t big on the drama or hilarity. But they were super respectful to one another and I remember Amani was shocked when Marcus got frustrated that 1 time in the finale (she didn’t want their children to see that). They were fun underdogs scraping through each week but still preferred Bill/Cathi.
   
2. Andy/Tommy - “The Snowboarders” were the “nice guys” who were threats. One of the first final bosses who were taken down at the final elimination, and somewhat controversially with the other taxis working together. They were likeable but not that entertaining with the only interesting thing I remember them doing was teasing Laurence by making faces from behind. I know they got some criticism for their comments about the Buddhist traditions (“We know the one true God”) but I didn’t think it was that bad. They’re not as memorable as the other male teams from that era - Cowboys, Globetrotters, Afganimals and Chippendales.
   
3. Ernie/Cindy - they were fine, had an endearing relationship story and some very minor disagreements. Cindy had the “overachieving Asian” storyline, prepared for the race excessively and freaked out over small things compared to calm Ernie. She was a control freak but seemed likeable at the same time. But they also had down to Earth cute moments too like “I feel so Asian right now” on the dragon boat, and Cindy gushing over how cute Ernie looked in the period costume. Ernie was super likeable being like “I can‘t believe an A student like Cindy would give a C student like me the time of day”. I believe Cindy may have been more interesting in a season where there was more alliances and drama around her.
   
4. Justin/Jennifer - had the most dramatic arguments (in a season full of niceness) with Justin being more meticulous and Jennifer being more impatient but then learnt to work together later. I sort of like bickering siblings because they feel more relatable and less uncomfortable than bickering couples. Some of their disagreements made the earlier episodes feel less dull I guess.
   
5. Liz/Marie - another team with some good bickering but also seemed upbeat and bubbly. Also had the backstory of racing for their father who recently passed and were underdogs who struggled quite a bit especially getting taxis with no money. Pretty likeable with some fun freakouts (like yelling “Maybe I’m dyslexic” in the first Road Block) but mostly just a generic early boot girl team. Both them and Justin/Jennifer would have made the end game more interesting.
   
6. Laurence/Zac - started off as the classic “sweet parent/child team” but then they showed Laurence being arrogant, thinking he was better than his son at everything (and also being wrong, like when Laurence didn’t want to take notes when disassembling the temple but Zac wanted to) and misogyny (several comments about the girls choosing sewing challenges). Laurence wasn’t hilariously arrogant like Ron (TAR12) but I’d prefer Laurence being a bit controversial than a Steve/Allie or Toni/Dallas who were sweet and boring. So they were fine but not stand out characters.
   
7. Jeremy/Sandy - were boring and were just the generic dating couple with mild bickering. It was almost like watching Jill/Thomas again who were just as irrelevant. Jeremy wanted to win for his son but besides that, they had no storylines and they did nothing memorable. I feel like they may have bickered more than what was shown like Sandy said “You told me yesterday you’d stop yelling at me” which we didn’t see. And Sandy had some minor witty comments if you watch closely but they were very underedited.
   
8. Kaylani/Lisa - had a great 1st leg with “We’re not going anywhere….because YOU have no passport” and surviving the Hazard and the passport situation…but not much after that besides Kaylani doing it for her daughter. Liz/Marie were the more endearing girl team.
   
9. Ethan/Jenna - were called out as threats for both having a million dollars and they thought Jenna was sneaky (plus Jenna being glad Bill/Cathi survived ONLY because they aren’t a threat). The Double elimination backfired because I think producers really wanted Ethan/Jenna to last longer. Jenna had some sass that this season needed but didn’t do much in their 2 legs.
   
10. Ron/Bill - don’t remember a single thing they did besides being the “token gay couple” and being 1 of 2 teams eliminated in the double elimination. Ethan/Jenna were given more focus so Ron/Bill were just a side note. I can’t even tell you how they came last. One of the most irrelevant teams ever even amongst first boots.
    

*************************************
Leg Rankings
1.Leg 8 - Denmark (F6 - Laurence/Zac eliminated) - had all the elements of a fantastic episode! A new city in Copenhagen, Flight drama (Cindy ignoring Laurence/Zac, and Amani/Marcus getting a bad flight), driving navigation (with some teams getting lost), an extra challenge which was finding the flags from the tower (Jeremy/Sandy going to the wrong place), I liked the period dancing Road Block (plus Bill sharing his sweet story of him and Cathi being high school sweethearts, with Cindy commenting “We just met in a bar over a shotski” haha), sexual innuendo at the butter churning challenge, placement shifts, a double U-Turn that actually impacts the leg (but doesn’t lead to instant elimination) and a tense finish with a come-from-behind by Amani/Marcus. And Laurence/Zac actually felt like a surprise boot since it seemed like Jeremy/Sandy would be last…so it’s good to feel surprised at the end. This leg had so many more character moments and drama with a more classic competitive feel.

1. Leg 11 - Panama (F4 - Andy/Tommy eliminated) - a great final 4 elimination mostly because of the drama surrounding the taxis working together. It started off with the Tintin challenge which had some fun moments - Andy/Tommy “We are Charlie Chaplin” and Jeremy “You look like a darn hot man” to Sandy dressed up haha The tattoos, high wire and making sandals/deliver seafood aren’t that great but the cryptic clue on the dresses creates a very exciting, tense, and somewhat controversial finish. Very chaotic seeing teams misinterpret the balboas on the dresses, and then 3 taxi drivers working together and screwing over the dominant Andy/Tommy. Whether it was fair or not, it at least got fans talking…because there honestly wasn’t much else to talk about this season haha Panama was a great location, placement shifts and a very memorable finish but misses #1 because not as much happens at the other tasks. Still one of my favourite final segments!
   
2. Leg 1 - Taiwan (F11 - Non elimination) - one of the better opening episodes with enough happening to keep it interesting despite not focusing on lots of teams. Begins with the starting line challenge where Kaylani/Lisa get the Hazard. Kaylani then loses her passport and a fan tweets and was able to return it…plus their bickering “We have to plan…what plan? YOU HAVE NO PASSPORT!” Probably the most fascinating moment of the season and I’m glad they included the fan interference! The billboard was a nice cryptic clue that sent poor Bill/Cathi to a random building for hours. The Confucius proverb challenge was okay (Liz/Marie bickering) but the dragon boat was very dull, although cultural, and it seemed impossible to fail. I would have preferred it to be the Hazard task and have every team do the bungee jump (not many height challenges this season). Didn’t mind the non-elimination here as long as they don’t do leg 1 non-eliminations often.
   
3. Leg 3 - Indonesia (F9 - Kaylani/Lisa eliminated) - had a slowish start but a fantastic finish counting the buddhas and running to the mat. Riding the bikes was pointless besides Cindy freaking out when the pedal broke, the farm detour had some fun moments - Cathi falling many times carrying the sacks in the mud haha and the sheep running away from her haha, Laurence using extra buckets (Andy/Tommy not pointing out the mistake to their allies), Amani/Marcus switching, Sandy reading the clue and being like “We can’t pronounce it” haha. But I loved the final Road Block - watching multiple teams work together to understand the 4 buddha symbols plus Marcus struggling even though he was given the answers earlier haha Great location at the Borobudar Temple! And then a tense race between 3 teams, Marcus/Amani trailing but then overtaking teams at the Road Block, many teams having to race back and pay their taxis before checking in. Would be higher if bigger moments earlier on.
   
4. Leg 2 - Indonesia (F11 - Ron/Bill and Ethan/Jenna eliminated) - challenges were bland with not much happening but the orphanage mistake at the end saves this episode. Some nice character moments at the start which were rare this season - teams congratulating Bill/Cathi on surviving the non-elimination (“Hello, we’re alive” with Bill limping haha) complaining about Ethan/Jenna and a big fight from Justin/Jennifer. Challenges however were really dull - a repel which had no drama, the speed bump was a very uncreative “untying a knot” and dancing for tips/parking motorbikes was bland. However the sign at the orphanage was a unique twist and produced some chaos coupled with the double elimination. I do however feel the editing seemed off and it didn’t feel as tense as it should be (most teams were just told to go back without any stress or emotion). But it did have Cindy having a minor freak out, Justin/Jennifer argued over running (“LEAVE ME ALONE IF I SAID I CANT RUN I CANT RUN!!!!”) and Ethan/Jenna lost their clue for 1 minute.
   
5. Leg 6 - Malawi (F7 - Non elimination) - another leg that was average at the start but ended with a tense final challenge (carrying the beds). These sort of legs would rank lower if in most other seasons. Overall there were some good cultural African tasks but they weren’t that challenging. Delivering the tobacco was a straightforward physical task, and sewing/making toys just aren’t that interesting TV. Laurence tells Jeremy to worry about marrying Sandy because she can’t sew eek but then Laurence cuts himself with the scissors and gets what he deserves for that sexism haha But not much drama or fun moments…and it had that positive feel good energy that seems to run throughout this season. Carrying the beds at the end however had Jeremy/Sandy arguing, a bed awkwardly falling on Cindy (“in African jail” haha and one of the funniest moments of the season), and a tense ending with Bill/Cathi going back to pay their driver and just passing Amani/Marcus on the way back.
   
6. Leg 4 - Thailand (F8 - Non elimination) - a pretty average leg with a decent Detour. Starting with teams mispronouncing Phuket and a small flight scramble (top 2 teams Laurence/Zac and Andy/Tommy work together but end up booking a flight later than everyone else). Planting coral in the watesetting up chairs and umbrellas each had some challenging aspects - one had strong waves (causing many teams to switch) and another had strong winds (umbrellas blowing everywhere…with 1 falling on Liz/Marie haha). Some stress and chaos with bickering from Justin/Jennifer, Jeremy/Sandy and especially Liz/Marie who scream at eachother and struggle with the umbrellas, even when Marcus tries to help them and sweet Bill/Cathi wish them luck as they leave them in last. But dull otherwise - the rock climbing seemed really easy and boring. And no big dramas or storylines or much of anything. Just generic island scenery and not much suspense once Liz/Marie fall behind.
   
7. Leg 9 - Denmark/Belgium (F5 - TBC) - These last 5 legs were generally unremarkable besides some small things here and there. Reciting the Hans Christian Andersen poem at the start was just okay (the judge “I need more drama!” was the star, plus Marcus trying to distract Amani so she won’t be distracted later made no sense haha and also Cindy trying to read the poem but a tour group coming and blocking her view), the puzzle on the Legoland ride was also just okay (“Does anybody have pesto bismol?”) and the bodybuilding had some fun moments with teams stripping to speedos (Cathi being like “my kids will die when they see this, I’m gonna die seeing this” and Phil giving it a go haha) The train equaliser right before it was disappointing but it had Cindy losing their train tickets and hoping a conductor wouldn’t catch them. Amani/Marcus surprisingly come 1st with Marcus “I haven’t been this nervous since I was in the principal’s office in the 3rd grade”. But no storylines, drama or excitement…and just average challenges.
   
8. Leg 12 - USA (F3 - Finale) - one of the duller finales unfortunately. While Marcus struggling at the flight simulator and Jeremy/Sandy going to the wrong “Dump” (a random Home Depot store instead of Margaret Mitchell’s home) were interesting, it also meant Ernie/Cindy took the lead and never lost it. The best finales have multiple teams together at the final challenge…and TAR19 did not have that. The typewriter challenge was too easy - while editing showed teams freaking out over the missing “1”, I’m sure it didn’t take them long to try a “i” or “L”. The memory challenge would have been better if they weren’t given the images in clues because I’m sure Cindy had prepared for this challenge, and she didn’t struggle at all. Ernie/Cindy’s taxi driver missing turns on his GPS was annoying as it was obvious it wouldn’t make a difference. It was a fitting end for Amani/Marcus to fall behind early and Marcus “missed a goal in the end zone and couldn’t close the super bowl” haha
   
9. Leg 7 - Malawi (F7 - Justin/Jennifer eliminated) - a pretty dull leg and was just teams doing generic challenges with no suspense! Challenges weren’t that interesting besides Jennifer not taking her clue on the bike ride and some mild bickering when rowing. The slide puzzle Speed Bump wasn’t that creative either, but Amani/Marcus found it a bit challenging I guess. Andy/Tommy outrunning Ernie/Cindy for 1st place was exciting with a very disappointed Cindy, but the U-Turn was underwhelming with Laurence/Zac U-turning a team in front of them. Justin/Jennifer fell behind early so it was fairly predictable especially with Justin talking about coming out to Jennifer at the start which seemed like a very foreshadowing elimination…which is common this season. The canoe/carrying people off the boat had some bickering and using an Express Pass. It would have been interesting if a team like Liz/Marie had to carry the people off the boat though…which is a possibility if they were still there and got U-Turned.
   
10. Leg 5 - Thailand (F8 - Liz/Marie eliminated) - found this leg boring, terrible challenges, not much drama and worst of all - very terribly designed! A very basic Road Block that was just searching a bit of water, washing an elephant for a Speed Bump, and then reassembling the spirit house - Andy/Tommy “God is definitely greater than a temple” mixed with Jennifer saying “While it may not be the same religion as mine, it still warrants the same amount of respect”. Besides that it was just whether teams took notes or not. Then a bus to Bangkok and some taxi rides to the pit stop. I appreciate some old school navigation dramas - Laurence/Zac getting off a bus because they thought you couldn’t travel first class on buses, Ernie/Cindy have a fight with their taxi driver with a local threatening to call the police (“You were a terrible driver” but feeling bad afterwards) and Liz/Marie having no money and getting free taxi. These little moments and the unique struggle of Liz/Marie stops it from being ranked last.
    
11. Leg 10 - Belgium (F5 - Bill/Cathi eliminated) - Sorry but this was a very boring episode. Challenges were boring, no drama at all, not much difficulty and the teams mostly plodded through with nothing memorable happening. It started with a boring Ford Mustang product placement challenge where nothing happened and took up a lot of airtime. Decorating the waffles was better but not that great either besides a few difficulties, especially Jeremy/Sandy. Cindy laughing “We'll call that waffle Ernie because it farts” haha Releasing and following the pigeons at the end was unique but not something that would alter placements (which the end of a final 5 elimination needs). Amani/Marcus scrape through again in 4th with Marcus of course calling next leg a conference championship. But a sad ending for Bill/Cathi especially knowing that Bill passes away a few years after.
    

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Summary
So I ranked this as the second worst US season so far mostly due to the cast being dull and “too nice” which meant there was less drama in the legs and I genuinely didn’t feel much for the teams at the end. I would even rank it behind unpopular seasons such as TAR4 and TAR8 because they had dynamic characters like Kelly/Jon, Tian/Jaree, The Weavers and The Paolos. It did have some likeable teams so I ranked it above TAR16 which was also a dull season. But this is possibly the most forgettable season - it wasn’t necessarily bad, just not as interesting as most other seasons. Around half the legs were average or dull but there were of course some good legs. Some may like the laid back feel but I didn’t unfortunately.
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So after each season I will place it on a ranking:
1.TAR5 - 10/10

1. TAR3 - 10/10
   
2. TAR12 - 9/10
   
3. TAR17 - 9/10
   
4. TAR18 - 9/10
   
5. TAR2 - 8/10
   
6. TAR7 - 8/10
   
7. TAR11 - 8/10
   
8. TAR13 - 8/10
   
9. TAR6 - 8/10
   
10. TAR10 - 7/10
    
11. TAR14 - 7/10
    
12. TAR1 - 7/10
    
13. TAR9 - 7/10
    
14. TAR15 - 6/10
    
15. TAR4 - 6/10
    
16. TAR8 - 6/10
    
17. TAR19 - 5/10
    
18. TAR16 - 5/10
    

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Here you get basic sewing tutorial for beginners, free teddy elephant pattern and the list of materials you will need to creat such an adorable baby elephant.
Click on the link for the full article.

So I’ve joined up with this group that mainly does fundraising for domestic animals, like support for TNR, food/vet assistance for low income families, a chunk goes to an elephant sanctuary, etc. their main source of income is local craft fairs. I want to help and I also want to gently push veganism. However, there is no artistic bone in my body, can’t sew on a button and get frustrated drawing a stick figure. Their main sales are blankets, trap covers, Christmas cards, homemade dog biscuits, animal sweaters. I would love to just sling Elwood’s merch but that would put these ladies through the roof. I’m in the Atlanta area and a lot of these shows are at churches. Any ideas on what to do? I am decent in the kitchen I was considering vegan cookie/cake mixes in mason jars or canning some jam or salsa. I’m just not creative and was hoping to get some ideas going with this group. Thanks in advance!

