"We… we're not hiding anything," Dr. Chan struggled to say, his voice hoarse."We were just passing through… we got caught up in this."
Joe—a wiry, pale young man—had always been mocked for his sharp, almost delicate features. To blend in with the rough crowd, he had grown a thick beard. But now, he wasn't interested in hearing excuses. His hunting knife pressed against Dr. Chan's cheek, the cold metal slicing a thin, shallow cut.
Dr. Chan instinctively stepped back—only to bump into another hunter's solid frame. More of them closed in around him, trapping him like an animal in a lab cage.
His left hand slowly opened, revealing a cigarette pack. But his other hand edged discreetly toward his pocket. Hidden inside was his last defense—a compact stun gun, disguised as an oversized lighter, used in the lab to neutralize unstable subjects.
Joe glanced at the cigarette brand and scoffed. But he slid the knife away.
"You know something?" Joe murmured, voice thick with unsettling amusement."In old tribes, they'd turn their enemy's skulls into voodoo dolls. Tiny little things… just like toys."
Dr. Chan's heartbeat faltered. His gaze flickered, betraying a moment of hesitation, but he forced himself to stay composed.
Joe leaned in closer, his breath hot, his words laced with laughter."If I soaked your head in vinegar… think it'd shrink?"
His fingers clamped onto Dr. Chan's skull, squeezing and twisting like testing the limits of a fragile toy.
Dr. Chan's breathing grew ragged. He refused to meet Joe's eyes, but his shoulders trembled. Rage and humiliation burned through him, swelling beneath the surface, ready to explode.
Joe suddenly had an idea."Boss, why don't we inject him with some of that stuff? Turn him into an infected? That'd earn us some points!"
Lee started to remind him about the monitors tracking their every move—but caught sight of himself being broadcasted too. He sighed, irritated."Idiot."
Joe froze as the group snickered. His face flushed red.
Embarrassed, he lashed out, slamming his fist into Dr. Chan's stomach."You think you're better than me? I'll turn you into a voodoo doll, crush every bone in your body!"
Joe had spent his life being overlooked, mocked, dismissed. He couldn't afford for that to happen in front of Lee—not if he ever wanted to climb the ranks.
Dr. Chan curled up like a shrimp, pain searing through his gut. But Joe didn't stop. He kept hitting, kicking, growling.
Dr. Chan clawed at him, trying to defend himself. The others cheered, whistling.
"Stop!" Mavrick yelled, fury in his voice—but it was lost in the laughter. His leg trembled, his mind racing. If he moved now, detonated the trap, would it shift the odds?
But deep down, he knew—the blast might be too weak, might cripple him instead. His foot pressed firmly back down. Powerlessness swelled inside him.
Joe, wild-eyed, pinned Dr. Chan down, beating him relentlessly. He was a coward at heart, desperate to prove himself, lashing out when he had the upper hand.
The hunters weren't even paying attention. They had never respected Joe anyway—too weak, too erratic.
But they missed something.
Dr. Chan's fury had surpassed his fear.
"Enough!" he roared.
Lightning-fast, he yanked the stun gun from his pocket, pressed it against Joe's crotch—
Crack!
A sharp pulse split through the rainy night.
Joe jolted upright like a shocked frog, face twisting in agony. He collapsed, knees hitting the mud. Smoke curled from his pants. A foul stench spread through the damp air.
Silence.
The whole camp froze, as if someone had hit pause.
No one spoke. The rain pattered against the ground, suddenly quieter.
Joe lay trembling, face contorted, blood trickling from his mouth. He barely made a sound—just faint, wheezing gasps.
Lee, standing near the fire, watched him through narrowed eyes. His smirk was gone.
The hunters exchanged glances, their expressions twitching, holding back… something.
Then—
"Pfft—Hahahaha!"
"Joe's little gun got fried!"
"It's turning into a sausage—hahaha!"
The laughter erupted without warning, like a pack of wild animals finally set loose. Whistles, stomping feet, and jeering voices tangled together, shattering the tension.
Dr. Chan lay slumped on the ground, a broken puppet. His breath was ragged, fingers trembling, blood mixing with sweat and mud on his face. He tried to push himself up—only to be slammed back down by a heavy boot.
"He still thinks he won?" someone roared.
A second later, a swarm of figures descended on him. Fists, rifle butts, and kicks rained down—
"He dared to fight back? He wants to die!" someone yelled.
Dr. Chan raised his arms to shield his head, but his back was left wide open. Blood seeped through his fingers, a silent protest against the merciless beating.
"Stop… Stop…" Mavrick screamed inwardly. A violent frustration swelled inside him—not fear of death, but fury at his own helplessness.
Earl, watching from a distance, didn't interfere. He simply observed, eyes glinting with sadistic amusement. The more brutal it got, the more entertained he seemed. With a slow step, he closed in on Mavrick.
"Knew it," he murmured, voice as cold as the night air."You're just a pathetic worm."
And then—
A crack of lightning tore across the sky, stark and blinding. In that flash, the hunters' figures twisted, grotesque in the flickering light. Dr. Chan lay motionless, face pale, barely distinguishable under the blood and filth.
Earl let out a sudden laugh, like he had heard the world's funniest joke. Then, without warning, he drove his fist into Mavrick's face, still grinning.
"See?" he chuckled."A smile makes dying easier."
Blood dripped from Mavrick's lips, but Earl wasn't done. His pupils gleamed with eerie delight as he muttered,"Shh—hold still. Let me listen to your fear."
He stepped closer, every movement deliberate, scanning the ground beneath them. He knew the landmine was there—he hadn't forgotten. But he wanted to see if Mavrick would break before it ever came into play.
"You scared?" he whispered, savoring the moment.
Then—something in him shifted. He hesitated, pulled back a fraction, uncertainty flickering in his gaze. One more step, and he'd trigger the mine.
He licked his lips, making a decision.
Pretending to retreat, he turned as if walking away—only to whirl around a second later, lunging forward like a viper, fist aiming straight for Mavrick's face.
He was betting on one thing—Mavrick wouldn't dare move. Wouldn't dare dodge. One clean hit, and he could shatter the last shred of the man's dignity.
But he hadn't accounted for Mavrick betting too.
Just before the blow connected, Mavrick snapped forward—his own fist driving into Earl's gut. The hit knocked the wind out of him. Earl crumpled, kneeling before Mavrick.
This was his chance.
Without hesitation, Mavrick grabbed Earl by the collar and—swift as lightning—switched their positions.
He had escaped.
Earl felt it immediately—the pressure under his chest. The landmine.
Sweat beaded along his forehead. He knew exactly what kind of explosive lay beneath him, knew the damage it could do. He didn't dare move.
Mavrick could flee now—slip into the forest without a trace.
But instead—this fool picked up Earl's gun. And fired a single shot into the sky.
"Enough!" he roared.
Everything stopped.
Earl jolted, only to be shoved down again, a boot pressing into his back, pinning him in place.
Mavrick stood tall, gun raised, facing a wall of hunters with gleaming knives and loaded weapons. His expression was steady, but his pulse pounded like war drums. One wrong move, and he was dead.
But at least—Dr. Chan was still breathing.
Mavrick looked down at him—his bloodied, dirt-streaked face, his chest rising and falling.
He was still alive.