I Have Returned, but I Cannot Lay down My Gun

Chapter 663

"<Come out, brat! If you come out now, I’ll settle for just a few missing limbs!>"

Boom!

With a harsh noise, the wooden door was shattered like a rag. Around ten prisoners, wearing indescribable, horrific expressions, were enthusiastically smashing the door of a nearby multi-family building.

The cold air mixed with the scent of gunpowder rising leisurely. A pungent smell shot out from the barrel. The smell of murder and death. Twelve bullets tore mercilessly through the wooden door.

Of course, it didn’t matter if it was a wooden door. In pairs of two, five sets of prisoners ruthlessly searched the area, prying open doors with crowbars and barging into the filthy, deserted houses to continue their search.

The number of houses that needed to be searched was large, but these men continued without a hint of boredom, applying the same method over and over.

The reason was simple.

"<Aaaaahhh!>"

"<Please, please, help! My child is sick!>"

"<Is this the bitch?>"

"<No. But... I don’t think it matters.>"

"<Right, this might be fun…>"

It was a rare find when they stumbled upon a survivor hiding. For them, it was a jackpot.

Blood splattered, followed by agonizing screams.

However, even more tragically, those who were shot and killed by a shotgun upon discovery were the lucky ones. Some met an even more horrible fate, enduring unimaginable torment before they finally died.

Under the thick cloud cover and the slowly setting sun, the sound of gunfire rang repeatedly. Bullets from handguns, shotguns, and bolt-action rifles tore through the air, and some carried even more devastating weapons.

The overwhelming firepower of an assault rifle, looted from a dead soldier, was more than enough to turn people into Swiss cheese.

And unfortunately, Eugene couldn’t escape far enough.

This was why no one was happy to see the number of victims being so low.

"<…There are footprints. They’re fresh. Cut off at the second floor.>"

"<The doorknob is broken... Doesn’t matter who did it. Let’s check it out.>"

Bang!

However, when the door opened, they were met not with screams but the gunfire of a U.S. military pistol, still warm with the remains of its previous owner. The 9mm bullet from the barrel shot out, replacing a scream with death.

Although she had never fired one, anyone who had ever played a first-person shooter would recognize the sensation. Eugene managed to aim, albeit awkwardly, and silenced the escaping prisoner who came through the door.

In that instant, a shotgun shell grazed her side.

"<You bastard!>"

Being in pairs meant that when one person was silenced, no help could come.

Moreover, they were escapees and couldn’t ask for help like a walkie-talkie or intercom. Their only hope was that another prisoner would hear the gunfire and come to help.

But the truth of the situation was that these enemies had come together out of pure lust and shared identity as escapees, not camaraderie. To expect any solidarity from them was a luxury.

And in the midst of it, Eugene was suddenly overwhelmed by the strange feeling that she knew where the enemy was.

‘...They’re coming!’

As she fired through the thin wall, the enemy collapsed from the bullet's penetration. The room filled with an unpleasant, grotesque scream that seemed to come from the depths of hell.

Eugene continued to fire five more unnecessary shots. By the time the noise died down, she saw the hallway flooded with blood and the bodies of the prisoners, scattered in the mess.

The next thing she did was simple.

She collapsed to the floor and vomited.

"Ugh, ugh… Eh-ehh…!"

She hadn’t eaten anything, and this was already the third time she had retched that day.

It was a gut-wrenching experience. She sat there, tears flowing, gasping for breath from the persistent coughing. The bodies were far worse than she had imagined.

But she couldn’t just sit there. It wasn’t because of her strength of mind—it was because someone was approaching from the stairs. She grabbed the shotgun lying on the floor. It was a typical pump-action.

She had to check how many shells were in the tubular magazine, but she didn’t have that kind of knowledge.

Then, the second wave of prisoners arrived.

"<Thomas is dead!>"

"<Damn it, get the flashbang! The one we stashed at the precinct!>"

Clink!

At that moment, a metal object flew into the entrance. By a stroke of fate, it bounced twice off the walls before landing right in front of Eugene. She instinctively grabbed it and threw it back into the hallway.

There was a huge explosion and a flash of light. Eugene felt her ears explode with pain, but fortunately, the enemy was in a similar situation. The moment the automatic rifle started firing wildly, a prisoner, unaware of releasing all of the bullets, inadvertently shot everyone, not understanding the concept of friendly fire.

Three died.

The last one, stumbling in the entrance, met the remaining few shells in the shotgun.

"<Kuh-hack…!>"

Boom, boom, tick, tick, tick!

Two shots, followed by the sound of metal. When the last two shells were spent, the sound of an empty chamber rang out, signaling the need to reload. Eugene witnessed the four dead bodies piled up in the hallway.

Whether it was a laugh or what, she couldn’t tell. The situation was beyond comprehension. With tears still flowing, she made a noise—was it laughter or hyperventilation? Her vision darkened and then whitened. She felt her body succumb to the panic that overwhelmed her.