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Without even thinking, I launch myself towards the grenade, every muscle tensed for the desperate attempt to save Tuyet and the boy Luc.
But before my fingers can grasp its cold metal, Văn surges past, shoving me out of the way.
"Get down!" he bellows. In one fluid motion, he grabs the grenade, intent on hurling it back towards our attackers.
But he’s not fast enough. The grenade detonates in his hand. The explosion is deafening, a blast of heat and shrapnel that tears through the air. Văn is thrown backward, his body a ragdoll caught in the blast's merciless embrace.
The shockwave reverberates through my bones, my ears ringing, my vision blurred. When the dust settles, the air is filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood.
My heart hammers in my chest as I crawl over to where Văn lies prone on the floor.
“Van!” I cry out.
At first glance, Văn seems miraculously intact, almost sleeping. But the illusion shatters as I turn him over. His right forearm is gone, severed by the blast. Shrapnel wounds pepper his body. Half his face is missing, obliterated in an instant.
His eyes flutter open, a glimmer of consciousness piercing through the haze of pain.
His gaze falls on the bloody stump where his right arm once was. He attempts a weak, lopsided smile.
"At least... it wasn't my left arm…" he rasps, his voice a barely audible whisper. He lifts his left hand, the one bearing his wedding ring.
His breaths come shallow and ragged, each one a battle. I lean in closer, my hand finding his.
Tuyết crawls over to my side. Together, we attempt to administer first aid, but Van is too far gone.
Tears blur my vision as I grip Văn's remaining hand, my voice breaking. "Why? Why would you do something so fucking stupid?"
He coughs, a faint chuckle escaping his lips despite the agony he must be in. "Because... you can't throw for shit," he manages to say.
His fingers, still warm, squeeze mine."Tell... tell Hạnh..." he starts. But the words trail off, unfinished, as the light in his eyes dims. A final, labored exhale escapes his lips, and then nothing.
I gently remove Văn's dog tags, the metal cool and heavy in my hand. My fingers find the wedding ring on his left hand, slipping it off with a reverence that feels like a prayer. In his pockets, I discover a worn letter, the edges frayed from being read and folded countless times. Beside it, is a photo of Văn, his wife Lan, and their little daughter Hạnh, smiling, a moment of happiness frozen in time.
The whizz of a bullet, cutting through the air mere centimeters from my head, jolts me back to the present.
Scanning the room for any advantage, my gaze falls on a control panel mounted on the wall, its interface glowing dimly. A biometric scanner sits beside it.
I glance at the lifeless body of the scientist, an idea sparking amidst the despair. I drag his corpse closer, the blood from his wounds leaving a dark trail on the tiled floor. "Tuyết," I call over the din of gunfire, "I need his hand."
Her eyes wide with horror before nodding grimly. Without a word, she pulls out her machete, its blade gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. With a swift motion, she hacks at the scientist's hand, the sound of bone and sinew giving way under the blade echoing sickeningly.
"Cover me!" I shout, snatching up the severed hand and making a mad dash for the control panel. Bullets fly past, the air alive with the deadly song of gunfire. I can feel the heat of the shots as they slice through the space where I was just moments before.
Halfway to the panel, a bullet tears through my shoulder, the impact knocking me off balance. I stagger, nearly dropping the gruesome key to our escape. The pain is immediate and searing, a hot iron pressed into my flesh.
“Đụ mẹ nó!” (Motherfucker!) I curse, pushing through it.
Reaching the panel, I press the dead scientist's hand against the biometric scanner. The machine whirs, processing the grisly input. After a moment that stretches into eternity, the scanner beeps in affirmation, the light turning green.
My eyes frantically search the control panel's interface. Among the myriad buttons and switches, one stands out, marked with a series of numbers that correspond to the mutant elephant's enclosure. Without hesitation, I press it.
The heavy steel doors to the elephant's enclosure groan as they begin to slide open, the sound a harbinger of the chaos to come. The soldiers, momentarily distracted by this new development, shift their focus toward the source of the noise as they try to process the unfolding scene.
From the darkness of the enclosure, the mutated elephant emerges. The tumors and growths that mar its skin seem to pulse with a malevolent energy, and its tentacle-like limb whips through the air with a mind of its own.
As the creature steps into the light, a palpable sense of dread fills the room. The soldiers, trained to face human enemies, find themselves frozen in terror at the sight of this monstrosity. Their hesitation costs them dearly.
With a trumpeting roar that shakes the very foundations of the laboratory, the creature charges. Its massive body moves with a terrifying speed. The soldiers open fire, but their bullets seem to do little more than enrage the beast further.
The elephant's first victim is caught squarely by the charging monster, his body crushed beneath its immense weight with a sickening crunch. The creature's tentacle limb lashes out, wrapping around another soldier and tossing him aside like a toy. His screams are cut short as he collides with the wall, his body breaking upon impact.
Its trunk, split and lined with teeth, snaps up a third man, lifting him into the air before biting down. The sound of breaking bones and tearing flesh is almost drowned out by the chaos of the room.
"Move! Move!" I yell, firing a burst of covering fire.
We make our break for the service tunnel, elephant’s rampage providing the distraction we desperately need.
Tuyết grabs Luc, and we make a break for it, dodging between lab benches and equipment. Her movements are shadowed by Hùng and Lam, who fire off a suppressing volley towards the soldiers trying to regroup.
Then, a soldier, torn in half but horrifically alive, is hurled into our path, his eyes wide with shock and agony. Without pausing, I sidestep the dying man.
We dart into a narrow hallway, the sounds of its rampage a constant threat at our backs.
As we spill into the service tunnel, the chaos of the lab behind us, Hung catches sight of my shoulder. “Fuck, Thành, you're hit!" he exclaims, a note of panic in his voice.
I glance down, almost surprised to see blood soaking through my shirt, the fabric clinging to my skin. The pain, masked by adrenaline until now, flares into sharp focus, a white-hot lance through my shoulder. "I'm fine," I lie, gritting my teeth against the pain.
Tuyết, catching the grimace of pain that I can't quite hide, orders, "Sit, now!" Despite my instinct to keep moving, I find myself obeying, slumping against the cold wall.
Hung rummages through his pack, producing a first aid kit. Its contents are spilled out in a practiced motion, gauze, bandages, and small vials of morphine coming to rest on the concrete floor beside me.
Lâm kneels beside me, his fingers probing the wound with a gentle precision. "Bullet's still in there," he mutters, more to himself than to me.
Hùng and Tuyết work in tandem, cleaning the wound. The sting of antiseptic bites into my flesh, drawing a hiss of pain through clenched teeth. Tuyết's hands are steady as she bandages the wound.
As the adrenaline begins to ebb, the true extent of the pain crashes into me like a tidal wave. It's a searing, pulsating agony that radiates from my shoulder, each heartbeat a reminder of the injury.
I can't help but let out a muffled curse, my grip on the cold floor of the tunnel tightening.
"Sorry," Tuyết murmurs. "Almost done here."
"I need morphine," I demand, the words barely a growl through gritted teeth. My tolerance for pain has its limits, and I'm rapidly approaching them.
"Alright, but just a little bit," Lam says, prepping the syringe. "Don't need you passing out on us."
With a quick jab, he administers the shot, the morphine entering my system. The relief is almost immediate, a warm wave that dulls the pain to a manageable throb.
"Alright, can you stand?" Tuyết asks.
With a grunt, I push myself up, the tunnel swaying slightly around me. "Yeah, let's get the fuck out of here," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
The cold hits us like a wall, the temperature plummeting as we delve deeper into the bowels of the cold storage facility. Our breaths fog in the frigid air, ghostly puffs that fade into the expanse ahead. The facility is a cavernous space, shelves stacked to the ceiling with ominous canisters, each one marked with warnings of biological hazards.
As we move cautiously through the aisles, the sounds of frantic activity reach us. Soldiers and lab personnel scurry about, loading the canisters onto heavy-duty trucks parked at loading bays. The canisters are stenciled with the words: ‘Agent Indigo.’
At the end of one aisle, a maintenance ladder is bolted to the wall, leading up to a narrow catwalk that runs the length of the storage area, crisscrossing overhead.
We make a beeline for that ladder, moving as quietly as a group of heavily armed, slightly banged-up commandos possibly can. It's like some twisted game of hide and seek, with stakes much higher than any of us would like. Tuyet, with Luc clinging to his back like a little monkey, goes first. The kid's got a tight grip, but I can't help but admire her silence through all this. Kid's got guts.
As we navigate the precarious catwalks above, the cold air bites at our exposed skin. The metal underfoot groans with every step. From this vantage point, we have a clear view of the facility's interior workings, a hive of activity.
Below us, snippets of conversation that float up are tense, filled with urgency.
"Dr. Archer, the President wants Grim Harvest and Agent Indigo buried," a voice asserts, the tone icy. "No evidence. No loose ends.”
"To hell with Nixon," another voice, who I assume Dr. Archer’s, growls. "The only thing that matters now is securing Subject Lyra.”
Peering over the edge, I catch sight of a group of soldiers maneuvering a peculiar sight through the aisles below—what looks like a metal coffin, its surface sleek and unyielding, rigged with an array of complex machinery that hums with a life of its own.
Through a small, reinforced view window on top of the coffin, a deathly pale young woman is visible. She lies still, so still you'd think she was dead if not for the faint mist that clouds the glass with each shallow breath she takes. Her features are serene, almost angelic, but there's something unsettling about the way she's encased, like a specimen preserved for study rather than rest.
As the soldiers fumble with the coffin, their movements clumsy in their haste, Dr. Archer’s voice cuts through the chaos, like a knife slicing through the buzz of activity.
"Careful with her! She's more valuable than all of you put together."
I stick my head out a bit more, my grip on the cold metal of the catwalk tightening as my eyes find the source of the commanding voice. It’s an older man, his attire more civilian than military. A chill down my spine as I see the deep, jagged scars etched into his face, stretching his mouth into a permanent smile. This Dr. Archer is the Smiling Man Luc mentioned.
The Smiling Man approaches the metallic coffin. He places a hand gently on the glass, leaning in close as if sharing a secret with the still form inside.
"Don't worry, Lyra," he murmurs, his voice barely audible above the din. "We'll bring you back. We're so close now."
We don’t waste any more time gawking as we move on.
Suddenly, a sharp, piercing alarm cuts through the facility, a harsh wail that echoes off the metal and concrete.
Over the loudspeaker, a voice, cool and detached, announces, "Attention all personnel: intruders have been detected within the premises. They are to be considered armed and dangerous. Initiate lockdown protocol immediately."
It's like watching ants when you poke their hill. Soldiers and lab workers alike snap to attention, their movements becoming more frenetic. Doors slam shut, heavy metallic thuds that echo ominously through the vast space, while soldiers scramble to barricade exits, their rifles at the ready.
Our escape route, a mere whisper of hope moments ago, seems to be slipping away with each clanging echo of steel on steel.
"Shit," I hiss under my breath, the word a cloud of vapor in the cold. We're boxed in, the catwalk offering a bird's-eye view of a trap snapping shut.
But then, eyes darting around in desperation, I spot it—our slim chance. Far across the opposite end, a maintenance door. It's barely visible, tucked away like a secret, but it’s a shot. But getting there would be like crossing no-man's land in broad daylight. We need a distraction, something big, chaotic enough to turn every head away from that door.
My gaze snags on a monstrosity of machinery, pipes, and tanks, all connected in a way that screams 'important'. And nestled among them, a large rack filled with canisters of Agent Indigo.
I catch Hùng's eye, gesturing subtly to the machinery with a tilt of my head. He nods, understanding flashing in his gaze.
With a swift, silent command, I signal Tuyết and Lâm to keep low and move Luc to a safer position.
Hùng, meanwhile, carefully shoulders his RPG. The weapon seems almost comically large in the cramped space of the catwalk. He waits for my signal, his eyes locked on mine, a silent question hanging between us. Are we really doing this?
I give a curt nod, the decision made. There's no going back now.
Hùng aims the RPG at the heart of the Agent Indigo storage system. The room below us is a beehive of activity, oblivious to the storm about to break over them.
The RPG's roar is deafening, a sound that ricochets off the walls with physical force. Time seems to slow as the rocket arcs through the air like a deadly comet.
The impact is like the hand of God coming down. The explosion is a hellish bloom of fire and shrapnel, tearing through the machinery and igniting the Agent Indigo.
The resulting inferno is a thing of terrible beauty, a whirlwind of blue flames that dance with a life of their own.
The explosion sets off a chain reaction that rips through the facility like a wrathful storm. The base's personnel, caught in the middle of their frantic preparations, don't stand a chance. The blue flames spread with a hungry intensity, engulfing everything in their path. It's like watching hell expand, the fire consuming flesh and metal alike without distinction or mercy.
With the facility descending into pandemonium, the screams of the trapped and burning are a haunting chorus that I know will haunt my dreams. But worse than the screams are the groans—low, guttural sounds that begin to rise above the crackle of flames. The dead, or whatever's left of them in this twisted place, are waking up.
As the undead draw closer, we make a desperate dash up a set of stairs leading to the maintenance door, our only chance of escape. Reaching the door, I see it’s locked, the biometric pad blinking mockingly in the dim light.
I retrieve the severed hand from my pack. Pressing the grotesque key against the pad, yielding nothing but a blinking red light in refusal. "Fuck!" I curse.
"I think… the hand's too cold. The scanner can't read it," Tuyết observes, her voice strained.
In a frenzied attempt to warm the severed hand, I rub my hands over its cold, lifeless flesh. My breath clouds in the frigid air as I blow warm air onto the hand, desperately hoping to trick the scanner into recognizing it.
But it's not enough. The scanner remains unresponsive.
Lâm, thinking quickly, grabs the hand. “Let me try something.” He tucks it under his arm, trying to transfer his body heat to the lifeless flesh.
"Need some help here!" Hung shouts, his rifle's muzzle flashing as he fires into the advancing horror.
I whirl around just in time to see two smoldering undead soldiers, their uniforms charred and their flesh seething with blue flames, charging up the stairs towards us.
I raise my rifle, taking aim at the closest one. The bullets tear through the approaching undead, stopping it in its tracks.
Before I can fully register the threat, the second undead soldier closes the gap, its burned body pressed against me, its jaw snapping at my face. The stench of charred flesh and death is overwhelming, nearly choking me. In a panic-driven reflex, I fumble for the Makarov at my side, yanking it free from its holster.
With the creature's grotesque face looming over mine, I jam the muzzle of the pistol under its jaw and squeeze the trigger. The shot reverberates sharply in the confined space. The creature's head snaps back, its body going limp before collapsing in a heap at my feet.
But there's no time to catch my breath. The sounds of more approaching undead grow louder.
"Hurry up!" I shout back.
“Here goes nothing!” Lam says, pressing the hand against the scanner again. This time, after a tense moment, the light blinks green, and with a heavy metallic click, the door unlocks.
Tuyết and Luc rush through first. Lâm and Hùng follow.
As I stand at the threshold, my gaze catches the sight of at least half a dozen undead shambling up the bottom of the staircase.
I pull a grenade from my belt, the pin between my fingers. With a last glance at the horror we're fleeing, I toss it down the staircase, the small cylinder of death tumbling end over end towards the advancing undead.
I don't wait to see the explosion. The moment the grenade leaves my hand, I turn and slam the door shut. The thud of the door is followed by the muffled boom of the grenade, the shockwave reverberating through the door and into my bones.
I take a deep breath, allowing myself a moment to steady my racing heart. Then, with a nod to my team, we move on.
We follow a corridor lit only by emergency lights that leads us to the loading bay, a large, open space filled with crates and vehicles. The far end of the bay opens up to a pair of heavy metal doors, standing ajar, revealing the dark outline of a courtyard beyond. It’s the exit that promises freedom from this nightmarish ordeal.
But our relief is short-lived. As we draw nearer, the unmistakable sound of helicopter rotors stops us in our tracks. We press ourselves against the cold walls. I motion to keep low.
Peering around the corner, the sight that greets us tightens the knot of dread in my stomach. The Smiling Man, flanked by a squad of heavily armed soldiers, stands at the threshold of our only way out. They are preparing the coffin-like container for transport.
His voice cuts through the air, sharp and commanding. "We need to get Lyra to the Chinook, now. This place is lost."
One of the soldiers, burdened with heavy equipment, turns to him. "Sir, there's not going to be room for you," he says, his voice laced with an urgency that borders on panic.
Archer's reaction is chilling in its indifference. "I don't care," he snaps, his gaze never leaving the coffin. "As long as she makes it, nothing else matters."
As the group wheels the coffin towards the awaiting Chinook in the courtyard, the sound of its rotors beating against the air grows louder. The soldiers begin to close the heavy steel doors behind them, threatening to seal us inside with the nightmare we've unleashed.
Realizing time is slipping through our fingers like sand, I signal to my team.
Without hesitation, we break cover, rushing towards the doors with the desperation of the damned. Our footsteps echo loudly, a drumbeat to our frantic sprint.
The soldiers, caught by surprise, react with trained efficiency, turning their weapons towards us. Bullets whiz past, close enough to singe the air.
Tuyết, still protecting Luc, falls behind me, her movements hampered by the need to shield him. Lâm and Hùng flank her, providing cover fire.
As we close the distance, the doors begin to inch shut, the finality of it like a death knell. I surge forward, throwing caution to the wind, firing my AK-47 in controlled bursts.
A bullet grazes my thigh, a line of fire that almost buckles my knees. I grit my teeth against the pain, pushing through it.
But it's too late. With a resounding clang, the doors slam shut.
Kicking at the doors proves futile; the heavy steel doesn't even budge under the assault of our boots and shoulders. The sounds of the undead grow closer, a cacophony of groans and dragging feet encroaching from three directions.
