Inside the Wearwell Clothing on the first floor, one of the grunts, holding a revolver, stared out the glass wall. "Ahh, I wanna join up there too, why am I standing here and guarding while they enjoy themselves upstairs?" he muttered jealously to his partner. The partner, resting a metal bat on his shoulder, replied harshly, "You think you're the only one who wanna go up? Me too, man. Women are rare nowadays, especially now that there's no government to restrict us." Both men sighed. They wouldn't have survived this long without their boss, so they couldn't defy his order.
"Say, do you think after they're done, they'd let us vent our frustration?" the armed grunt asked with excitement. Silence followed. "Liam?" he said, looking over to where his partner had been sitting. Not seeing him, he stood up and cautiously walked toward the spot. "Don't play with me, man, I know your pranks."
Still hearing no reply, he swiped through some clothes where his friend might be hiding. After a moment, he relaxed, thinking, 'Maybe he's out peeing.' He let his shoulders drop. Just as he turned, a hand in a fingerless glove clamped over his mouth, and thwack—a blade pierced his throat. "Gurgling," he stared at the man in the black hood, whose mouth was the only visible feature. 'The heck,' was his last thought as he saw the man smile before his body went cold.
Arthur retracted the hidden blade as he gently lowered the dead man to the floor. 'Second person killed,' he noted. His stomach churned, but the knowledge they were rapists allowed him to suppress the nausea. He grabbed the revolver—click—opened the cylinder, saw the three remaining bullets, and tucked the weapon into his back. 'More to go,' Arthur thought. Edward's memories as a killer weren't included, just his body and combat prowess, so each kill was a fresh moral conflict. He slowly crept toward the stairs, spotting another guard resting a machete nearby, completely relaxed and lacking vigilance. Arthur used the shadows to his advantage, pouncing on the grunt, his left hand covering the man's mouth as they fell. Arthur flicked his right wrist; the hidden blade popped out and stabbed the grunt in the eye—stab
Quick, painless, silent, and efficient. The blade retracted as Arthur quietly ascended the stairs. On the second floor, he heard only the sound of flesh smacking together and crude laughter; the muffled choking of the woman was gone. Arthur clenched his fist as he peeked over the railing. 'So she gave up, sorry for not coming sooner,' he thought as he saw three men: two were seated, drinking alcohol and laughing at the third man, who was actively assaulting the girl. "You broke her, man," one laughed. "I finally got to release all the frustration built inside me, keke," the other replied.
Arthur grabbed his bow, nocked an arrow, and pulled the string taut. With a deep breath, he released the string—whoosh—and the arrow flew, penetrating the head of the assaulting grunt with a sickening "thwack." The two seated grunts ceased their laughter, staring in horror at their friend with an arrow sticking through his skull. The closest man instantly snatched a Glock 17 from a nearby table and pointed it toward the direction of the shot. Bang, bang, bang. "Motherfucker, you killed our friend!" he shouted, firing three bullets. Arthur quickly slid to the side as he nocked another arrow and deliberately aimed for the shooter's leg—thud. The arrow pierced the leg, and the shooter screamed, dropping the Glock in pain. "Arghh, fuck!"
Arthur instantly strapped the bow to his back and drew the dirk. He burst forward, closing the distance between himself and the second man, who was still in shock. He planted his knee hard into the man's abdomen. With the Sequence 9 Hunter's Strength of a Bear, his attack was crushing. A sickening crunch sounded as the man's ribs shattered. Without hesitation, Arthur thrust the dirk down with his left hand, penetrating through the collarbone, and quickly pulled it back as blood gushed out—squirt. He changed his grip on the dirk and stabbed upward into the man's chin. The man's eyes rolled up. Arthur pulled out the dirk, then turned to the last man on the floor, clutching his wounded leg. "Argh, you son of a bitch, what did we do to you?" the man struggled to talk through the pain. Arthur chuckled with grim amusement. "It's quite funny coming from a rapist, don't you think?" He crouched down and grabbed a handful of the man's hair, forcing the grunt to look him in the eye.
The man replied with a pained laugh. "What? You're some vigilante hero or something? Too bad you're late, the girl feels good, though." Arthur pulled back his hood, revealing his face, and smiled chillingly at the grunt as he yanked the arrow lodged in his leg, making the man scream in pain. "Argh, fuck, fuck! I'll fucking kill you, you motherfucker!" Arthur then used the sharp tip of the arrow to stab both of the grunt's shoulder joints, before violently dislocating them. The grunt squealed in agony. Arthur picked up the Glock from the floor, then stood up, hoisting the man to his feet. He pointed the Glock 17 at the large glass wall in front of the clothing store and—bang—shot it, shattering the glass and allowing the sounds of zombie groans to reverberate inside.
Arthur dragged the immobilized man to the edge and held him suspended in the air. The grunt, drained of strength from the excruciating pain in his leg and dislocated shoulders, pleaded in a panic, "What the fuck are you doing, man? Please spare me! Don't throw me out to be eaten, man!" Arthur ignored his pleas. "Let me answer your question earlier: I'm no vigilante, hero, or whatever something you have in mind. I'm no saint either, but one thing I hate is rapists. And for that, you can burn in hell," Arthur said with a final, cold smile as he let go. The grunt screamed curses and shouted for help as the walkers slowly encircled him, biting, eating, and tearing him apart. His final screams echoed on the road as Arthur looked down on him. 'Enjoy becoming a mukbang,' he thought.
He then turned to the woman, grabbed some clothes from a nearby hanger, and draped them over her body. "I'm sorry for not arriving on time," he said softly. Hearing his voice, the woman gained a brief moment of clarity and struggled to speak through her broken jaw. "Kw-will mwee, plwease," she pleaded. Hearing her request for death, Arthur unsheathed his dirk and carefully aligned it on her temple. "Hope you go to a better place," he whispered, closing his eyes as he drove the dirk through her temple. After, Arthur gently closed her eyes and covered her face with a cloth. Hearing the renewed groaning downstairs from the commotion, he parkoured his way out to the back side of the building, then began his silent walk back toward the firm office under the cold night sky.