But one thing stood out clearly in her mind.

-If I don’t kill, I’ll be killed.

And Eugene didn’t want to die unknowingly in a place like this.

More than that, after witnessing everything these prisoners had done, the disgust was overwhelming, but she didn’t feel any hesitation. They were all deserving of death.

Moreover, in her pocket… she still had Sergeant Baker’s dog tag, the map, and a note left for someone named Jenna.

It was the first kindness she had received in this strange world. And Eugene had no intention of betraying it.

But aside from that, this place was no longer safe. She tossed the shotgun, which she didn’t even know how to reload, and hurried out of the entrance into the hallway.

Up was safer than down. Thinking that, Eugene started to head back up to the roof to check the enemy’s position.

But aside from that, nothing else entered her mind, and one key fact was automatically overlooked—the enemy could use the roof too.

As she was about to reach the third floor, she saw something coming out from around the corner.

And then, a sharp pain struck her face.

"AAHH…!"

Crash!

The moment it felt like her teeth were going to shatter, she tumbled down the staircase, made up of thirteen steps. As she struggled to rise, someone came down quickly and kicked her in the face.

Eugene collapsed, barely conscious, and as someone grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up, her foggy mind began to clear.

Two men. One was holding a shotgun, the other a handgun. This was the first time since she had fallen here that she was facing someone’s face so closely—and it was beyond disgusting.

The foul stench from the enemies’ bodies and their bloodshot eyes.

But the acrid smell of gunpowder from the shotgun pointed at her chin made Eugene’s spine shiver. Her teeth chattered, and it felt like her legs were going to give way at any moment.

The eyes of the escaping prisoners narrowed as they looked at her.

Both opened their mouths.

"<I’ll go first. Not bad for a little girl, huh…>"

"<Damn, you don’t even know where you came from, but four out of ten of us died. If Mayhem hears about this, he’s gonna freak. Can’t we at least screw her later?>"

"<Then stay in the back and shut up, you idiot! With it being ten below, did your balls shrivel up that much?>"

"<You son of a bitch…>"

The instinctual disgust surged.

Even though they weren’t speaking her language, Eugene knew exactly what the curses meant. She understood the greed that shone in their eyes. Her senses were on high alert. She had to get out of there.

But in the meantime, one of the escapees—foolishly—put down the shotgun and pulled out a knife.

The escapee slowly began to tear his mismatched clothes off. A cold shiver ran through her.

With pale, flawless skin, as he revealed his chest, Eugene instinctively grabbed the man’s wrist. But he smirked, as if he enjoyed it.

"<Resistance? Fun. Try all you want.>"

He was relaxed, full of greed.

Naturally, Eugene resisted. But the more she did, the more the man enjoyed it, easily overcoming her feeble resistance and tearing her clothes apart.

And that was as far as the escapee’s imagination went.

He would soon regret tossing the shotgun aside.

"<…Huh? Huh?>"

"You… bastard…!"

"<AAAHHH-!>"

Crack!

When Eugene tightened her fragile fingers around his wrist, a horrifying sound echoed. The knife-wielding man’s arm was grotesquely crushed.

Seizing the opportunity, Eugene pushed the still-held blade into the man’s chest, piercing his heart cleanly.

That wasn’t the end.

She surged forward and slammed into the second man, who had been watching from behind, before he could fire his handgun. With a horrific sound, the man was thrown into the wall, his breath escaping.

The sound of broken ribs puncturing his lungs was unheard by anyone.

As the man with the pierced heart collapsed to the floor, Eugene, with all her strength, punched the second man in the face.

One punch, two punches, three punches. The first hook knocked his jaw out of place, the second straight collapsed his cheekbone, and the third uppercut ended his life.

After the sickening crunches, there was a chilling silence.

As the two bloodied men lay dead, Eugene collapsed in place. But it wasn’t because of the psychological shock—well, not entirely.

The truth was, the greater shock wasn’t just that she had almost been raped.

She had survived.

She had survived.

And in this impossible world, Eugene made a decision.

‘...Should I be thankful for this...?’

She had survived.

She could repay the kindness she had received and seek revenge.

Eugene chose to think positively, at least for now. Otherwise, she feared she would collapse completely under the weight of the horrors that had unfolded in just a few short hours.

But that thought was short-lived.

As she collapsed into the corner, Eugene slammed her head against the floor.

A muffled sound echoed.

"This... this is... no, I can’t do this, I just want to go home…"

A chill spread through the hallway, colder than the blizzard outside.

The blood of the escapees dripped down the stairs and pooled on the first floor.

In the midst of it, Eugene, the only survivor, began to sob uncontrollably.

"I want to see you, mom, dad... Someone help me, please, I can’t take this anymore…"

The howling blizzard was more than enough to drown out her desperate cries.

In the completely isolated New York, this was just another day in the life.