I reach into my pack, my fingers finding the cold, malleable block of Semtex. Lâm joins me as we work to set the charges, a race against the relentless advance of the undead. The corridors echo with their hungry moans, a chilling soundtrack to our desperate efforts.
Lâm presses the plastic explosive along the doors' seams. I wire the charges, connecting them to a detonator. Our audience, the undead, draws ever closer, their disjointed limbs casting long, grotesque shadows that stretch towards us.
Tuyết and Hùng stand ready, their weapons aimed at the encroaching horde. Luc clings to Tuyết, his small body pressed against hers.
“Ready,” I say, connecting the last wire.
Finding cover behind a nearby pillar, we brace for the explosion. With a deep breath, I press the detonator. The blast is a thunderclap, the sound rolling over us.
Dust and debris fill the air, a blinding, choking cloud. As it clears, we see the doors, now twisted pieces of metal, blown clear off their hinges.
We surge through the gaping maw into the open, the night air cool against our sweat-drenched faces. The eviscerated bodies of soldiers, caught in the blast, are strewn about.
Among the carnage, a gravely injured soldier, barely more than a boy, reaches tremblingly for his dropped weapon. Our eyes meet, a momentary connection. I raise my rifle and fire, the shot swift and merciful. The soldier slumps, his struggle ending in a silent exhale.
The courtyard, bathed in the harsh light of the Chinook's spotlights, feels like a stage set for our final act.
The Chinook, its twin rotors whipping the air into a frenzy, begins to lift off, carrying its precious cargo away from the madness below.
I bark a command to Hùng, "Take it down!"
Hùng quickly loads a fresh rocket into the launcher. But just as he aligns his sight with the fleeing helicopter, a weak voice pierces the din. "Please, don't! I beg you…"
It's Dr. Archer, the Smiling Man, emerging from beneath a pile of rubble, his body a map of wounds and his face smeared with blood.
I ignore Archer's pleas, turning my gaze back to Hùng. "Do it," I say, my voice steady.
But then he speaks again, his voice cracking with emotion. "My daughter... she's on board. Please, don't do this."
The revelation stirs a turmoil within me, a storm of conflicting emotions.
"Hold your fire!" I shout, my voice cutting through the chaos. Hùng wavers, the launcher still aimed skyward, a look of confusion on his face.
I approach Archer, the barrel of my rifle pressing coldly against his forehead. His eyes, bloodshot and desperate, lock onto mine. "My daughter, Lyra... was a frontline nurse. She was killed at Khe Sanh," he gasps, his voice a shattered whisper. "This... Agent Indigo... was my attempt to bring her back."
"You used it on innocent civilians," I snap back, the weight of what we've witnessed, the horrors unleashed by his obsession, fueling my anger.
Archer's gaze falters, his voice a murmur of broken justifications. "I had to weaponize it... it was the only way they would fund my research. It was for her... all for her."
The conflict rages within me, a storm of empathy and revulsion.
Hung's voice slices through the tension, urgent and clear. "Now or never, Thành!"
Archer, his voice breaking with desperation, pleads, "Please, do what you want with me, but let Lyra go. She's innocent in all of this."
The conflict within me rages, Archer's plea echoing in my ears. I look to Hung, seeing the readiness in his eyes, the launcher still aimed at the sky where the Chinook hovers, a shrinking silhouette against the night.
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon my shoulders. Every fiber of my being screams for justice, for retribution for the horrors we've witnessed, for the lives lost and irrevocably altered by Archer's madness.
But then I think of Lyra, another victim out of countless victims of this senseless war.
"Stand down, Hùng," I order, my voice steady but laden with an unseen weight.
Hung hesitates, his gaze flicking between me and the Chinook, then slowly lowers the RPG.
Archer slumps, relief and resignation mingling in his expression. "Thank you," he whispers, the fight draining out of him.
I keep my rifle trained on him. "You still need to reap what you sewed…" I tell him, my voice cold and devoid of sympathy.
“Move out!” I command, turning away from Archer, who now looks utterly defeated.
We start moving, quickly and quietly, back into the dark embrace of the jungle. Behind us, the groans and shuffling footsteps of the undead grow louder.
The Smiling Man's screams are drowned out by the growls and snarls of his own creation. I don't look back.
—
The return to Tuyết's village is a silent procession, each step heavy with the weight of what we've endured. The villagers' eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and hope, follow us as we make our way through the narrow dirt paths that criss-cross the rice fields, now shrouded in the soft light of dawn.
The sight of Lực, safe in Tuyết's arms, sparks a collective sigh of relief that ripples through the crowd. His mom rushes forward, tears streaming down her face, as she takes him into her arms. The reunion is a moment of pure, unadulterated joy amidst the pain and loss.
The villagers' initial wariness of us, the armed strangers, fades as they welcome you as heroes.
After washing away the grime and the vestiges of death that clung to our skin, the villagers invite us to join them for a communal meal. It's a somber affair. There's an undercurrent of grief for those lost and a quiet gratitude for the lives spared.
During the meal, Tuyết's hand finds mine beneath the rough-hewn table. Her fingers interlace with mine, squeezing tight. It’s a cathartic gesture that binds us closer than any words could.
We quietly excuse ourselves from the communal table, slipping away into the cool evening. I leave first, followed by Tuyet, as to not draw any unwanted attention.
Tuyết leads me to a small, secluded hut on the edge of the village. The air between us is thick with unspoken emotions.
As we step inside the dimly lit interior, the door closing behind us with a soft click, the silence becomes almost palpable. We sit there, less than a meter apart, neither of us finding the words to breach the distance between us. My heart races, pounding against my ribs with the same ferocity it did when we were surrounded by the undead. Except now there's no gunfire, no screams, just the quiet night that envelopes the both of us. I start whistling a tune to help ease my nerves.
Tuyết breaks the silence, a slight smile curving her lips. "That’s the same tune you were whistling when we were in the tunnels…”
I chuckle, a bit embarrassed. "Yeah, sorry, it's a nervous tick, I guess. Keeps my mind focused."
"It sounds nice," she says, her gaze holding mine. "What's the song called?"
"'Flowers in Your Hair,'" I reply. "I heard it at a dance I attended a while back. Never knew the band, but the song stuck with me."
Tuyết's laughter, light and unexpected, fills the space between us, cutting through the tension. "You dance?" she teases, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "I never took you for a dancer."
I can't help but smile, feeling a warmth that has little to do with the humid air of the hut. "A little," I admit. "I'm no Lê Ngọc Cẩn, but I've been known to hold my own on the dance floor."
Tuyet nervously twists one of her braided pigtails around her finger, an action that betrays her uncertainty. "Could you... maybe show me a few steps?”
The request takes me by surprise, but the earnestness in her eyes makes it impossible to refuse. "Sure," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "It's easy, really."
Standing up, I extend my hand towards her, an invitation. “May I have this dance?”
Tuyết smiles, gingerly placing her hand in mine, her touch light as a feather. I guide her into my arms, conscious of the space between us, of her warmth and the faint scent of jasmine that seems to cling to her skin.
With a gentle pressure on her back, I lead her into the first step, the movement tentative at first. "Just follow my lead," I murmur, our steps slowly finding a rhythm of their own. There's no music, just the sound of our footsteps on the wooden floor and the distant hum of the village at night.
As we move together in the dim oil lamplight of the hut, the world outside fades away. For a moment, it's just the two of us, lost in a dance of our own making. My gaze drops to meet hers, and I find myself truly seeing her for the first time since we met.
I’m struck by her beauty. The faint glow of the lantern illuminates her features, casting a soft light that plays across her face, highlighting her fair complexion, her freckled cheek, and the gentle curve of her lips. Her dark eyes, framed by long, thick lashes, hold mine with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. I can feel the warmth of her breath against my skin, her heart beating in sync with mine.
As we sway to the rhythm of our own hearts, I find myself leaning in. Her eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn't pull away, instead, she meets me halfway, her lips pressing gently against mine.
Without a word, we begin to strip away the layers of clothing that separate us, eager to feel skin against skin. It's a slow, almost reverent process, each movement deliberate as we take in every centimeter of each other's exposed bodies.
We stumble back towards the small cot in the corner, our bodies entwined as we lose ourselves in each other. Neither of us really knows what we’re doing. We just do what feels right.
We both know that what we're doing is reckless. But in the moment, we don't really care. Our world is literally on fire, and neither of us knows if we'll live to see tomorrow. What do we have to lose?
—
As the first rays of dawn seep through the curtains, casting a soft glow within the hut, I stir gently. Tuyet, peacefully asleep in my arms, breathes softly. I take a moment to watch her sleep, memorizing the details, knowing that it may be the last time I see them.
Carefully, I extricate myself from her embrace, ensuring not to disturb her rest. She murmurs something in her sleep, a soft smile on her lips. I cover her with a thin blanket, tucking it around her shoulders. I silently dress and step outside.
Rejoining Lâm and Hùng in their hut, they give me a somber smile. They're already up, quietly packing their own gear, each movement heavy with the unspoken weight of what's to come. We work in silence, the kind that's loud with all the things better left unsaid.
Once I'm done packing, I do a final check, ensuring everything is secured. I pull out the black and white family photo I've kept tucked away.
While looking at it, an idea strikes me, a gesture that feels like necessary for a proper goodbye. Carefully, I tear myself out of the photo, the rip sound echoing louder in the morning stillness than I expected.
As I'm folding the larger piece of photo to tuck into my pocket, I hear a stirring at the doorway. Turning, I see Tuyết, breathless as if she's been sprinting. Relief floods her features when she sees me. "Thanh! I was afraid I'd just missed you," she says.
I step towards her, the torn photo of myself in my hand. "I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye," I tell her.
As I extend the torn photo towards Tuyết, she hesitates for a moment before reaching into her pocket. She pulls out a similarly torn photo, this one of herself, seemingly torn from a larger picture as well.
Our fingers touch briefly as we exchange our photos. It's a bittersweet moment, filled with the unspoken promises and regrets of what might have been.
As I glance back at Lâm and Hùng. "Give us a moment?" I ask, my voice softer than usual. They nod in understanding.
Hùng, with a playful grin, says, “Try to send him back to us in one piece.”
“Yeah, we've grown quite fond of him,” Lam jokes. “Despite how damn ugly he is.”
Tuyet chuckles, a spark of light in her eyes. "I'll do my best, but I'm not making any promises."
“Take care, you two. Never change who you are,” she says, giving each of them a hug.
“You too, sister,” Hung replies.
Lâm places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "Take as much time as you need."
"Thanks, brother," I say.
As Tuyết and I stand there, holding each other in the quiet dawn, she untangles her checkered black and white scarf from around her neck and drapes it over mine. The fabric feels soft against my skin, carrying the warmth of her body. She smiles up at me.
"If anyone asks," she starts, tying the scarf into a knot. Her smile widens playfully. "You can tell them you took it off an elusive Viet Cong sniper you killed with your bare hands."
I laugh, the sound more heartbroken than I intended.
Feeling the need to reciprocate, my hand instinctively goes to the unit badge sewn onto my uniform. With careful movements, I use my knife to cut the threads that bind the badge to the fabric, making sure not to tear the material.
Once the badge is free, I hold it out to Tuyet. "And you can tell everyone you shot an elite Ranger at 1,000 meters."
Tuyết stares at the badge in her hands, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. I step closer, wrapping my arms around her in a tight embrace.
"I'll find you," I whisper into her ear, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. "When this godforsaken war is over, I'll come back for you."
She pulls back slightly, looking up at me as if to gauge my sincerity. With a shaky breath, she manages a smile.
"Don't keep me waiting too long," she says, her voice strong despite the tears that finally spill over.
I lean in, pressing my lips to hers in a kiss that feels like both a beginning and an end. Time seems to stand still at that moment. The intensity of our emotions makes it feel like an eternity, yet when we finally part, it feels as though no time has passed at all, leaving us yearning for more.
The sound of distant artillery, a grim reminder of the reality we're forced to return to, breaks the spell. With one last look at Tuyet, I turn to join Lâm and Hùng, each step away from her heavier than the last.
—
Leaving Tuyết and the village behind, we navigate the dense jungle, heading south towards our headquarters. The terrain is unforgiving, a tangled maze of vegetation that seems intent on impeding our progress.
Several hours into our journey, the dense jungle gives way to a narrow clearing. The sound of running water reaches our ears, a signal that we're close to one of the many rivers that criss-cross this region. Cautiously, we approach the riverbank.
As we scout the area for enemy activity, the distant hum of a boat engine catches our attention. With weapons raised and hearts racing, we prepare for whatever comes around the river bend.
Hiding among the foliage, we watch as a patrol boat rounds a bend in the river, its camouflage paint blending with the surroundings.
To our relief and surprise, we see the hull painted with the familiar colors and insignia of the South Vietnamese Navy.
As the boat slows, approaching cautiously, we signal to the crew, identifying ourselves as friendly. The sailors aboard the patrol boat are initially wary.
After a brief but tense exchange of identification and purpose, their wariness turns to welcome. We're pulled aboard the vessel with efficient, helping hands.
X
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Part 1
Part 2
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Part 5
Part 6
Without even thinking, I launch myself towards the grenade, every muscle tensed for the desperate attempt to save Tuyet and the boy Luc.
But before my fingers can grasp its cold metal, Văn surges past, shoving me out of the way.
"Get down!" he bellows. In one fluid motion, he grabs the grenade, intent on hurling it back towards our attackers.
But he’s not fast enough. The grenade detonates in his hand. The explosion is deafening, a blast of heat and shrapnel that tears through the air. Văn is thrown backward, his body a ragdoll caught in the blast's merciless embrace.
The shockwave reverberates through my bones, my ears ringing, my vision blurred. When the dust settles, the air is filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood.
My heart hammers in my chest as I crawl over to where Văn lies prone on the floor.
“Van!” I cry out.
At first glance, Văn seems miraculously intact, almost sleeping. But the illusion shatters as I turn him over. His right forearm is gone, severed by the blast. Shrapnel wounds pepper his body. Half his face is missing, obliterated in an instant.
His eyes flutter open, a glimmer of consciousness piercing through the haze of pain.
His gaze falls on the bloody stump where his right arm once was. He attempts a weak, lopsided smile.
"At least... it wasn't my left arm…" he rasps, his voice a barely audible whisper. He lifts his left hand, the one bearing his wedding ring.
His breaths come shallow and ragged, each one a battle. I lean in closer, my hand finding his.
Tuyết crawls over to my side. Together, we attempt to administer first aid, but Van is too far gone.
Tears blur my vision as I grip Văn's remaining hand, my voice breaking. "Why? Why would you do something so fucking stupid?"
He coughs, a faint chuckle escaping his lips despite the agony he must be in. "Because... you can't throw for shit," he manages to say.
His fingers, still warm, squeeze mine."Tell... tell Hạnh..." he starts. But the words trail off, unfinished, as the light in his eyes dims. A final, labored exhale escapes his lips, and then nothing.
I gently remove Văn's dog tags, the metal cool and heavy in my hand. My fingers find the wedding ring on his left hand, slipping it off with a reverence that feels like a prayer. In his pockets, I discover a worn letter, the edges frayed from being read and folded countless times. Beside it, is a photo of Văn, his wife Lan, and their little daughter Hạnh, smiling, a moment of happiness frozen in time.
The whizz of a bullet, cutting through the air mere centimeters from my head, jolts me back to the present.
Scanning the room for any advantage, my gaze falls on a control panel mounted on the wall, its interface glowing dimly. A biometric scanner sits beside it.
I glance at the lifeless body of the scientist, an idea sparking amidst the despair. I drag his corpse closer, the blood from his wounds leaving a dark trail on the tiled floor. "Tuyết," I call over the din of gunfire, "I need his hand."
Her eyes wide with horror before nodding grimly. Without a word, she pulls out her machete, its blade gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. With a swift motion, she hacks at the scientist's hand, the sound of bone and sinew giving way under the blade echoing sickeningly.
"Cover me!" I shout, snatching up the severed hand and making a mad dash for the control panel. Bullets fly past, the air alive with the deadly song of gunfire. I can feel the heat of the shots as they slice through the space where I was just moments before.
Halfway to the panel, a bullet tears through my shoulder, the impact knocking me off balance. I stagger, nearly dropping the gruesome key to our escape. The pain is immediate and searing, a hot iron pressed into my flesh.
“Đụ mẹ nó!” (Motherfucker!) I curse, pushing through it.
Reaching the panel, I press the dead scientist's hand against the biometric scanner. The machine whirs, processing the grisly input. After a moment that stretches into eternity, the scanner beeps in affirmation, the light turning green.
My eyes frantically search the control panel's interface. Among the myriad buttons and switches, one stands out, marked with a series of numbers that correspond to the mutant elephant's enclosure. Without hesitation, I press it.
The heavy steel doors to the elephant's enclosure groan as they begin to slide open, the sound a harbinger of the chaos to come. The soldiers, momentarily distracted by this new development, shift their focus toward the source of the noise as they try to process the unfolding scene.
From the darkness of the enclosure, the mutated elephant emerges. The tumors and growths that mar its skin seem to pulse with a malevolent energy, and its tentacle-like limb whips through the air with a mind of its own.
As the creature steps into the light, a palpable sense of dread fills the room. The soldiers, trained to face human enemies, find themselves frozen in terror at the sight of this monstrosity. Their hesitation costs them dearly.
