The old man stood up , a Desert Eagle in hand, pointed directly at Ross's head with perfect precision. One pull of the trigger, and his skull would burst.
"Bravo, Ross Mutt," the man said, his tone darkly amused. "You've broken the record.Took you two hundred and thirty seconds to find out ,didn't even have to use poison to knock you down. Honestly I'm actually sad that I'll have to blow your brains out, wouldn't won't to waste your kind of brains!"
The voice was young, sharp, and merciless. He wasn't joking.
Ross froze, disbelief flooding him. Marie's words echoed in his head, drowning out every other sound, making him remember the very words he never considered dearly:
"Please don't go, Ross. We've already lost Dad ,we can't lose you too. Mom can't lose you too."
But it was too late. He was already in the devil's claws , his fate resting in someone else's hands.
"All along… you worked for them?" Ross asked, his voice trembling.
"Yes, I did."
The man lifted his other hand and tapped his earlobe like a button.
Warp.
His face began to disintegrate, little square by square, glowing blue like pixels breaking apart in thin air.
"What the fuck…" Ross mouthed, his eyes wide in horror. It looked unreal , something out of a sci-fi movie , but this was different it was a real life threat.
The illusion cracked and fell away, revealing a younger man underneath , strong, sharp-eyed, and built like a soldier. His posture was rigid, his expression cold and lethal.
"My name's Ronald Clerk," he said, voice steady. "Ex-army captain. My job's simple , clean up loose ends like you. People who think they can take back their companies."
He grabbed the coffee cup from the side table, took a slow sip, then smirked at Ross. He was calm , he had the gun, and that meant control.
"Why?" Ross demanded. "Why are you working with them?"
Ronald placed the cup back on the stand with a small clink. "Simple. Their ideals and mine match."
Ross narrowed his eyes. "What do a soldier and con artist have in common?"
"That's where you're wrong," Ronald said, his voice sharp now. "I fought for this country for years , risked my life and of my comrades on different missions. I saw them getting shot down, hunted like runaway dogs. Little did we know that it never helped any citizen. Every operation just made the rich richer, the higher-ups even higher.
The Turtle Companies are completely differen. They want to fix things, Cleanse the power system. Remove corruption. Make the world fair again."
His eyes burned with conviction ,a soldier's zeal turned to something far darker.
"And how does destroying companies fix anything?" Ross angrily inquired, heat in his voice. Forehead filled with wrinkles, his eyes like a predator looking closely on its prey.
"To rebuild a house," Ronald said, "you tear it down first,brick by brick , then start over."
It wasn't just a metaphor. He meant it. Break every chain of supply, every corporation, and rebuild them under one system ,their system. Control everything, fix everything. And when it was done, people would thank them. Call them patriots. Heroes.
In that moment it was clear, they weren't mere con artist but something more dangerous, thieves with motive.
"But what's the point of telling a dead man?" Ronald added with a smirk, tightening his grip on the gun. Veins bulged in his hand as he steadied the aim.
Ross's eyes darted around the room, desperate for an opening. And then, a flash of instinct. A single plan.
Pew!
The silenced bullet sliced the air.
Ross ducked , just in time. The shot missed his head by inches. His instincts were right; Ronald was aiming for a kill.
But Ross knew this wasn't over. A trained soldier doesn't miss twice, especially at this range. He reached out, grabbed the bookstand's frame with both hands, and heaved it up like a weightlifter.
Phu!
He flung it at Ronald. Books exploded into the air like shrapnel, fluttering between them and blocking his vision.
Ross didn't waste a second. He lunged for the door.
Click!
The knob turned — open.
He bolted into the corridor.
Left. Right. Left. Right.
His feet hammered the floor, each step driven by adrenaline. He didn't look back. Not once. It was like sprinting out of a lion's den — pure survival.
Left. Right.
He burst into the reception area, gasping for breath, sweat running down his face. The air felt heavy — silent.
Then it hit him. This was still an elderly home. A gunfight here would be a massacre.
"Shit," he muttered. "I have to warn them."
He dashed toward the electronic stairs, skipping steps as he shouted, "Get out of here! Everyone, get out!"
His voice boomed through the room, raw with panic.
Heads turned — the receptionist, Orvoy, a few of the old residents — all staring at him. But their faces didn't show fear. Just confusion.
"What the fuck are you waiting for?!" he screamed. "Run!"
No one moved. No screams. Just eyes — blank, judging, calm.
Then it clicked.
Why are they acting like this? Their eyes… their faces… they already knew.
The memory of the warping face hit him like lightning.
No… it can't be.
"Where are you going, Ross?"
The voice came from behind. Brenda — the nurse from earlier — stood in the doorway. Gun in hand.
Beep. Warp.
She pressed her earlobe, and her face shimmered — warping, glitching — until a stranger's appeared beneath it.
Ross froze as the others did the same. One by one, the old faces dissolved, revealing soldiers beneath. Armed. Ready. The "elderly home" was no home at all.
It was a trap.
"No way…" Ross whispered, realization crashing through him.
The room now swarmed with soldiers — weapons aimed, movements precise.
"You have nowhere to run," a voice said behind him.
Ronald.
Ross's thoughts spiraled, the chaos in his head louder than the silence around him.
I should've listened to Marie.
I can't do anything to save myself.
It's all over.
Click.
Ronald reloaded.
"Tell your dad we said hi."
Pow!
The gun fired.