With a trumpeting roar that shakes the very foundations of the laboratory, the creature charges. Its massive body moves with a terrifying speed. The soldiers open fire, but their bullets seem to do little more than enrage the beast further.
The elephant's first victim is caught squarely by the charging monster, his body crushed beneath its immense weight with a sickening crunch. The creature's tentacle limb lashes out, wrapping around another soldier and tossing him aside like a toy. His screams are cut short as he collides with the wall, his body breaking upon impact.
Its trunk, split and lined with teeth, snaps up a third man, lifting him into the air before biting down. The sound of breaking bones and tearing flesh is almost drowned out by the chaos of the room.
"Move! Move!" I yell, firing a burst of covering fire.
We make our break for the service tunnel, elephant’s rampage providing the distraction we desperately need.
Tuyết grabs Luc, and we make a break for it, dodging between lab benches and equipment. Her movements are shadowed by Hùng and Lam, who fire off a suppressing volley towards the soldiers trying to regroup.
Then, a soldier, torn in half but horrifically alive, is hurled into our path, his eyes wide with shock and agony. Without pausing, I sidestep the dying man.
We dart into a narrow hallway, the sounds of its rampage a constant threat at our backs.
As we spill into the service tunnel, the chaos of the lab behind us, Hung catches sight of my shoulder. “Fuck, Thành, you're hit!" he exclaims, a note of panic in his voice.
I glance down, almost surprised to see blood soaking through my shirt, the fabric clinging to my skin. The pain, masked by adrenaline until now, flares into sharp focus, a white-hot lance through my shoulder. "I'm fine," I lie, gritting my teeth against the pain.
Tuyết, catching the grimace of pain that I can't quite hide, orders, "Sit, now!" Despite my instinct to keep moving, I find myself obeying, slumping against the cold wall.
Hung rummages through his pack, producing a first aid kit. Its contents are spilled out in a practiced motion, gauze, bandages, and small vials of morphine coming to rest on the concrete floor beside me.
Lâm kneels beside me, his fingers probing the wound with a gentle precision. "Bullet's still in there," he mutters, more to himself than to me.
Hùng and Tuyết work in tandem, cleaning the wound. The sting of antiseptic bites into my flesh, drawing a hiss of pain through clenched teeth. Tuyết's hands are steady as she bandages the wound.
As the adrenaline begins to ebb, the true extent of the pain crashes into me like a tidal wave. It's a searing, pulsating agony that radiates from my shoulder, each heartbeat a reminder of the injury.
I can't help but let out a muffled curse, my grip on the cold floor of the tunnel tightening.
"Sorry," Tuyết murmurs. "Almost done here."
"I need morphine," I demand, the words barely a growl through gritted teeth. My tolerance for pain has its limits, and I'm rapidly approaching them.
"Alright, but just a little bit," Lam says, prepping the syringe. "Don't need you passing out on us."
With a quick jab, he administers the shot, the morphine entering my system. The relief is almost immediate, a warm wave that dulls the pain to a manageable throb.
"Alright, can you stand?" Tuyết asks.
With a grunt, I push myself up, the tunnel swaying slightly around me. "Yeah, let's get the fuck out of here," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
The cold hits us like a wall, the temperature plummeting as we delve deeper into the bowels of the cold storage facility. Our breaths fog in the frigid air, ghostly puffs that fade into the expanse ahead. The facility is a cavernous space, shelves stacked to the ceiling with ominous canisters, each one marked with warnings of biological hazards.
As we move cautiously through the aisles, the sounds of frantic activity reach us. Soldiers and lab personnel scurry about, loading the canisters onto heavy-duty trucks parked at loading bays. The canisters are stenciled with the words: ‘Agent Indigo.’
At the end of one aisle, a maintenance ladder is bolted to the wall, leading up to a narrow catwalk that runs the length of the storage area, crisscrossing overhead.
We make a beeline for that ladder, moving as quietly as a group of heavily armed, slightly banged-up commandos possibly can. It's like some twisted game of hide and seek, with stakes much higher than any of us would like. Tuyet, with Luc clinging to his back like a little monkey, goes first. The kid's got a tight grip, but I can't help but admire her silence through all this. Kid's got guts.
As we navigate the precarious catwalks above, the cold air bites at our exposed skin. The metal underfoot groans with every step. From this vantage point, we have a clear view of the facility's interior workings, a hive of activity.
Below us, snippets of conversation that float up are tense, filled with urgency.
"Dr. Archer, the President wants Grim Harvest and Agent Indigo buried," a voice asserts, the tone icy. "No evidence. No loose ends.”
"To hell with Nixon," another voice, who I assume Dr. Archer’s, growls. "The only thing that matters now is securing Subject Lyra.”
Peering over the edge, I catch sight of a group of soldiers maneuvering a peculiar sight through the aisles below—what looks like a metal coffin, its surface sleek and unyielding, rigged with an array of complex machinery that hums with a life of its own.
Through a small, reinforced view window on top of the coffin, a deathly pale young woman is visible. She lies still, so still you'd think she was dead if not for the faint mist that clouds the glass with each shallow breath she takes. Her features are serene, almost angelic, but there's something unsettling about the way she's encased, like a specimen preserved for study rather than rest.
As the soldiers fumble with the coffin, their movements clumsy in their haste, Dr. Archer’s voice cuts through the chaos, like a knife slicing through the buzz of activity.
"Careful with her! She's more valuable than all of you put together."
I stick my head out a bit more, my grip on the cold metal of the catwalk tightening as my eyes find the source of the commanding voice. It’s an older man, his attire more civilian than military. A chill down my spine as I see the deep, jagged scars etched into his face, stretching his mouth into a permanent smile. This Dr. Archer is the Smiling Man Luc mentioned.
The Smiling Man approaches the metallic coffin. He places a hand gently on the glass, leaning in close as if sharing a secret with the still form inside.
"Don't worry, Lyra," he murmurs, his voice barely audible above the din. "We'll bring you back. We're so close now."
We don’t waste any more time gawking as we move on.
Suddenly, a sharp, piercing alarm cuts through the facility, a harsh wail that echoes off the metal and concrete.
Over the loudspeaker, a voice, cool and detached, announces, "Attention all personnel: intruders have been detected within the premises. They are to be considered armed and dangerous. Initiate lockdown protocol immediately."
It's like watching ants when you poke their hill. Soldiers and lab workers alike snap to attention, their movements becoming more frenetic. Doors slam shut, heavy metallic thuds that echo ominously through the vast space, while soldiers scramble to barricade exits, their rifles at the ready.
Our escape route, a mere whisper of hope moments ago, seems to be slipping away with each clanging echo of steel on steel.
"Shit," I hiss under my breath, the word a cloud of vapor in the cold. We're boxed in, the catwalk offering a bird's-eye view of a trap snapping shut.
But then, eyes darting around in desperation, I spot it—our slim chance. Far across the opposite end, a maintenance door. It's barely visible, tucked away like a secret, but it’s a shot. But getting there would be like crossing no-man's land in broad daylight. We need a distraction, something big, chaotic enough to turn every head away from that door.
My gaze snags on a monstrosity of machinery, pipes, and tanks, all connected in a way that screams 'important'. And nestled among them, a large rack filled with canisters of Agent Indigo.
I catch Hùng's eye, gesturing subtly to the machinery with a tilt of my head. He nods, understanding flashing in his gaze.
With a swift, silent command, I signal Tuyết and Lâm to keep low and move Luc to a safer position.
Hùng, meanwhile, carefully shoulders his RPG. The weapon seems almost comically large in the cramped space of the catwalk. He waits for my signal, his eyes locked on mine, a silent question hanging between us. Are we really doing this?
I give a curt nod, the decision made. There's no going back now.
Hùng aims the RPG at the heart of the Agent Indigo storage system. The room below us is a beehive of activity, oblivious to the storm about to break over them.
The RPG's roar is deafening, a sound that ricochets off the walls with physical force. Time seems to slow as the rocket arcs through the air like a deadly comet.
The impact is like the hand of God coming down. The explosion is a hellish bloom of fire and shrapnel, tearing through the machinery and igniting the Agent Indigo.
The resulting inferno is a thing of terrible beauty, a whirlwind of blue flames that dance with a life of their own.
The explosion sets off a chain reaction that rips through the facility like a wrathful storm. The base's personnel, caught in the middle of their frantic preparations, don't stand a chance. The blue flames spread with a hungry intensity, engulfing everything in their path. It's like watching hell expand, the fire consuming flesh and metal alike without distinction or mercy.
With the facility descending into pandemonium, the screams of the trapped and burning are a haunting chorus that I know will haunt my dreams. But worse than the screams are the groans—low, guttural sounds that begin to rise above the crackle of flames. The dead, or whatever's left of them in this twisted place, are waking up.
As the undead draw closer, we make a desperate dash up a set of stairs leading to the maintenance door, our only chance of escape. Reaching the door, I see it’s locked, the biometric pad blinking mockingly in the dim light.
I retrieve the severed hand from my pack. Pressing the grotesque key against the pad, yielding nothing but a blinking red light in refusal. "Fuck!" I curse.
"I think… the hand's too cold. The scanner can't read it," Tuyết observes, her voice strained.
In a frenzied attempt to warm the severed hand, I rub my hands over its cold, lifeless flesh. My breath clouds in the frigid air as I blow warm air onto the hand, desperately hoping to trick the scanner into recognizing it.
But it's not enough. The scanner remains unresponsive.
Lâm, thinking quickly, grabs the hand. “Let me try something.” He tucks it under his arm, trying to transfer his body heat to the lifeless flesh.
"Need some help here!" Hung shouts, his rifle's muzzle flashing as he fires into the advancing horror.
I whirl around just in time to see two smoldering undead soldiers, their uniforms charred and their flesh seething with blue flames, charging up the stairs towards us.
I raise my rifle, taking aim at the closest one. The bullets tear through the approaching undead, stopping it in its tracks.
Before I can fully register the threat, the second undead soldier closes the gap, its burned body pressed against me, its jaw snapping at my face. The stench of charred flesh and death is overwhelming, nearly choking me. In a panic-driven reflex, I fumble for the Makarov at my side, yanking it free from its holster.
With the creature's grotesque face looming over mine, I jam the muzzle of the pistol under its jaw and squeeze the trigger. The shot reverberates sharply in the confined space. The creature's head snaps back, its body going limp before collapsing in a heap at my feet.
But there's no time to catch my breath. The sounds of more approaching undead grow louder.
"Hurry up!" I shout back.
“Here goes nothing!” Lam says, pressing the hand against the scanner again. This time, after a tense moment, the light blinks green, and with a heavy metallic click, the door unlocks.
Tuyết and Luc rush through first. Lâm and Hùng follow.
As I stand at the threshold, my gaze catches the sight of at least half a dozen undead shambling up the bottom of the staircase.
I pull a grenade from my belt, the pin between my fingers. With a last glance at the horror we're fleeing, I toss it down the staircase, the small cylinder of death tumbling end over end towards the advancing undead.
I don't wait to see the explosion. The moment the grenade leaves my hand, I turn and slam the door shut. The thud of the door is followed by the muffled boom of the grenade, the shockwave reverberating through the door and into my bones.
I take a deep breath, allowing myself a moment to steady my racing heart. Then, with a nod to my team, we move on.
We follow a corridor lit only by emergency lights that leads us to the loading bay, a large, open space filled with crates and vehicles. The far end of the bay opens up to a pair of heavy metal doors, standing ajar, revealing the dark outline of a courtyard beyond. It’s the exit that promises freedom from this nightmarish ordeal.
But our relief is short-lived. As we draw nearer, the unmistakable sound of helicopter rotors stops us in our tracks. We press ourselves against the cold walls. I motion to keep low.
Peering around the corner, the sight that greets us tightens the knot of dread in my stomach. The Smiling Man, flanked by a squad of heavily armed soldiers, stands at the threshold of our only way out. They are preparing the coffin-like container for transport.
His voice cuts through the air, sharp and commanding. "We need to get Lyra to the Chinook, now. This place is lost."
One of the soldiers, burdened with heavy equipment, turns to him. "Sir, there's not going to be room for you," he says, his voice laced with an urgency that borders on panic.
Archer's reaction is chilling in its indifference. "I don't care," he snaps, his gaze never leaving the coffin. "As long as she makes it, nothing else matters."
As the group wheels the coffin towards the awaiting Chinook in the courtyard, the sound of its rotors beating against the air grows louder. The soldiers begin to close the heavy steel doors behind them, threatening to seal us inside with the nightmare we've unleashed.
Realizing time is slipping through our fingers like sand, I signal to my team.
Without hesitation, we break cover, rushing towards the doors with the desperation of the damned. Our footsteps echo loudly, a drumbeat to our frantic sprint.
The soldiers, caught by surprise, react with trained efficiency, turning their weapons towards us. Bullets whiz past, close enough to singe the air.
Tuyết, still protecting Luc, falls behind me, her movements hampered by the need to shield him. Lâm and Hùng flank her, providing cover fire.
As we close the distance, the doors begin to inch shut, the finality of it like a death knell. I surge forward, throwing caution to the wind, firing my AK-47 in controlled bursts.
A bullet grazes my thigh, a line of fire that almost buckles my knees. I grit my teeth against the pain, pushing through it.
But it's too late. With a resounding clang, the doors slam shut.
Kicking at the doors proves futile; the heavy steel doesn't even budge under the assault of our boots and shoulders. The sounds of the undead grow closer, a cacophony of groans and dragging feet encroaching from three directions.
I reach into my pack, my fingers finding the cold, malleable block of Semtex. Lâm joins me as we work to set the charges, a race against the relentless advance of the undead. The corridors echo with their hungry moans, a chilling soundtrack to our desperate efforts.
Lâm presses the plastic explosive along the doors' seams. I wire the charges, connecting them to a detonator. Our audience, the undead, draws ever closer, their disjointed limbs casting long, grotesque shadows that stretch towards us.
Tuyết and Hùng stand ready, their weapons aimed at the encroaching horde. Luc clings to Tuyết, his small body pressed against hers.
“Ready,” I say, connecting the last wire.
Finding cover behind a nearby pillar, we brace for the explosion. With a deep breath, I press the detonator. The blast is a thunderclap, the sound rolling over us.
Dust and debris fill the air, a blinding, choking cloud. As it clears, we see the doors, now twisted pieces of metal, blown clear off their hinges.
We surge through the gaping maw into the open, the night air cool against our sweat-drenched faces. The eviscerated bodies of soldiers, caught in the blast, are strewn about.
Among the carnage, a gravely injured soldier, barely more than a boy, reaches tremblingly for his dropped weapon. Our eyes meet, a momentary connection. I raise my rifle and fire, the shot swift and merciful. The soldier slumps, his struggle ending in a silent exhale.
The courtyard, bathed in the harsh light of the Chinook's spotlights, feels like a stage set for our final act.
The Chinook, its twin rotors whipping the air into a frenzy, begins to lift off, carrying its precious cargo away from the madness below.
I bark a command to Hùng, "Take it down!"
Hùng quickly loads a fresh rocket into the launcher. But just as he aligns his sight with the fleeing helicopter, a weak voice pierces the din. "Please, don't! I beg you…"
It's Dr. Archer, the Smiling Man, emerging from beneath a pile of rubble, his body a map of wounds and his face smeared with blood.
I ignore Archer's pleas, turning my gaze back to Hùng. "Do it," I say, my voice steady.
But then he speaks again, his voice cracking with emotion. "My daughter... she's on board. Please, don't do this."
The revelation stirs a turmoil within me, a storm of conflicting emotions.
"Hold your fire!" I shout, my voice cutting through the chaos. Hùng wavers, the launcher still aimed skyward, a look of confusion on his face.
I approach Archer, the barrel of my rifle pressing coldly against his forehead. His eyes, bloodshot and desperate, lock onto mine. "My daughter, Lyra... was a frontline nurse. She was killed at Khe Sanh," he gasps, his voice a shattered whisper. "This... Agent Indigo... was my attempt to bring her back."
"You used it on innocent civilians," I snap back, the weight of what we've witnessed, the horrors unleashed by his obsession, fueling my anger.
Archer's gaze falters, his voice a murmur of broken justifications. "I had to weaponize it... it was the only way they would fund my research. It was for her... all for her."
The conflict rages within me, a storm of empathy and revulsion.
Hung's voice slices through the tension, urgent and clear. "Now or never, Thành!"
Archer, his voice breaking with desperation, pleads, "Please, do what you want with me, but let Lyra go. She's innocent in all of this."
The conflict within me rages, Archer's plea echoing in my ears. I look to Hung, seeing the readiness in his eyes, the launcher still aimed at the sky where the Chinook hovers, a shrinking silhouette against the night.
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon my shoulders. Every fiber of my being screams for justice, for retribution for the horrors we've witnessed, for the lives lost and irrevocably altered by Archer's madness.
But then I think of Lyra, another victim out of countless victims of this senseless war.
"Stand down, Hùng," I order, my voice steady but laden with an unseen weight.
Hung hesitates, his gaze flicking between me and the Chinook, then slowly lowers the RPG.
Archer slumps, relief and resignation mingling in his expression. "Thank you," he whispers, the fight draining out of him.
I keep my rifle trained on him. "You still need to reap what you sewed…" I tell him, my voice cold and devoid of sympathy.
“Move out!” I command, turning away from Archer, who now looks utterly defeated.
We start moving, quickly and quietly, back into the dark embrace of the jungle. Behind us, the groans and shuffling footsteps of the undead grow louder.
The Smiling Man's screams are drowned out by the growls and snarls of his own creation. I don't look back.
—
The return to Tuyết's village is a silent procession, each step heavy with the weight of what we've endured. The villagers' eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and hope, follow us as we make our way through the narrow dirt paths that criss-cross the rice fields, now shrouded in the soft light of dawn.
The sight of Lực, safe in Tuyết's arms, sparks a collective sigh of relief that ripples through the crowd. His mom rushes forward, tears streaming down her face, as she takes him into her arms. The reunion is a moment of pure, unadulterated joy amidst the pain and loss.
The villagers' initial wariness of us, the armed strangers, fades as they welcome you as heroes.
After washing away the grime and the vestiges of death that clung to our skin, the villagers invite us to join them for a communal meal. It's a somber affair. There's an undercurrent of grief for those lost and a quiet gratitude for the lives spared.
During the meal, Tuyết's hand finds mine beneath the rough-hewn table. Her fingers interlace with mine, squeezing tight. It’s a cathartic gesture that binds us closer than any words could.
We quietly excuse ourselves from the communal table, slipping away into the cool evening. I leave first, followed by Tuyet, as to not draw any unwanted attention.
Tuyết leads me to a small, secluded hut on the edge of the village. The air between us is thick with unspoken emotions.
As we step inside the dimly lit interior, the door closing behind us with a soft click, the silence becomes almost palpable. We stand there, less than a meter apart, neither of us finding the words to breach the distance between us. My heart races, pounding against my ribs with the same ferocity it did when we were surrounded by the undead. Except now there's no gunfire, no screams, just the quiet night that envelopes the both of us. I start whistling a tune to help ease my nerves.
Tuyết breaks the silence, a slight smile curving her lips. "That’s the same tune you were whistling when we were in the tunnels…”
I chuckle, a bit embarrassed. "Yeah, sorry, it's a nervous tick, I guess. Keeps my mind focused."
"It sounds nice," she says, her gaze holding mine. "What's the song called?"
"'Flowers in Your Hair,'" I reply. "I heard it at a dance I attended a while back. Never knew the band, but the song stuck with me."
Tuyết's laughter, light and unexpected, fills the space between us, cutting through the tension. "You dance?" she teases, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "I never took you for a dancer."
I can't help but smile, feeling a warmth that has little to do with the humid air of the hut. "A little," I admit. "I'm no Lê Ngọc Cẩn, but I've been known to hold my own on the dance floor."
Tuyet nervously twists one of her braided pigtails around her finger, an action that betrays her uncertainty. "Could you... maybe show me a few steps?”
The request takes me by surprise, but the earnestness in her eyes makes it impossible to refuse. "Sure," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "It's easy, really."
Standing up, I extend my hand towards her, an invitation. “May I have this dance?”
Tuyết smiles, gingerly placing her hand in mine, her touch light as a feather. I guide her into my arms, conscious of the space between us, of her warmth and the faint scent of jasmine that seems to cling to her skin.
With a gentle pressure on her back, I lead her into the first step, the movement tentative at first. "Just follow my lead," I murmur, our steps slowly finding a rhythm of their own. There's no music, just the sound of our footsteps on the wooden floor and the distant hum of the village at night.
As we move together in the dim oil lamplight of the hut, the world outside fades away. For a moment, it's just the two of us, lost in a dance of our own making. My gaze drops to meet hers, and I find myself truly seeing her for the first time since we met.
I’m struck by her beauty. The faint glow of the lantern illuminates her features, casting a soft light that plays across her face, highlighting her fair complexion, her freckled cheek, and the gentle curve of her lips. Her dark eyes, framed by long, thick lashes, hold mine with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. I can feel the warmth of her breath against my skin, her heart beating in sync with mine.
As we sway to the rhythm of our own hearts, I find myself leaning in. Her eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn't pull away, instead, she meets me halfway, her lips pressing gently against mine.
Without a word, we begin to strip away the layers of clothing that separate us, eager to feel skin against skin. It's a slow, almost reverent process, each movement deliberate as we take in every centimeter of each other's exposed bodies.
We stumble back towards the small cot in the corner, our bodies entwined as we lose ourselves in each other. Neither of us really knows what we’re doing. We just do what feels right.
We both know that what we're doing is reckless. But in the moment, we don't really care. Our world is literally on fire, and neither of us knows if we'll live to see tomorrow. What do we have to lose?
—
As the first rays of dawn seep through the curtains, casting a soft glow within the hut, I stir gently. Tuyet, peacefully asleep in my arms, breathes softly. I take a moment to watch her sleep, memorizing the details, knowing that it may be the last time I see them.
Carefully, I extricate myself from her embrace, ensuring not to disturb her rest. She murmurs something in her sleep, a soft smile on her lips. I cover her with a thin blanket, tucking it around her shoulders. I silently dress and step outside.
Rejoining Lâm and Hùng in their hut, they give me a somber smile. They're already up, quietly packing their own gear, each movement heavy with the unspoken weight of what's to come. We work in silence, the kind that's loud with all the things better left unsaid.
Once I'm done packing, I do a final check, ensuring everything is secured. I pull out the black and white family photo I've kept tucked away.
While looking at it, an idea strikes me, a gesture that feels like necessary for a proper goodbye. Carefully, I tear myself out of the photo, the rip sound echoing louder in the morning stillness than I expected.
As I'm folding the larger piece of photo to tuck into my pocket, I hear a stirring at the doorway. Turning, I see Tuyết, breathless as if she's been sprinting. Relief floods her features when she sees me. "Thanh! I was afraid I'd just missed you," she says.
I step towards her, the torn photo of myself in my hand. "I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye," I tell her.
As I extend the torn photo towards Tuyết, she hesitates for a moment before reaching into her pocket. She pulls out a similarly torn photo, this one of herself, seemingly torn from a larger picture as well.
Our fingers touch briefly as we exchange our photos. It's a bittersweet moment, filled with the unspoken promises and regrets of what might have been.
As I glance back at Lâm and Hùng. "Give us a moment?" I ask, my voice softer than usual. They nod in understanding.
Hùng, with a playful grin, says, “Try to send him back to us in one piece.”
“Yeah, we've grown quite fond of him,” Lam jokes. “Despite how damn ugly he is.”
Tuyet chuckles, a spark of light in her eyes. "I'll do my best, but I'm not making any promises."
“Take care, you two. Never change who you are,” she says, giving each of them a hug.
“You too, sister,” Hung replies.
Lâm places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "Take as much time as you need."
"Thanks, brother," I say.
As Tuyết and I stand there, holding each other in the quiet dawn, she untangles her checkered black and white scarf from around her neck and drapes it over mine. The fabric feels soft against my skin, carrying the warmth of her body. She smiles up at me.
"If anyone asks," she starts, tying the scarf into a knot. Her smile widens playfully. "You can tell them you took it off an elusive Viet Cong sniper you killed with your bare hands."
I laugh, the sound more heartbroken than I intended.
Feeling the need to reciprocate, my hand instinctively goes to the unit badge sewn onto my uniform. With careful movements, I use my knife to cut the threads that bind the badge to the fabric, making sure not to tear the material.
Once the badge is free, I hold it out to Tuyet. "And you can tell everyone you shot an elite Ranger at 1,000 meters."
Tuyết stares at the badge in her hands, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. I step closer, wrapping my arms around her in a tight embrace.
"I'll find you," I whisper into her ear, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. "When this godforsaken war is over, I'll come back for you."
She pulls back slightly, looking up at me as if to gauge my sincerity. With a shaky breath, she manages a smile.
"Don't keep me waiting too long," she says, her voice strong despite the tears that finally spill over.
I lean in, pressing my lips to hers in a kiss that feels like both a beginning and an end. Time seems to stand still at that moment. The intensity of our emotions makes it feel like an eternity, yet when we finally part, it feels as though no time has passed at all, leaving us yearning for more.
The sound of distant artillery, a grim reminder of the reality we're forced to return to, breaks the spell. With one last look at Tuyet, I turn to join Lâm and Hùng, each step away from her heavier than the last.
—
Leaving Tuyết and the village behind, we navigate the dense jungle, heading south towards our headquarters. The terrain is unforgiving, a tangled maze of vegetation that seems intent on impeding our progress.
Several hours into our journey, the dense jungle gives way to a narrow clearing. The sound of running water reaches our ears, a signal that we're close to one of the many rivers that criss-cross this region. Cautiously, we approach the riverbank.
As we scout the area for enemy activity, the distant hum of a boat engine catches our attention. With weapons raised and hearts racing, we prepare for whatever comes around the river bend.
Hiding among the foliage, we watch as a patrol boat rounds a bend in the river, its camouflage paint blending with the surroundings.
To our relief and surprise, we see the hull painted with the familiar colors and insignia of the South Vietnamese Navy.
As the boat slows, approaching cautiously, we signal to the crew, identifying ourselves as friendly. The sailors aboard the patrol boat are initially wary.
After a brief but tense exchange of identification and purpose, their wariness turns to welcome. We're pulled aboard the vessel with efficient, helping hands.
X
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Part 1
Part 2
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Part 6
Without even thinking, I launch myself towards the grenade, every muscle tensed for the desperate attempt to save Tuyet and the boy Luc.
But before my fingers can grasp its cold metal, Văn surges past, shoving me out of the way.
"Get down!" he bellows. In one fluid motion, he grabs the grenade, intent on hurling it back towards our attackers.
But he’s not fast enough. The grenade detonates in his hand. The explosion is deafening, a blast of heat and shrapnel that tears through the air. Văn is thrown backward, his body a ragdoll caught in the blast's merciless embrace.
The shockwave reverberates through my bones, my ears ringing, my vision blurred. When the dust settles, the air is filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood.
My heart hammers in my chest as I crawl over to where Văn lies prone on the floor.
“Van!” I cry out.
At first glance, Văn seems miraculously intact, almost sleeping. But the illusion shatters as I turn him over. His right forearm is gone, severed by the blast. Shrapnel wounds pepper his body. Half his face is missing, obliterated in an instant.
His eyes flutter open, a glimmer of consciousness piercing through the haze of pain.
His gaze falls on the bloody stump where his right arm once was. He attempts a weak, lopsided smile.
"At least... it wasn't my left arm…" he rasps, his voice a barely audible whisper. He lifts his left hand, the one bearing his wedding ring.
His breaths come shallow and ragged, each one a battle. I lean in closer, my hand finding his.
Tuyết crawls over to my side. Together, we attempt to administer first aid, but Van is too far gone.
Tears blur my vision as I grip Văn's remaining hand, my voice breaking. "Why? Why would you do something so fucking stupid?"
He coughs, a faint chuckle escaping his lips despite the agony he must be in. "Because... you can't throw for shit," he manages to say.
His fingers, still warm, squeeze mine."Tell... tell Hạnh..." he starts. But the words trail off, unfinished, as the light in his eyes dims. A final, labored exhale escapes his lips, and then nothing.
I gently remove Văn's dog tags, the metal cool and heavy in my hand. My fingers find the wedding ring on his left hand, slipping it off with a reverence that feels like a prayer. In his pockets, I discover a worn letter, the edges frayed from being read and folded countless times. Beside it, is a photo of Văn, his wife Lan, and their little daughter Hạnh, smiling, a moment of happiness frozen in time.
The whizz of a bullet, cutting through the air mere centimeters from my head, jolts me back to the present.
Scanning the room for any advantage, my gaze falls on a control panel mounted on the wall, its interface glowing dimly. A biometric scanner sits beside it.
I glance at the lifeless body of the scientist, an idea sparking amidst the despair. I drag his corpse closer, the blood from his wounds leaving a dark trail on the tiled floor. "Tuyết," I call over the din of gunfire, "I need his hand."
Her eyes wide with horror before nodding grimly. Without a word, she pulls out her machete, its blade gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. With a swift motion, she hacks at the scientist's hand, the sound of bone and sinew giving way under the blade echoing sickeningly.
"Cover me!" I shout, snatching up the severed hand and making a mad dash for the control panel. Bullets fly past, the air alive with the deadly song of gunfire. I can feel the heat of the shots as they slice through the space where I was just moments before.
Halfway to the panel, a bullet tears through my shoulder, the impact knocking me off balance. I stagger, nearly dropping the gruesome key to our escape. The pain is immediate and searing, a hot iron pressed into my flesh.
“Đụ mẹ nó!” (Motherfucker!) I curse, pushing through it.
Reaching the panel, I press the dead scientist's hand against the biometric scanner. The machine whirs, processing the grisly input. After a moment that stretches into eternity, the scanner beeps in affirmation, the light turning green.
My eyes frantically search the control panel's interface. Among the myriad buttons and switches, one stands out, marked with a series of numbers that correspond to the mutant elephant's enclosure. Without hesitation, I press it.
The heavy steel doors to the elephant's enclosure groan as they begin to slide open, the sound a harbinger of the chaos to come. The soldiers, momentarily distracted by this new development, shift their focus toward the source of the noise as they try to process the unfolding scene.
From the darkness of the enclosure, the mutated elephant emerges. The tumors and growths that mar its skin seem to pulse with a malevolent energy, and its tentacle-like limb whips through the air with a mind of its own.
As the creature steps into the light, a palpable sense of dread fills the room. The soldiers, trained to face human enemies, find themselves frozen in terror at the sight of this monstrosity. Their hesitation costs them dearly.
With a trumpeting roar that shakes the very foundations of the laboratory, the creature charges. Its massive body moves with a terrifying speed. The soldiers open fire, but their bullets seem to do little more than enrage the beast further.
The elephant's first victim is caught squarely by the charging monster, his body crushed beneath its immense weight with a sickening crunch. The creature's tentacle limb lashes out, wrapping around another soldier and tossing him aside like a toy. His screams are cut short as he collides with the wall, his body breaking upon impact.
Its trunk, split and lined with teeth, snaps up a third man, lifting him into the air before biting down. The sound of breaking bones and tearing flesh is almost drowned out by the chaos of the room.
"Move! Move!" I yell, firing a burst of covering fire.
We make our break for the service tunnel, elephant’s rampage providing the distraction we desperately need.
Tuyết grabs Luc, and we make a break for it, dodging between lab benches and equipment. Her movements are shadowed by Hùng and Lam, who fire off a suppressing volley towards the soldiers trying to regroup.
Then, a soldier, torn in half but horrifically alive, is hurled into our path, his eyes wide with shock and agony. Without pausing, I sidestep the dying man.
We dart into a narrow hallway, the sounds of its rampage a constant threat at our backs.
As we spill into the service tunnel, the chaos of the lab behind us, Hung catches sight of my shoulder. “Fuck, Thành, you're hit!" he exclaims, a note of panic in his voice.
I glance down, almost surprised to see blood soaking through my shirt, the fabric clinging to my skin. The pain, masked by adrenaline until now, flares into sharp focus, a white-hot lance through my shoulder. "I'm fine," I lie, gritting my teeth against the pain.
Tuyết, catching the grimace of pain that I can't quite hide, orders, "Sit, now!" Despite my instinct to keep moving, I find myself obeying, slumping against the cold wall.
Hung rummages through his pack, producing a first aid kit. Its contents are spilled out in a practiced motion, gauze, bandages, and small vials of morphine coming to rest on the concrete floor beside me.
Lâm kneels beside me, his fingers probing the wound with a gentle precision. "Bullet's still in there," he mutters, more to himself than to me.
Hùng and Tuyết work in tandem, cleaning the wound. The sting of antiseptic bites into my flesh, drawing a hiss of pain through clenched teeth. Tuyết's hands are steady as she bandages the wound.
As the adrenaline begins to ebb, the true extent of the pain crashes into me like a tidal wave. It's a searing, pulsating agony that radiates from my shoulder, each heartbeat a reminder of the injury.
I can't help but let out a muffled curse, my grip on the cold floor of the tunnel tightening.
"Sorry," Tuyết murmurs. "Almost done here."
"I need morphine," I demand, the words barely a growl through gritted teeth. My tolerance for pain has its limits, and I'm rapidly approaching them.
"Alright, but just a little bit," Lam says, prepping the syringe. "Don't need you passing out on us."
With a quick jab, he administers the shot, the morphine entering my system. The relief is almost immediate, a warm wave that dulls the pain to a manageable throb.
"Alright, can you stand?" Tuyết asks.
With a grunt, I push myself up, the tunnel swaying slightly around me. "Yeah, let's get the fuck out of here," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
The cold hits us like a wall, the temperature plummeting as we delve deeper into the bowels of the cold storage facility. Our breaths fog in the frigid air, ghostly puffs that fade into the expanse ahead. The facility is a cavernous space, shelves stacked to the ceiling with ominous canisters, each one marked with warnings of biological hazards.
As we move cautiously through the aisles, the sounds of frantic activity reach us. Soldiers and lab personnel scurry about, loading the canisters onto heavy-duty trucks parked at loading bays. The canisters are stenciled with the words: ‘Agent Indigo.’
At the end of one aisle, a maintenance ladder is bolted to the wall, leading up to a narrow catwalk that runs the length of the storage area, crisscrossing overhead.
We make a beeline for that ladder, moving as quietly as a group of heavily armed, slightly banged-up commandos possibly can. It's like some twisted game of hide and seek, with stakes much higher than any of us would like. Tuyet, with Luc clinging to his back like a little monkey, goes first. The kid's got a tight grip, but I can't help but admire her silence through all this. Kid's got guts.
As we navigate the precarious catwalks above, the cold air bites at our exposed skin. The metal underfoot groans with every step. From this vantage point, we have a clear view of the facility's interior workings, a hive of activity.
Below us, snippets of conversation that float up are tense, filled with urgency.
"Dr. Archer, the President wants Grim Harvest and Agent Indigo buried," a voice asserts, the tone icy. "No evidence. No loose ends.”
"To hell with Nixon," another voice, who I assume Dr. Archer’s, growls. "The only thing that matters now is securing Subject Lyra.”
Peering over the edge, I catch sight of a group of soldiers maneuvering a peculiar sight through the aisles below—what looks like a metal coffin, its surface sleek and unyielding, rigged with an array of complex machinery that hums with a life of its own.
Through a small, reinforced view window on top of the coffin, a deathly pale young woman is visible. She lies still, so still you'd think she was dead if not for the faint mist that clouds the glass with each shallow breath she takes. Her features are serene, almost angelic, but there's something unsettling about the way she's encased, like a specimen preserved for study rather than rest.
As the soldiers fumble with the coffin, their movements clumsy in their haste, Dr. Archer’s voice cuts through the chaos, like a knife slicing through the buzz of activity.
"Careful with her! She's more valuable than all of you put together."
I stick my head out a bit more, my grip on the cold metal of the catwalk tightening as my eyes find the source of the commanding voice. It’s an older man, his attire more civilian than military. A chill down my spine as I see the deep, jagged scars etched into his face, stretching his mouth into a permanent smile. This Dr. Archer is the Smiling Man Luc mentioned.
The Smiling Man approaches the metallic coffin. He places a hand gently on the glass, leaning in close as if sharing a secret with the still form inside.
"Don't worry, Lyra," he murmurs, his voice barely audible above the din. "We'll bring you back. We're so close now."
We don’t waste any more time gawking as we move on.
Suddenly, a sharp, piercing alarm cuts through the facility, a harsh wail that echoes off the metal and concrete.
Over the loudspeaker, a voice, cool and detached, announces, "Attention all personnel: intruders have been detected within the premises. They are to be considered armed and dangerous. Initiate lockdown protocol immediately."
It's like watching ants when you poke their hill. Soldiers and lab workers alike snap to attention, their movements becoming more frenetic. Doors slam shut, heavy metallic thuds that echo ominously through the vast space, while soldiers scramble to barricade exits, their rifles at the ready.
Our escape route, a mere whisper of hope moments ago, seems to be slipping away with each clanging echo of steel on steel.
"Shit," I hiss under my breath, the word a cloud of vapor in the cold. We're boxed in, the catwalk offering a bird's-eye view of a trap snapping shut.
But then, eyes darting around in desperation, I spot it—our slim chance. Far across the opposite end, a maintenance door. It's barely visible, tucked away like a secret, but it’s a shot. But getting there would be like crossing no-man's land in broad daylight. We need a distraction, something big, chaotic enough to turn every head away from that door.
My gaze snags on a monstrosity of machinery, pipes, and tanks, all connected in a way that screams 'important'. And nestled among them, a large rack filled with canisters of Agent Indigo.
I catch Hùng's eye, gesturing subtly to the machinery with a tilt of my head. He nods, understanding flashing in his gaze.
With a swift, silent command, I signal Tuyết and Lâm to keep low and move Luc to a safer position.
Hùng, meanwhile, carefully shoulders his RPG. The weapon seems almost comically large in the cramped space of the catwalk. He waits for my signal, his eyes locked on mine, a silent question hanging between us. Are we really doing this?
I give a curt nod, the decision made. There's no going back now.
Hùng aims the RPG at the heart of the Agent Indigo storage system. The room below us is a beehive of activity, oblivious to the storm about to break over them.
The RPG's roar is deafening, a sound that ricochets off the walls with physical force. Time seems to slow as the rocket arcs through the air like a deadly comet.
The impact is like the hand of God coming down. The explosion is a hellish bloom of fire and shrapnel, tearing through the machinery and igniting the Agent Indigo.
The resulting inferno is a thing of terrible beauty, a whirlwind of blue flames that dance with a life of their own.
The explosion sets off a chain reaction that rips through the facility like a wrathful storm. The base's personnel, caught in the middle of their frantic preparations, don't stand a chance. The blue flames spread with a hungry intensity, engulfing everything in their path. It's like watching hell expand, the fire consuming flesh and metal alike without distinction or mercy.
With the facility descending into pandemonium, the screams of the trapped and burning are a haunting chorus that I know will haunt my dreams. But worse than the screams are the groans—low, guttural sounds that begin to rise above the crackle of flames. The dead, or whatever's left of them in this twisted place, are waking up.
As the undead draw closer, we make a desperate dash up a set of stairs leading to the maintenance door, our only chance of escape. Reaching the door, I see it’s locked, the biometric pad blinking mockingly in the dim light.
I retrieve the severed hand from my pack. Pressing the grotesque key against the pad, yielding nothing but a blinking red light in refusal. "Fuck!" I curse.
"I think… the hand's too cold. The scanner can't read it," Tuyết observes, her voice strained.
In a frenzied attempt to warm the severed hand, I rub my hands over its cold, lifeless flesh. My breath clouds in the frigid air as I blow warm air onto the hand, desperately hoping to trick the scanner into recognizing it.
But it's not enough. The scanner remains unresponsive.
Lâm, thinking quickly, grabs the hand. “Let me try something.” He tucks it under his arm, trying to transfer his body heat to the lifeless flesh.
"Need some help here!" Hung shouts, his rifle's muzzle flashing as he fires into the advancing horror.
I whirl around just in time to see two smoldering undead soldiers, their uniforms charred and their flesh seething with blue flames, charging up the stairs towards us.
I raise my rifle, taking aim at the closest one. The bullets tear through the approaching undead, stopping it in its tracks.
Before I can fully register the threat, the second undead soldier closes the gap, its burned body pressed against me, its jaw snapping at my face. The stench of charred flesh and death is overwhelming, nearly choking me. In a panic-driven reflex, I fumble for the Makarov at my side, yanking it free from its holster.
With the creature's grotesque face looming over mine, I jam the muzzle of the pistol under its jaw and squeeze the trigger. The shot reverberates sharply in the confined space. The creature's head snaps back, its body going limp before collapsing in a heap at my feet.
But there's no time to catch my breath. The sounds of more approaching undead grow louder.
"Hurry up!" I shout back.
“Here goes nothing!” Lam says, pressing the hand against the scanner again. This time, after a tense moment, the light blinks green, and with a heavy metallic click, the door unlocks.
Tuyết and Luc rush through first. Lâm and Hùng follow.
As I stand at the threshold, my gaze catches the sight of at least half a dozen undead shambling up the bottom of the staircase.
I pull a grenade from my belt, the pin between my fingers. With a last glance at the horror we're fleeing, I toss it down the staircase, the small cylinder of death tumbling end over end towards the advancing undead.
I don't wait to see the explosion. The moment the grenade leaves my hand, I turn and slam the door shut. The thud of the door is followed by the muffled boom of the grenade, the shockwave reverberating through the door and into my bones.
I take a deep breath, allowing myself a moment to steady my racing heart. Then, with a nod to my team, we move on.
We follow a corridor lit only by emergency lights that leads us to the loading bay, a large, open space filled with crates and vehicles. The far end of the bay opens up to a pair of heavy metal doors, standing ajar, revealing the dark outline of a courtyard beyond. It’s the exit that promises freedom from this nightmarish ordeal.
But our relief is short-lived. As we draw nearer, the unmistakable sound of helicopter rotors stops us in our tracks. We press ourselves against the cold walls. I motion to keep low.
Peering around the corner, the sight that greets us tightens the knot of dread in my stomach. The Smiling Man, flanked by a squad of heavily armed soldiers, stands at the threshold of our only way out. They are preparing the coffin-like container for transport.
His voice cuts through the air, sharp and commanding. "We need to get Lyra to the Chinook, now. This place is lost."
One of the soldiers, burdened with heavy equipment, turns to him. "Sir, there's not going to be room for you," he says, his voice laced with an urgency that borders on panic.
Archer's reaction is chilling in its indifference. "I don't care," he snaps, his gaze never leaving the coffin. "As long as she makes it, nothing else matters."
As the group wheels the coffin towards the awaiting Chinook in the courtyard, the sound of its rotors beating against the air grows louder. The soldiers begin to close the heavy steel doors behind them, threatening to seal us inside with the nightmare we've unleashed.
Realizing time is slipping through our fingers like sand, I signal to my team.
Without hesitation, we break cover, rushing towards the doors with the desperation of the damned. Our footsteps echo loudly, a drumbeat to our frantic sprint.
The soldiers, caught by surprise, react with trained efficiency, turning their weapons towards us. Bullets whiz past, close enough to singe the air.
Tuyết, still protecting Luc, falls behind me, her movements hampered by the need to shield him. Lâm and Hùng flank her, providing cover fire.
As we close the distance, the doors begin to inch shut, the finality of it like a death knell. I surge forward, throwing caution to the wind, firing my AK-47 in controlled bursts.
A bullet grazes my thigh, a line of fire that almost buckles my knees. I grit my teeth against the pain, pushing through it.
But it's too late. With a resounding clang, the doors slam shut.
Kicking at the doors proves futile; the heavy steel doesn't even budge under the assault of our boots and shoulders. The sounds of the undead grow closer, a cacophony of groans and dragging feet encroaching from three directions.
I reach into my pack, my fingers finding the cold, malleable block of Semtex. Lâm joins me as we work to set the charges, a race against the relentless advance of the undead. The corridors echo with their hungry moans, a chilling soundtrack to our desperate efforts.
Lâm presses the plastic explosive along the doors' seams. I wire the charges, connecting them to a detonator. Our audience, the undead, draws ever closer, their disjointed limbs casting long, grotesque shadows that stretch towards us.
Tuyết and Hùng stand ready, their weapons aimed at the encroaching horde. Luc clings to Tuyết, his small body pressed against hers.
“Ready,” I say, connecting the last wire.
Finding cover behind a nearby pillar, we brace for the explosion. With a deep breath, I press the detonator. The blast is a thunderclap, the sound rolling over us.
Dust and debris fill the air, a blinding, choking cloud. As it clears, we see the doors, now twisted pieces of metal, blown clear off their hinges.
We surge through the gaping maw into the open, the night air cool against our sweat-drenched faces. The eviscerated bodies of soldiers, caught in the blast, are strewn about.
Among the carnage, a gravely injured soldier, barely more than a boy, reaches tremblingly for his dropped weapon. Our eyes meet, a momentary connection. I raise my rifle and fire, the shot swift and merciful. The soldier slumps, his struggle ending in a silent exhale.
The courtyard, bathed in the harsh light of the Chinook's spotlights, feels like a stage set for our final act.
The Chinook, its twin rotors whipping the air into a frenzy, begins to lift off, carrying its precious cargo away from the madness below.
I bark a command to Hùng, "Take it down!"
Hùng quickly loads a fresh rocket into the launcher. But just as he aligns his sight with the fleeing helicopter, a weak voice pierces the din. "Please, don't! I beg you…"
It's Dr. Archer, the Smiling Man, emerging from beneath a pile of rubble, his body a map of wounds and his face smeared with blood.
I ignore Archer's pleas, turning my gaze back to Hùng. "Do it," I say, my voice steady.
But then he speaks again, his voice cracking with emotion. "My daughter... she's on board. Please, don't do this."
The revelation stirs a turmoil within me, a storm of conflicting emotions.
"Hold your fire!" I shout, my voice cutting through the chaos. Hùng wavers, the launcher still aimed skyward, a look of confusion on his face.
I approach Archer, the barrel of my rifle pressing coldly against his forehead. His eyes, bloodshot and desperate, lock onto mine. "My daughter, Lyra... was a frontline nurse. She was killed at Khe Sanh," he gasps, his voice a shattered whisper. "This... Agent Indigo... was my attempt to bring her back."
"You used it on innocent civilians," I snap back, the weight of what we've witnessed, the horrors unleashed by his obsession, fueling my anger.
Archer's gaze falters, his voice a murmur of broken justifications. "I had to weaponize it... it was the only way they would fund my research. It was for her... all for her."
The conflict rages within me, a storm of empathy and revulsion.
Hung's voice slices through the tension, urgent and clear. "Now or never, Thành!"
Archer, his voice breaking with desperation, pleads, "Please, do what you want with me, but let Lyra go. She's innocent in all of this."
The conflict within me rages, Archer's plea echoing in my ears. I look to Hung, seeing the readiness in his eyes, the launcher still aimed at the sky where the Chinook hovers, a shrinking silhouette against the night.
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon my shoulders. Every fiber of my being screams for justice, for retribution for the horrors we've witnessed, for the lives lost and irrevocably altered by Archer's madness.
But then I think of Lyra, another victim out of countless victims of this senseless war.
"Stand down, Hùng," I order, my voice steady but laden with an unseen weight.
Hung hesitates, his gaze flicking between me and the Chinook, then slowly lowers the RPG.
Archer slumps, relief and resignation mingling in his expression. "Thank you," he whispers, the fight draining out of him.
I keep my rifle trained on him. "You still need to reap what you sewed…" I tell him, my voice cold and devoid of sympathy.
“Move out!” I command, turning away from Archer, who now looks utterly defeated.
We start moving, quickly and quietly, back into the dark embrace of the jungle. Behind us, the groans and shuffling footsteps of the undead grow louder.
The Smiling Man's screams are drowned out by the growls and snarls of his own creation. I don't look back.
—
The return to Tuyết's village is a silent procession, each step heavy with the weight of what we've endured. The villagers' eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and hope, follow us as we make our way through the narrow dirt paths that criss-cross the rice fields, now shrouded in the soft light of dawn.
The sight of Lực, safe in Tuyết's arms, sparks a collective sigh of relief that ripples through the crowd. His mom rushes forward, tears streaming down her face, as she takes him into her arms. The reunion is a moment of pure, unadulterated joy amidst the pain and loss.
The villagers' initial wariness of us, the armed strangers, fades as they welcome you as heroes.
After washing away the grime and the vestiges of death that clung to our skin, the villagers invite us to join them for a communal meal. It's a somber affair. There's an undercurrent of grief for those lost and a quiet gratitude for the lives spared.
During the meal, Tuyết's hand finds mine beneath the rough-hewn table. Her fingers interlace with mine, squeezing tight. It’s a cathartic gesture that binds us closer than any words could.
We quietly excuse ourselves from the communal table, slipping away into the cool evening. I leave first, followed by Tuyet, as to not draw any unwanted attention.
Tuyết leads me to a small, secluded hut on the edge of the village. The air between us is thick with unspoken emotions.
As we step inside the dimly lit interior, the door closing behind us with a soft click, the silence becomes almost palpable. We stand there, less than a meter apart, neither of us finding the words to breach the distance between us. My heart races, pounding against my ribs with the same ferocity it did when we were surrounded by the undead. Except now there's no gunfire, no screams, just the quiet night that envelopes the both of us. I start whistling a tune to help ease my nerves.
Tuyết breaks the silence, a slight smile curving her lips. "That’s the same tune you were whistling when we were in the tunnels…”
I chuckle, a bit embarrassed. "Yeah, sorry, it's a nervous tick, I guess. Keeps my mind focused."
"It sounds nice," she says, her gaze holding mine. "What's the song called?"
"'Flowers in Your Hair,'" I reply. "I heard it at a dance I attended a while back. Never knew the band, but the song stuck with me."
Tuyết's laughter, light and unexpected, fills the space between us, cutting through the tension. "You dance?" she teases, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "I never took you for a dancer."
I can't help but smile, feeling a warmth that has little to do with the humid air of the hut. "A little," I admit. "I'm no Lê Ngọc Cẩn, but I've been known to hold my own on the dance floor."
Tuyet nervously twists one of her braided pigtails around her finger, an action that betrays her uncertainty. "Could you... maybe show me a few steps?”
The request takes me by surprise, but the earnestness in her eyes makes it impossible to refuse. "Sure," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "It's easy, really."
Standing up, I extend my hand towards her, an invitation. “May I have this dance?”
Tuyết smiles, gingerly placing her hand in mine, her touch light as a feather. I guide her into my arms, conscious of the space between us, of her warmth and the faint scent of jasmine that seems to cling to her skin.
With a gentle pressure on her back, I lead her into the first step, the movement tentative at first. "Just follow my lead," I murmur, our steps slowly finding a rhythm of their own. There's no music, just the sound of our footsteps on the wooden floor and the distant hum of the village at night.
As we move together in the dim oil lamplight of the hut, the world outside fades away. For a moment, it's just the two of us, lost in a dance of our own making. My gaze drops to meet hers, and I find myself truly seeing her for the first time since we met.
I’m struck by her beauty. The faint glow of the lantern illuminates her features, casting a soft light that plays across her face, highlighting her fair complexion, her freckled cheek, and the gentle curve of her lips. Her dark eyes, framed by long, thick lashes, hold mine with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. I can feel the warmth of her breath against my skin, her heart beating in sync with mine.
As we sway to the rhythm of our own hearts, I find myself leaning in. Her eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn't pull away, instead, she meets me halfway, her lips pressing gently against mine.
Without a word, we begin to strip away the layers of clothing that separate us, eager to feel skin against skin. It's a slow, almost reverent process, each movement deliberate as we take in every centimeter of each other's exposed bodies.
We stumble back towards the small cot in the corner, our bodies entwined as we lose ourselves in each other. Neither of us really knows what we’re doing. We just do what feels right.
We both know that what we're doing is reckless. But in the moment, we don't really care. Our world is literally on fire, and neither of us knows if we'll live to see tomorrow. What do we have to lose?
—
As the first rays of dawn seep through the curtains, casting a soft glow within the hut, I stir gently. Tuyet, peacefully asleep in my arms, breathes softly. I take a moment to watch her sleep, memorizing the details, knowing that it may be the last time I see them.
Carefully, I extricate myself from her embrace, ensuring not to disturb her rest. She murmurs something in her sleep, a soft smile on her lips. I cover her with a thin blanket, tucking it around her shoulders. I silently dress and step outside.
Rejoining Lâm and Hùng in their hut, they give me a somber smile. They're already up, quietly packing their own gear, each movement heavy with the unspoken weight of what's to come. We work in silence, the kind that's loud with all the things better left unsaid.
Once I'm done packing, I do a final check, ensuring everything is secured. I pull out the black and white family photo I've kept tucked away.
While looking at it, an idea strikes me, a gesture that feels like necessary for a proper goodbye. Carefully, I tear myself out of the photo, the rip sound echoing louder in the morning stillness than I expected.
As I'm folding the larger piece of photo to tuck into my pocket, I hear a stirring at the doorway. Turning, I see Tuyết, breathless as if she's been sprinting. Relief floods her features when she sees me. "Thanh! I was afraid I'd just missed you," she says.
I step towards her, the torn photo of myself in my hand. "I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye," I tell her.
As I extend the torn photo towards Tuyết, she hesitates for a moment before reaching into her pocket. She pulls out a similarly torn photo, this one of herself, seemingly torn from a larger picture as well.
Our fingers touch briefly as we exchange our photos. It's a bittersweet moment, filled with the unspoken promises and regrets of what might have been.
As I glance back at Lâm and Hùng. "Give us a moment?" I ask, my voice softer than usual. They nod in understanding.
Hùng, with a playful grin, says, “Try to send him back to us in one piece.”
“Yeah, we've grown quite fond of him,” Lam jokes. “Despite how damn ugly he is.”
Tuyet chuckles, a spark of light in her eyes. "I'll do my best, but I'm not making any promises."
“Take care, you two. Never change who you are,” she says, giving each of them a hug.
“You too, sister,” Hung replies.
Lâm places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "Take as much time as you need."
"Thanks, brother," I say.
As Tuyết and I stand there, holding each other in the quiet dawn, she untangles her checkered black and white scarf from around her neck and drapes it over mine. The fabric feels soft against my skin, carrying the warmth of her body. She smiles up at me.
"If anyone asks," she starts, tying the scarf into a knot. Her smile widens playfully. "You can tell them you took it off an elusive Viet Cong sniper you killed with your bare hands."
I laugh, the sound more heartbroken than I intended.
Feeling the need to reciprocate, my hand instinctively goes to the unit badge sewn onto my uniform. With careful movements, I use my knife to cut the threads that bind the badge to the fabric, making sure not to tear the material.
Once the badge is free, I hold it out to Tuyet. "And you can tell everyone you shot an elite Ranger at 1,000 meters."
Tuyết stares at the badge in her hands, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. I step closer, wrapping my arms around her in a tight embrace.
"I'll find you," I whisper into her ear, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. "When this godforsaken war is over, I'll come back for you."
She pulls back slightly, looking up at me as if to gauge my sincerity. With a shaky breath, she manages a smile.
"Don't keep me waiting too long," she says, her voice strong despite the tears that finally spill over.
I lean in, pressing my lips to hers in a kiss that feels like both a beginning and an end. Time seems to stand still at that moment. The intensity of our emotions makes it feel like an eternity, yet when we finally part, it feels as though no time has passed at all, leaving us yearning for more.
The sound of distant artillery, a grim reminder of the reality we're forced to return to, breaks the spell. With one last look at Tuyet, I turn to join Lâm and Hùng, each step away from her heavier than the last.
—
Leaving Tuyết and the village behind, we navigate the dense jungle, heading south towards our headquarters. The terrain is unforgiving, a tangled maze of vegetation that seems intent on impeding our progress.
Several hours into our journey, the dense jungle gives way to a narrow clearing. The sound of running water reaches our ears, a signal that we're close to one of the many rivers that criss-cross this region. Cautiously, we approach the riverbank.
As we scout the area for enemy activity, the distant hum of a boat engine catches our attention. With weapons raised and hearts racing, we prepare for whatever comes around the river bend.
Hiding among the foliage, we watch as a patrol boat rounds a bend in the river, its camouflage paint blending with the surroundings.
To our relief and surprise, we see the hull painted with the familiar colors and insignia of the South Vietnamese Navy.
As the boat slows, approaching cautiously, we signal to the crew, identifying ourselves as friendly. The sailors aboard the patrol boat are initially wary.
After a brief but tense exchange of identification and purpose, their wariness turns to welcome. We're pulled aboard the vessel with efficient, helping hands.
X
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Part 1
Part 2
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Part 6
Without even thinking, I launch myself towards the grenade, every muscle tensed for the desperate attempt to save Tuyet and the boy Luc.
But before my fingers can grasp its cold metal, Văn surges past, shoving me out of the way.
"Get down!" he bellows. In one fluid motion, he grabs the grenade, intent on hurling it back towards our attackers.
But he’s not fast enough. The grenade detonates in his hand. The explosion is deafening, a blast of heat and shrapnel that tears through the air. Văn is thrown backward, his body a ragdoll caught in the blast's merciless embrace.
The shockwave reverberates through my bones, my ears ringing, my vision blurred. When the dust settles, the air is filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood.
My heart hammers in my chest as I crawl over to where Văn lies prone on the floor.
“Van!” I cry out.
At first glance, Văn seems miraculously intact, almost sleeping. But the illusion shatters as I turn him over. His right forearm is gone, severed by the blast. Shrapnel wounds pepper his body. Half his face is missing, obliterated in an instant.
His eyes flutter open, a glimmer of consciousness piercing through the haze of pain.
His gaze falls on the bloody stump where his right arm once was. He attempts a weak, lopsided smile.
"At least... it wasn't my left arm…" he rasps, his voice a barely audible whisper. He lifts his left hand, the one bearing his wedding ring.
His breaths come shallow and ragged, each one a battle. I lean in closer, my hand finding his.
Tuyết crawls over to my side. Together, we attempt to administer first aid, but Van is too far gone.
Tears blur my vision as I grip Văn's remaining hand, my voice breaking. "Why? Why would you do something so fucking stupid?"
He coughs, a faint chuckle escaping his lips despite the agony he must be in. "Because... you can't throw for shit," he manages to say.
His fingers, still warm, squeeze mine."Tell... tell Hạnh..." he starts. But the words trail off, unfinished, as the light in his eyes dims. A final, labored exhale escapes his lips, and then nothing.
I gently remove Văn's dog tags, the metal cool and heavy in my hand. My fingers find the wedding ring on his left hand, slipping it off with a reverence that feels like a prayer. In his pockets, I discover a worn letter, the edges frayed from being read and folded countless times. Beside it, is a photo of Văn, his wife Lan, and their little daughter Hạnh, smiling, a moment of happiness frozen in time.
The whizz of a bullet, cutting through the air mere centimeters from my head, jolts me back to the present.
Scanning the room for any advantage, my gaze falls on a control panel mounted on the wall, its interface glowing dimly. A biometric scanner sits beside it.
I glance at the lifeless body of the scientist, an idea sparking amidst the despair. I drag his corpse closer, the blood from his wounds leaving a dark trail on the tiled floor. "Tuyết," I call over the din of gunfire, "I need his hand."
Her eyes wide with horror before nodding grimly. Without a word, she pulls out her machete, its blade gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. With a swift motion, she hacks at the scientist's hand, the sound of bone and sinew giving way under the blade echoing sickeningly.
"Cover me!" I shout, snatching up the severed hand and making a mad dash for the control panel. Bullets fly past, the air alive with the deadly song of gunfire. I can feel the heat of the shots as they slice through the space where I was just moments before.
Halfway to the panel, a bullet tears through my shoulder, the impact knocking me off balance. I stagger, nearly dropping the gruesome key to our escape. The pain is immediate and searing, a hot iron pressed into my flesh.
“Đụ mẹ nó!” (Motherfucker!) I curse, pushing through it.
Reaching the panel, I press the dead scientist's hand against the biometric scanner. The machine whirs, processing the grisly input. After a moment that stretches into eternity, the scanner beeps in affirmation, the light turning green.
My eyes frantically search the control panel's interface. Among the myriad buttons and switches, one stands out, marked with a series of numbers that correspond to the mutant elephant's enclosure. Without hesitation, I press it.
The heavy steel doors to the elephant's enclosure groan as they begin to slide open, the sound a harbinger of the chaos to come. The soldiers, momentarily distracted by this new development, shift their focus toward the source of the noise as they try to process the unfolding scene.
From the darkness of the enclosure, the mutated elephant emerges. The tumors and growths that mar its skin seem to pulse with a malevolent energy, and its tentacle-like limb whips through the air with a mind of its own.
As the creature steps into the light, a palpable sense of dread fills the room. The soldiers, trained to face human enemies, find themselves frozen in terror at the sight of this monstrosity. Their hesitation costs them dearly.
With a trumpeting roar that shakes the very foundations of the laboratory, the creature charges. Its massive body moves with a terrifying speed. The soldiers open fire, but their bullets seem to do little more than enrage the beast further.
The elephant's first victim is caught squarely by the charging monster, his body crushed beneath its immense weight with a sickening crunch. The creature's tentacle limb lashes out, wrapping around another soldier and tossing him aside like a toy. His screams are cut short as he collides with the wall, his body breaking upon impact.
Its trunk, split and lined with teeth, snaps up a third man, lifting him into the air before biting down. The sound of breaking bones and tearing flesh is almost drowned out by the chaos of the room.
"Move! Move!" I yell, firing a burst of covering fire.
We make our break for the service tunnel, elephant’s rampage providing the distraction we desperately need.
Tuyết grabs Luc, and we make a break for it, dodging between lab benches and equipment. Her movements are shadowed by Hùng and Lam, who fire off a suppressing volley towards the soldiers trying to regroup.
Then, a soldier, torn in half but horrifically alive, is hurled into our path, his eyes wide with shock and agony. Without pausing, I sidestep the dying man.
We dart into a narrow hallway, the sounds of its rampage a constant threat at our backs.
As we spill into the service tunnel, the chaos of the lab behind us, Hung catches sight of my shoulder. “Fuck, Thành, you're hit!" he exclaims, a note of panic in his voice.
I glance down, almost surprised to see blood soaking through my shirt, the fabric clinging to my skin. The pain, masked by adrenaline until now, flares into sharp focus, a white-hot lance through my shoulder. "I'm fine," I lie, gritting my teeth against the pain.
Tuyết, catching the grimace of pain that I can't quite hide, orders, "Sit, now!" Despite my instinct to keep moving, I find myself obeying, slumping against the cold wall.
Hung rummages through his pack, producing a first aid kit. Its contents are spilled out in a practiced motion, gauze, bandages, and small vials of morphine coming to rest on the concrete floor beside me.
Lâm kneels beside me, his fingers probing the wound with a gentle precision. "Bullet's still in there," he mutters, more to himself than to me.
Hùng and Tuyết work in tandem, cleaning the wound. The sting of antiseptic bites into my flesh, drawing a hiss of pain through clenched teeth. Tuyết's hands are steady as she bandages the wound.
As the adrenaline begins to ebb, the true extent of the pain crashes into me like a tidal wave. It's a searing, pulsating agony that radiates from my shoulder, each heartbeat a reminder of the injury.
I can't help but let out a muffled curse, my grip on the cold floor of the tunnel tightening.
"Sorry," Tuyết murmurs. "Almost done here."
"I need morphine," I demand, the words barely a growl through gritted teeth. My tolerance for pain has its limits, and I'm rapidly approaching them.
"Alright, but just a little bit," Lam says, prepping the syringe. "Don't need you passing out on us."
With a quick jab, he administers the shot, the morphine entering my system. The relief is almost immediate, a warm wave that dulls the pain to a manageable throb.
"Alright, can you stand?" Tuyết asks.
With a grunt, I push myself up, the tunnel swaying slightly around me. "Yeah, let's get the fuck out of here," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
The cold hits us like a wall, the temperature plummeting as we delve deeper into the bowels of the cold storage facility. Our breaths fog in the frigid air, ghostly puffs that fade into the expanse ahead. The facility is a cavernous space, shelves stacked to the ceiling with ominous canisters, each one marked with warnings of biological hazards.
As we move cautiously through the aisles, the sounds of frantic activity reach us. Soldiers and lab personnel scurry about, loading the canisters onto heavy-duty trucks parked at loading bays. The canisters are stenciled with the words: ‘Agent Indigo.’
At the end of one aisle, a maintenance ladder is bolted to the wall, leading up to a narrow catwalk that runs the length of the storage area, crisscrossing overhead.
We make a beeline for that ladder, moving as quietly as a group of heavily armed, slightly banged-up commandos possibly can. It's like some twisted game of hide and seek, with stakes much higher than any of us would like.
Hùng scales the ladder first. At the top, he pauses, scanning the expanse of the cold storage facility from his elevated vantage point.
He gestures for us to follow. Tuyết hoists Lực up to Hùng, who carefully lifts the boy onto the catwalk. One by one, we follow.
As we navigate the precarious catwalks above, the cold air bites at our exposed skin. The metal underfoot groans with every step. From this vantage point, we have a clear view of the facility's interior workings, a hive of activity.
Below us, snippets of conversation that float up are tense, filled with urgency.
"Dr. Archer, the President wants Grim Harvest and Agent Indigo buried," a voice asserts, the tone icy. "No evidence. No loose ends.”
"To hell with Nixon," another voice, who I assume Dr. Archer’s, growls. "The only thing that matters now is securing Subject Lyra.”
Peering over the edge, I catch sight of a group of soldiers maneuvering a peculiar sight through the aisles below—what looks like a metal coffin, its surface sleek and unyielding, rigged with an array of complex machinery that hums with a life of its own.
Through a small, reinforced view window on top of the coffin, a deathly pale young woman is visible. She lies still, so still you'd think she was dead if not for the faint mist that clouds the glass with each shallow breath she takes. Her features are serene, almost angelic, but there's something unsettling about the way she's encased, like a specimen preserved for study rather than rest.
As the soldiers fumble with the coffin, their movements clumsy in their haste, Dr. Archer’s voice cuts through the chaos, like a knife slicing through the buzz of activity.
"Careful with her! She's more valuable than all of you put together."
I stick my head out a bit more, my grip on the cold metal of the catwalk tightening as my eyes find the source of the commanding voice. It’s an older man, his attire more civilian than military. A chill down my spine as I see the deep, jagged scars etched into his face, stretching his mouth into a permanent smile. This Dr. Archer is the Smiling Man Luc mentioned.
The Smiling Man approaches the metallic coffin. He places a hand gently on the glass, leaning in close as if sharing a secret with the still form inside.
"Don't worry, Lyra," he murmurs, his voice barely audible above the din. "We'll bring you back. We're so close now."
We don’t waste any more time gawking as we move on.
Suddenly, a sharp, piercing alarm cuts through the facility, a harsh wail that echoes off the metal and concrete.
Over the loudspeaker, a voice, cool and detached, announces, "Attention all personnel: intruders have been detected within the premises. They are to be considered armed and dangerous. Initiate lockdown protocol immediately."
It's like watching ants when you poke their hill. Soldiers and lab workers alike snap to attention, their movements becoming more frenetic. Doors slam shut, heavy metallic thuds that echo ominously through the vast space, while soldiers scramble to barricade exits, their rifles at the ready.
Our escape route, a mere whisper of hope moments ago, seems to be slipping away with each clanging echo of steel on steel.
"Shit," I hiss under my breath, the word a cloud of vapor in the cold. We're boxed in, the catwalk offering a bird's-eye view of a trap snapping shut.
But then, eyes darting around in desperation, I spot it—our slim chance. Far across the opposite end, a maintenance door. It's barely visible, tucked away like a secret, but it’s a shot. But getting there would be like crossing no-man's land in broad daylight. We need a distraction, something big, chaotic enough to turn every head away from that door.
My gaze snags on a monstrosity of machinery, pipes, and tanks, all connected in a way that screams 'important'. And nestled among them, a large rack filled with canisters of Agent Indigo.
I catch Hùng's eye, gesturing subtly to the machinery with a tilt of my head. He nods, understanding flashing in his gaze.
With a swift, silent command, I signal Tuyết and Lâm to keep low and move Luc to a safer position.
Hùng, meanwhile, carefully shoulders his RPG. The weapon seems almost comically large in the cramped space of the catwalk. He waits for my signal, his eyes locked on mine, a silent question hanging between us. Are we really doing this?
I give a curt nod, the decision made. There's no going back now.
Hùng aims the RPG at the heart of the Agent Indigo storage system. The room below us is a beehive of activity, oblivious to the storm about to break over them.
The RPG's roar is deafening, a sound that ricochets off the walls with physical force. Time seems to slow as the rocket arcs through the air like a deadly comet.
The impact is like the hand of God coming down. The explosion is a hellish bloom of fire and shrapnel, tearing through the machinery and igniting the Agent Indigo.
The resulting inferno is a thing of terrible beauty, a whirlwind of blue flames that dance with a life of their own.
The explosion sets off a chain reaction that rips through the facility like a wrathful storm. The base's personnel, caught in the middle of their frantic preparations, don't stand a chance. The blue flames spread with a hungry intensity, engulfing everything in their path. It's like watching hell expand, the fire consuming flesh and metal alike without distinction or mercy.
With the facility descending into pandemonium, the screams of the trapped and burning are a haunting chorus that I know will haunt my dreams. But worse than the screams are the groans—low, guttural sounds that begin to rise above the crackle of flames. The dead, or whatever's left of them in this twisted place, are waking up.
As the undead draw closer, we make a desperate dash up a set of stairs leading to the maintenance door, our only chance of escape. Reaching the door, I see it’s locked, the biometric pad blinking mockingly in the dim light.
I retrieve the severed hand from my pack. Pressing the grotesque key against the pad, yielding nothing but a blinking red light in refusal. "Fuck!" I curse.
"I think… the hand's too cold. The scanner can't read it," Tuyết observes, her voice strained.
In a frenzied attempt to warm the severed hand, I rub my hands over its cold, lifeless flesh. My breath clouds in the frigid air as I blow warm air onto the hand, desperately hoping to trick the scanner into recognizing it.
But it's not enough. The scanner remains unresponsive.
Lâm, thinking quickly, grabs the hand. “Let me try something.” He tucks it under his arm, trying to transfer his body heat to the lifeless flesh.
"Need some help here!" Hung shouts, his rifle's muzzle flashing as he fires into the advancing horror.
I whirl around just in time to see two smoldering undead soldiers, their uniforms charred and their flesh seething with blue flames, charging up the stairs towards us.
I raise my rifle, taking aim at the closest one. The bullets tear through the approaching undead, stopping it in its tracks.
Before I can fully register the threat, the second undead soldier closes the gap, its burned body pressed against me, its jaw snapping at my face. The stench of charred flesh and death is overwhelming, nearly choking me. In a panic-driven reflex, I fumble for the Makarov at my side, yanking it free from its holster.
With the creature's grotesque face looming over mine, I jam the muzzle of the pistol under its jaw and squeeze the trigger. The shot reverberates sharply in the confined space. The creature's head snaps back, its body going limp before collapsing in a heap at my feet.
But there's no time to catch my breath. The sounds of more approaching undead grow louder.
"Hurry up!" I shout back.
“Here goes nothing!” Lam says, pressing the hand against the scanner again. This time, after a tense moment, the light blinks green, and with a heavy metallic click, the door unlocks.
Tuyết and Luc rush through first. Lâm and Hùng follow.
As I stand at the threshold, my gaze catches the sight of at least half a dozen undead shambling up the bottom of the staircase.
I pull a grenade from my belt, the pin between my fingers. With a last glance at the horror we're fleeing, I toss it down the staircase, the small cylinder of death tumbling end over end towards the advancing undead.
I don't wait to see the explosion. The moment the grenade leaves my hand, I turn and slam the door shut. The thud of the door is followed by the muffled boom of the grenade, the shockwave reverberating through the door and into my bones.
I take a deep breath, allowing myself a moment to steady my racing heart. Then, with a nod to my team, we move on.
We follow a corridor lit only by emergency lights that leads us to the loading bay, a large, open space filled with crates and vehicles. The far end of the bay opens up to a pair of heavy metal doors, standing ajar, revealing the dark outline of a courtyard beyond. It’s the exit that promises freedom from this nightmarish ordeal.
But our relief is short-lived. As we draw nearer, the unmistakable sound of helicopter rotors stops us in our tracks. We press ourselves against the cold walls. I motion to keep low.
Peering around the corner, the sight that greets us tightens the knot of dread in my stomach. The Smiling Man, flanked by a squad of heavily armed soldiers, stands at the threshold of our only way out. They are preparing the coffin-like container for transport.
His voice cuts through the air, sharp and commanding. "We need to get Lyra to the Chinook, now. This place is lost."
One of the soldiers, burdened with heavy equipment, turns to him. "Sir, there's not going to be room for you," he says, his voice laced with an urgency that borders on panic.
Archer's reaction is chilling in its indifference. "I don't care," he snaps, his gaze never leaving the coffin. "As long as she makes it, nothing else matters."
As the group wheels the coffin towards the awaiting Chinook in the courtyard, the sound of its rotors beating against the air grows louder. The soldiers begin to close the heavy steel doors behind them, threatening to seal us inside with the nightmare we've unleashed.
Realizing time is slipping through our fingers like sand, I signal to my team.
Without hesitation, we break cover, rushing towards the doors with the desperation of the damned. Our footsteps echo loudly, a drumbeat to our frantic sprint.
The soldiers, caught by surprise, react with trained efficiency, turning their weapons towards us. Bullets whiz past, close enough to singe the air.
Tuyết, still protecting Luc, falls behind me, her movements hampered by the need to shield him. Lâm and Hùng flank her, providing cover fire.
As we close the distance, the doors begin to inch shut, the finality of it like a death knell. I surge forward, throwing caution to the wind, firing my AK-47 in controlled bursts.
A bullet grazes my thigh, a line of fire that almost buckles my knees. I grit my teeth against the pain, pushing through it.
But it's too late. With a resounding clang, the doors slam shut.
Kicking at the doors proves futile; the heavy steel doesn't even budge under the assault of our boots and shoulders. The sounds of the undead grow closer, a cacophony of groans and dragging feet encroaching from three directions.
I reach into my pack, my fingers finding the cold, malleable block of Semtex. Lâm joins me as we work to set the charges, a race against the relentless advance of the undead. The corridors echo with their hungry moans, a chilling soundtrack to our desperate efforts.
Lâm presses the plastic explosive along the doors' seams. I wire the charges, connecting them to a detonator. Our audience, the undead, draws ever closer, their disjointed limbs casting long, grotesque shadows that stretch towards us.
Tuyết and Hùng stand ready, their weapons aimed at the encroaching horde. Luc clings to Tuyết, his small body pressed against hers.
“Ready,” I say, connecting the last wire.
Finding cover behind a nearby pillar, we brace for the explosion. With a deep breath, I press the detonator. The blast is a thunderclap, the sound rolling over us.
Dust and debris fill the air, a blinding, choking cloud. As it clears, we see the doors, now twisted pieces of metal, blown clear off their hinges.
We surge through the gaping maw into the open, the night air cool against our sweat-drenched faces. The eviscerated bodies of soldiers, caught in the blast, are strewn about.
Among the carnage, a gravely injured soldier, barely more than a boy, reaches tremblingly for his dropped weapon. Our eyes meet, a momentary connection. I raise my rifle and fire, the shot swift and merciful. The soldier slumps, his struggle ending in a silent exhale.
The courtyard, bathed in the harsh light of the Chinook's spotlights, feels like a stage set for our final act.
The Chinook, its twin rotors whipping the air into a frenzy, begins to lift off, carrying its precious cargo away from the madness below.
I bark a command to Hùng, "Take it down!"
Hùng quickly loads a fresh rocket into the launcher. But just as he aligns his sight with the fleeing helicopter, a weak voice pierces the din. "Please, don't! I beg you…"
It's Dr. Archer, the Smiling Man, emerging from beneath a pile of rubble, his body a map of wounds and his face smeared with blood.
I ignore Archer's pleas, turning my gaze back to Hùng. "Do it," I say, my voice steady.
But then he speaks again, his voice cracking with emotion. "My daughter... she's on board. Please, don't do this."
The revelation stirs a turmoil within me, a storm of conflicting emotions.
"Hold your fire!" I shout, my voice cutting through the chaos. Hùng wavers, the launcher still aimed skyward, a look of confusion on his face.
I approach Archer, the barrel of my rifle pressing coldly against his forehead. His eyes, bloodshot and desperate, lock onto mine. "My daughter, Lyra... was a frontline nurse. She was killed at Khe Sanh," he gasps, his voice a shattered whisper. "This... Agent Indigo... was my attempt to bring her back."
"You used it on innocent civilians," I snap back, the weight of what we've witnessed, the horrors unleashed by his obsession, fueling my anger.
Archer's gaze falters, his voice a murmur of broken justifications. "I had to weaponize it... it was the only way they would fund my research. It was for her... all for her."
The conflict rages within me, a storm of empathy and revulsion.
Hung's voice slices through the tension, urgent and clear. "Now or never, Thành!"
Archer, his voice breaking with desperation, pleads, "Please, do what you want with me, but let Lyra go. She's innocent in all of this."
The conflict within me rages, Archer's plea echoing in my ears. I look to Hung, seeing the readiness in his eyes, the launcher still aimed at the sky where the Chinook hovers, a shrinking silhouette against the night.
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon my shoulders. Every fiber of my being screams for justice, for retribution for the horrors we've witnessed, for the lives lost and irrevocably altered by Archer's madness.
But then I think of Lyra, another victim out of countless victims of this senseless war.
"Stand down, Hùng," I order, my voice steady but laden with an unseen weight.
Hung hesitates, his gaze flicking between me and the Chinook, then slowly lowers the RPG.
Archer slumps, relief and resignation mingling in his expression. "Thank you," he whispers, the fight draining out of him.
I keep my rifle trained on him. "You still need to reap what you sewed…" I tell him, my voice cold and devoid of sympathy.
“Move out!” I command, turning away from Archer, who now looks utterly defeated.
We start moving, quickly and quietly, back into the dark embrace of the jungle. Behind us, the groans and shuffling footsteps of the undead grow louder.
The Smiling Man's screams are drowned out by the growls and snarls of his own creation. I don't look back.
—
The return to Tuyết's village is a silent procession, each step heavy with the weight of what we've endured. The villagers' eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and hope, follow us as we make our way through the narrow dirt paths that criss-cross the rice fields, now shrouded in the soft light of dawn.
The sight of Lực, safe in Tuyết's arms, sparks a collective sigh of relief that ripples through the crowd. His mom rushes forward, tears streaming down her face, as she takes him into her arms. The reunion is a moment of pure, unadulterated joy amidst the pain and loss.
The villagers' initial wariness of us, the armed strangers, fades as they welcome you as heroes.
After washing away the grime and the vestiges of death that clung to our skin, the villagers invite us to join them for a communal meal. It's a somber affair. There's an undercurrent of grief for those lost and a quiet gratitude for the lives spared.
During the meal, Tuyết's hand finds mine beneath the rough-hewn table. Her fingers interlace with mine, squeezing tight. It’s a cathartic gesture that binds us closer than any words could.
We quietly excuse ourselves from the communal table, slipping away into the cool evening. I leave first, followed by Tuyet, as to not draw any unwanted attention.
Tuyết leads me to a small, secluded hut on the edge of the village. The air between us is thick with unspoken emotions.
As we step inside the dimly lit interior, the door closing behind us with a soft click, the silence becomes almost palpable. We sit there, less than a meter apart, neither of us finding the words to breach the distance between us. My heart races, pounding against my ribs with the same ferocity it did when we were surrounded by the undead. Except now there's no gunfire, no screams, just the quiet night that envelopes the both of us. I start whistling a tune to help ease my nerves.
Tuyết breaks the silence, a slight smile curving her lips. "That’s the same tune you were whistling when we were in the tunnels…”
I chuckle, a bit embarrassed. "Yeah, sorry, it's a nervous tick, I guess. Keeps my mind focused."
"It sounds nice," she says, her gaze holding mine. "What's the song called?"
"'Flowers in Your Hair,'" I reply. "I heard it at a dance I attended a while back. Never knew the band, but the song stuck with me."
Tuyết's laughter, light and unexpected, fills the space between us, cutting through the tension. "You dance?" she teases, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "I never took you for a dancer."
I can't help but smile, feeling a warmth that has little to do with the humid air of the hut. "A little," I admit. "I'm no Lê Ngọc Cẩn, but I've been known to hold my own on the dance floor."
Tuyet nervously twists one of her braided pigtails around her finger, an action that betrays her uncertainty. "Could you... maybe show me a few steps?”
The request takes me by surprise, but the earnestness in her eyes makes it impossible to refuse. "Sure," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "It's easy, really."
Standing up, I extend my hand towards her, an invitation. “May I have this dance?”
Tuyết smiles, gingerly placing her hand in mine, her touch light as a feather. I guide her into my arms, conscious of the space between us, of her warmth and the faint scent of jasmine that seems to cling to her skin.
With a gentle pressure on her back, I lead her into the first step, the movement tentative at first. "Just follow my lead," I murmur, our steps slowly finding a rhythm of their own. There's no music, just the sound of our footsteps on the wooden floor and the distant hum of the village at night.
As we move together in the dim oil lamplight of the hut, the world outside fades away. For a moment, it's just the two of us, lost in a dance of our own making. My gaze drops to meet hers, and I find myself truly seeing her for the first time since we met.
I’m struck by her beauty. The faint glow of the lantern illuminates her features, casting a soft light that plays across her face, highlighting her fair complexion, her freckled cheek, and the gentle curve of her lips. Her dark eyes, framed by long, thick lashes, hold mine with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. I can feel the warmth of her breath against my skin, her heart beating in sync with mine.
As we sway to the rhythm of our own hearts, I find myself leaning in. Her eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn't pull away, instead, she meets me halfway, her lips pressing gently against mine.
Without a word, we begin to strip away the layers of clothing that separate us, eager to feel skin against skin. It's a slow, almost reverent process, each movement deliberate as we take in every centimeter of each other's exposed bodies.
We stumble back towards the small cot in the corner, our bodies entwined as we lose ourselves in each other. Neither of us really knows what we’re doing. We just do what feels right.
We move as if guided by some primal instinct, our actions born out of a mutual desire to feel something, anything, beyond the fear and pain that have consumed us for so long.
—
As the first rays of dawn seep through the curtains, casting a soft glow within the hut, I stir gently. Tuyet, peacefully asleep in my arms, breathes softly. I take a moment to watch her sleep, memorizing the details, knowing that it may be the last time I see them.
Carefully, I extricate myself from her embrace, ensuring not to disturb her rest. She murmurs something in her sleep, a soft smile on her lips. I cover her with a thin blanket, tucking it around her shoulders. I silently dress and step outside.
Rejoining Lâm and Hùng in their hut, they give me a somber smile. They're already up, quietly packing their own gear, each movement heavy with the unspoken weight of what's to come. We work in silence, the kind that's loud with all the things better left unsaid.
Once I'm done packing, I do a final check, ensuring everything is secured. I pull out the black and white family photo I've kept tucked away.
While looking at it, an idea strikes me, a gesture that feels like necessary for a proper goodbye. Carefully, I tear myself out of the photo, the rip sound echoing louder in the morning stillness than I expected.
As I'm folding the larger piece of photo to tuck into my pocket, I hear a stirring at the doorway. Turning, I see Tuyết, breathless as if she's been sprinting. Relief floods her features when she sees me. "Thanh! I was afraid I'd just missed you," she says.
I step towards her, the torn photo of myself in my hand. "I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye," I tell her.
As I extend the torn photo towards Tuyết, she hesitates for a moment before reaching into her pocket. She pulls out a similarly torn photo, this one of herself, seemingly torn from a larger picture as well.
Our fingers touch briefly as we exchange our photos. It's a bittersweet moment, filled with the unspoken promises and regrets of what might have been.
As I glance back at Lâm and Hùng. "Give us a moment?" I ask, my voice softer than usual. They nod in understanding.
Hùng, with a playful grin, says, “Try to send him back to us in one piece.”
“Yeah, we've grown quite fond of him,” Lam jokes. “Despite how damn ugly he is.”
Tuyet chuckles, a spark of light in her eyes. "I'll do my best, but I'm not making any promises."
“Take care, you two. Never change who you are,” she says, giving each of them a hug.
“You too, sister,” Hung replies.
Lâm places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "Take as much time as you need."
"Thanks, brother," I say.
As Tuyết and I stand there, holding each other in the quiet dawn, she untangles her checkered black and white scarf from around her neck and drapes it over mine. The fabric feels soft against my skin, carrying the warmth of her body. She smiles up at me.
"If anyone asks," she starts, tying the scarf into a knot. Her smile widens playfully. "You can tell them you took it off an elusive Viet Cong sniper you killed with your bare hands."
I laugh, the sound more heartbroken than I intended.
Feeling the need to reciprocate, my hand instinctively goes to the unit badge sewn onto my uniform. With careful movements, I use my knife to cut the threads that bind the badge to the fabric, making sure not to tear the material.
Once the badge is free, I hold it out to Tuyet. "And you can tell everyone you shot an elite Ranger at 1,000 meters."
Tuyết stares at the badge in her hands, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. I step closer, wrapping my arms around her in a tight embrace.
"I'll find you," I whisper into her ear, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. "When this godforsaken war is over, I'll come back for you."
She pulls back slightly, looking up at me as if to gauge my sincerity. With a shaky breath, she manages a smile.
"Don't keep me waiting too long," she says, her voice strong despite the tears that finally spill over.
I lean in, pressing my lips to hers in a kiss that feels like both a beginning and an end. Time seems to stand still at that moment. The intensity of our emotions makes it feel like an eternity, yet when we finally part, it feels as though no time has passed at all, leaving us yearning for more.
The sound of distant artillery, a grim reminder of the reality we're forced to return to, breaks the spell. With one last look at Tuyet, I turn to join Lâm and Hùng, each step away from her heavier than the last.
—
Leaving Tuyết and the village behind, we navigate the dense jungle, heading south towards our headquarters. The terrain is unforgiving, a tangled maze of vegetation that seems intent on impeding our progress.
Several hours into our journey, the dense jungle gives way to a narrow clearing. The sound of running water reaches our ears, a signal that we're close to one of the many rivers that criss-cross this region. Cautiously, we approach the riverbank.
As we scout the area for enemy activity, the distant hum of a boat engine catches our attention. With weapons raised and hearts racing, we prepare for whatever comes around the river bend.
Hiding among the foliage, we watch as a patrol boat rounds a bend in the river, its camouflage paint blending with the surroundings.
To our relief and surprise, we see the hull painted with the familiar colors and insignia of the South Vietnamese Navy.
As the boat slows, approaching cautiously, we signal to the crew, identifying ourselves as friendly. The sailors aboard the patrol boat are initially wary.
After a brief but tense exchange of identification and purpose, their wariness turns to welcome. We're pulled aboard the vessel with efficient, helping hands.
Part 8